Page 103 of Twist of Fate
“Sure, right.” He pauses to finish the last of his pint. After a few more moments, he finally seems to convince himself to say whatever he’s been debating. “It’s just that when I was at her house for her housewarming that night, she mentioned she had family here.”
“She does.”
“And she said she thought her mum always wanted to meet them but worried they wouldn’t want anything to do with her because of some bad blood with her father.”
I nod. “He immigrated to the States. I don’t know much beyond that.”
He shrugs. “Might be a good place to start.”
I stare at him for a moment as the uneasy feeling begins to dissipate. “You’re right,” I answer. “It’s an excellent place to start.”
In more ways than one.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Finn
PAST
“Jaysus, lad. Do you know what the bloody time is?” Rian answers on the fourth ring, his voice drowsy and rough.
“Sorry,” I automatically reply, briefly forgetting where he is. But then, I pause to think about it. Seattle is at least eight hours behind us, right? I do a bit of quick math in my head. “Wait. What the hell do you mean, do I know what time it is? It’s like ten at night where you are. Since when did you turn into your Gran?”
“Since I started traveling time zones like I’m goddamn Superman. I’m fucking knackered.”
I grin, shaking out my wet hair. I woke up early this morning and am already showered and dressed. I’m not sure I slept much, to be honest. He isn’t the only one who’s tired. “Well, technically, if you were traveling as fast as Superman, I doubt you’d actually get tired because—speed of light and all. Plus, Superman doesn’t get tired.”
“Finn?”
“Yeah?
“Shut the fuck up.”
I snort a laugh as the sound of him shifting around fills my ears. He must be sitting up, knowing I wouldn’t call during a tour without a reason. He lets out an exhausted groan before saying, “Okay, what’s the story?”
“It’s—” I hesitate because although I called him to discuss this, the act of coming out and admitting it is more difficult than I had anticipated.
“I’m half a world away, and I can feel your discomfort—and I’m not going to lie, I’m enjoying the hell out of it. But knowing what I know, there is only one thing—well, two, but I’m going to go out on a limb and assume it’s not your da?—”
“It’s not my da.”
“Okay, so back to my original guess: Aisling Farrell?”
I would say I’m impressed that he remembered her name, but I’m not. That’s just how Rian’s brain works. It’s like an endless reservoir of information. I’m fairly certain he remembers every name of every girl he’s ever hooked up with—not because they were all special, but because once he learns something, it’s nearly impossible for him to forget it.
“Yeah.”
“God, I want to meet this girl. Less than a week, and you’re in bits over her. What happened now?”
“Nothing specific.” Unless you count the way she’s gradually chipping away at my heart with each passing hour. Our walks, the endless conversations, and the way she looked with that rose in her hair. That moment on the cliffs.
And then there was last night at the pub. I’ve never seen anyone dance like she does. When she left the stage and stepped outside to cool off, it took every ounce of willpower not to follow her to do some very unprofessional things with my tongue.
“I typically approach this final day with a significant sense of relief. Just one more day and I’ll be home. But this time?—”
“You’re dreading it?”
“Yeah.”
