Page 56 of Tempting Irish

“Where is she?” His angry words sliced through the music I’d beenplaying.

But I didn’t stop. Not out of defiance, but because once I was in the trance, nothing, not even Frank, could pull me fromit.

“I said, where the hell is she?” I didn’t see the bat, until it smashed down on the keys, narrowly missing myhand.

Most people would have jumped back, ran, done anything to protect themselves. But my first instinct was to protect that damn piano. It was the only thing I had. The only thing that could transport me across the ocean. Make me feel like I washome.

“I don’t know,” I’d cried out, splaying myself across the keys as his bat smashed down on the top, sending tiny splinters of wood flying. “Please,don’t.”

“She’s gone. Her clothes. The money. She took itall.”

I’d looked at him, horrified, because she wouldn’t leave me. Not here. Not with him. I knew that she’d begun to hate him as much as I did. But she would never go withoutme.

“I don’t know.” My voice was a pitiful cry, but it didn’t stop him from taking his anger out on thepiano.

The bat smashed down, over and over again, breaking the ivory, cracking the wood. I screamed, and my heart shattering with everyblow.

Frank shrieked, his eyes wild, unseeing as he took all his frustration out on thepiano.

I should have steppedaway.

He didn’t mean to hitme.

The bat slammed down on the top of my hand, and I felt the bones crack as easy as the wood and ivory had. I crumpled, bile burning a path up mythroat.

I didn’tcry.

The pain was so severe it blinded me. Numbed me. Brokeme.

A shiver races down my spine at the unbiddenmemory.

I haven’t allowed myself to think about that night in a long time. And I’m not sure why I let the darkness creep in now, other than the trembling and throbbing in my right hand. But that never really goesaway.

I shake away the dark thoughts and make my way back down the path, praying that the damn bus is still there, but knowing, with my luck, it’sgone.

A hysterical laugh flutters up in my throat when I see the empty parkinglot.

“Perfect,” I mumble. “Absolutelyperfect.”

The café is still open, and I go inside to figure out what I’m going to do, because as amazing as the Hill of Tara is, it’s in the middle of freakingnowhere.

“Is it possible to get a cab to drive me back to Dublin?” I ask the young woman at the souvenirdesk.

“That’s an hour away,” she says, her expressiondeadpan.

“I know, but the tour bus left withoutme-”

“Ah, ye’re the American they were looking for. Ye need to stay with yergroup.”

“I realize that,” I say, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. “But that doesn’t help menow.”

She shrugs. “It’ll cost ye about a hundred euros, maybemore.”

Shit. I can afford it. Butbarely.

I chew on my bottom lip. I could call Emer, see if Aiden can pick me up. But I hate asking anything of anyone. And I’d really like to not have to explain how I missed the stupidbus.

Swallow your pridefor once in your life, my head—or rather, my wallet—begs.

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