Page 95 of Go Luck Yourself
I stand, cutting him off. I’ll be damned if I look at him again.Maybe ever. “You had the right idea. We only need to be around each other for press shots. But—”
Now I do round on him. I meet his eyes and yeah, I regret it instantly, but I point at him and try, try,tryto shove aside my hurt.
“—you should invite your court to Belfast tomorrow, too.”
It’s not what he was expecting me to say.
Loch flinches. “What?”
“You’re going to be doing the same stuff there that you’ve done at the other events, right? Soshow them.”
He sucks his teeth. “It’s na as impressive as you eejits keep making it out to be. I have contacts; I connect people with each other. That’s nothing but—”
“You need to show your court that you’re better than Malachy. You need to start getting them on your side so when I leave and your image is better, you canuse that.You’re doing all this stuff for your Holiday, and it’s admirable, but you’re not protecting St. Patrick’s Day, are you? No matter what you do behind the scenes, you aren’t really fighting for it.”
He looks like I slapped him. Hard.
Now we’re even.
He shudders out a breath. “I do na have anything worthwhile to show my court. The things I do are not—”
“For someone who acts like he’s the greatest thing to ever walk this earth, you have no idea how amazing you are, do you? No wonder your sisters are fed up with you. God, you’re so much like Coal, it makes me want to scream.”
Loch’s expression spasms. “Like your brother?”
“Yeah. A dumbass who’s whining about how he doesn’t do enough is just that—whining.He annoyseveryonein his life with his refusal to accept the fact that he’sactually capable.So do me a favor, and do your sisters a favor, andstopwith this whole act of not being worthy of your court’s support. I know Malachy’s gotten in your head, but fuck, dude. Just.Fuck.”
Eloquent. Really.
There’s a reason I write, and Coal’s the one who talks.
But I’ve said a lot of nice things to a guy who’s screwing with my emotions, so I duck around him.
Loch grabs my arm.
He’s wearing that spicy cologne again that I know now was an instant turn-on and I hate him so much.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. He sure as helllookssorry. Brows hooked up. Lips parted. “I should na have said what I did.”
“I don’t care.” I do. Shit fuck, I do.
“And…” He stammers. “Thank you. For what you said, what Christmas said on my behalf. You did na have to make a statement like that.”
“Yeah, I did.” My chest swells, so I throw up this barrier hard and fast. “That’s why I’m here. Speaking of, where are the paparazzi? We should—”
My phone buzzes. I yank it out because it’s easier to deal with texts than him—oh look, other people need me, not just you, you jackass.
But the moment my eyes hit the screen, scalding horror crashes down on me.
My mom’s calling.
Chapter Twelve
Frantic, I think back over our texts—I’ve been responding. Haven’t I? Plus Dad’s with her, so she’s getting attention.
The last time she called me was over a year ago. She gave me shit for not being able to get Coal to talk to her; Coal then came to Cambridge and subsequently also gave me shit, but more lovingly, when he found out I hadn’t left my room in a day or two.
But I’d been sick.
