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Chapter Thirty

Liam

I avoided Peter Morrow’s hostile gaze as I strode through the lobby. I couldn’t be bothered to glare back. I was caught in the guts of some big machine, and it would keep grinding whether I was smashed to a pulp in its gears or not.

I didn’t want to leave her alone, not with those masked assholes gunning for her. I didn’t want to leave her at all. But her safety was no longer my problem.

It never really had been. She wasn’t my wife, my fiancée, even my girlfriend. She never would be, because real, lasting relationships weren’t based on fleeting perfect moments. Orgasms, long winding conversations, pancakes. Goofy, giggling fights over the relative merits of coffee or tea.

Relationships were based on solid things. Respect. Shared interests. Compatible life goals. Bone-deep trust. Being there for each other. Being on the same page.

Damn. That thought felt so tired and used up as it ran through my mind. Like I’d thought it a thousand times before and had done it to death. It was limp. Dog-eared.

“Liam!” Eoin bounded across the room toward me like a jackrabbit on crack, his eyes lit up like flashlights in his skinny face. He had partied all night long, but he was still revved as ever. “Hey, what’s up?” He looked at my bag, puzzled. “I thought you were staying till tomorrow!”

“Can’t,” I said, though my mouth felt dusty and dry. “Gotta go.”

“Oh. Well, I’m glad I saw you now, then. A favor before you go, eh? I’ve been telling Eugene about that set of reels you wrote. I remember ‘The Dusty Shoon,’ and ‘Traveler’s Joy,’ but not the B and C parts of ‘The Old Man’s Beard.’”

My stomach curdled in dismay. “I have to go. Another time.”

“Oh, man, please?” Eoin entreated. “It’ll only take five minutes. Eugene can record it. I had this great arrangement worked out, and the lads love it!”

My jaw ached from clenching so hard. “I don’t have my fiddle.”

“Eugene will lend you his!” Eoin’s eyes pleaded. “Five minutes?”

Christ on a crutch. Five minutes of stomach-churning agony. But I didn’t want to burden Eoin by telling him that the world had just ended for me. That would be awkward and unfair. This was Eoin’s big day, and he should celebrate.

I let myself be towed into a conference room, and obligingly tucked Eugene’s fiddle under my chin. Composed myself as I launched into “The Old Man’s Beard.”

The kid was having a great time. Let him fly, as far as the air currents would take him. A guy crashed down to earth soon enough.