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Chapter Eighteen

Liam

E oin shuffled up the driveway to my house at two in the afternoon, red-eyed and shamefaced, like any guy would who’d guzzled Guinness all night and had faced the new day without sleep or a shower.

I looked up from the chopping block when I saw him. I’d been trying to unload excess adrenaline and misery by chopping wood, so far with no success.

“Well, hell. Look who the cat dragged in,” I commented.

Eoin flushed. “I was playing tunes with the lads at this pub in Sheepshead Bay, and I lost track of the time.”

I grunted. “Hear you’ve got a new job.”

“Uh, yes. I’m going on tour with this band, Mandrake. Next week.”

“Congratulations,” I said.

“Don’t think I don’t appreciate—all you’ve done for me?—”

I held up my hand, and Eoin choked off whatever he was about to say. “It’s okay, Eoin,” I said wearily. “You should be making music. You’re doing the right thing.”

Hope dawned on Eoin’s pallid face. “So you’re not mad?”

“Nah. Do you want to work on Matigan’s crew until you leave, or don’t you? If you’re too busy, I need to let him know right now.”

Eoin straightened his thin shoulders. “I’d be glad to work,” he said with dignity. “I start rehearsing Sunday. I can work until then.”

“Go get some rest, then,” I told him. “You look like hammered shit.”

Eoin hesitated.

“So. Ah. Is, ah, something happening between you and Mrs. D’Onofrio’s daughter?”

The look on my face made him take off like a shot.

Inviting her to the seisiún had been my first mistake.

Taking her home was the second—though I’d paid for that in full already, by getting my ass pounded by the masked assholes.

But the crowning stupidity? Fucking her.

Now I knew what it felt like. And I could think of nothing else.

I was begging for exactly the trouble I’d spent the first eleven years of my life watching up close. The kind of bitterness that ate away at love until it was all gone.

Was I programmed to repeat this bullshit? Was I fucking doomed?

That thought dragged up memories, like that vacation to Niagara Falls that my mother had planned.

A last-ditch effort to unite us as a family.

The bags were packed, train tickets in my mother’s clutch purse.

She’d been waiting, dressed in her eggshell blue pantsuit.

But when my father walked in the door, I took one look at him, and I knew that it wasn’t going to happen.

Dad had done it again. You could count on him to let you down the way you could count on the sun to rise.

“It’s about time you got here,” Mom said, reaching for her coat. “We’ll have to hurry to catch the train.”

“Something’s come up, Fiona.”

Mom froze for a moment, then laid her coat down, her face expressionless. “What do you mean, something’s come up?”

“There’s a problem with a shipment and I have to go look into it.”

“Why can’t you send Martin, or Brady?”

Dad shook his head. “You want something done right, you got to do it yourself.”

“That principle doesn’t apply to your family, however,” she said, her voice tight.

Dad’s mouth became a hard, flat line. “I make sacrifices to keep you in style, Fiona,” he said. “And all I ever get from you is whining and nagging.”

“Did I ask you to make these sacrifices? No, Frank. I didn’t. All I ever wanted was to see you more than once a month.” Mom’s voice shook. “All I’m asking now is that you call and get someone else to cover whatever the problem is at work. Just keep your word to me, and come with us to Niagara.”

My father’s fists clenched. “God, Fiona,” he ground out. “Why can’t I make you understand? It’s my responsibility!”

“Fine. Go, then. Your bag’s by the door. Don’t come back. I’ve had enough.” She walked out of the room. Her back was straight, but her face was crumpled.

Dad looked at me, seated stiff and immobile with dread on the couch. “Sorry, son,” he said heavily. “When you’ve got a family of your own to support, you’ll understand.”

“Go to hell,” I said.

Frank Knightly’s face darkened. “Don’t speak to me that way. I’m your father. Show some respect.”

“You’re not my father anymore.” I remembered so vividly how clear and cutting my voice had been. “You’re a terrible father. You’re fired.”

Dad just stared at me for a moment. Then he grabbed the suitcase and walked out. That was the last I’d ever seen of him. Twenty-six years. More than two-thirds of my lifetime.

I shook myself back to the present, and attacked the kindling again. Whack. Whack. Fuck this. Fuck it all.

A few sweaty minutes of chopping later, the sound of a car made me turn.

My stomach did a somersault as I recognized Nancy’s Volkswagen buzzing down the driveway. I clutched the ax handle as she got out of the car, wishing that I’d bathed.

She was elegant in faded jeans that clung enticingly to her hips and a dark, high-necked ribbed sweater that showed off a strip of flat belly. Her hair was wound into a loose braid, backlit by the sun like a halo of fire. She looked gorgeous. And nervous.

“Hey, Liam.” She gave me a tentative smile.

I crossed my arms over my chest. My voice was locked in my throat. Her smile faltered.

Then she opened the back door of her car and pulled out a cat carrier. A plaintive meow issued from the plastic crate. I looked into her car windows. The backseat was piled high. A suitcase, a laptop backpack, boxes of files. Was she actually planning to ...

Holy shit. My heart started to gallop. My face got suddenly hot.

“What are you doing here?” I was so wound up, my voice came out hard and unwelcoming. I was more than capable of fucking up this incredible second chance right here and now.

Easy does it, Knightly.