by Sienna Blake
He let out a groan. “Plenty of time for you to figure out if you want to be with me. I know I want to be with you.”
I squeezed my eyes and hid my face in his chest.
Here was a guy who would be good for me. My age, studying the same kind of degree as me, and came from a decent family. The kind of wholesome, sweet guy that a girl like me would be lucky to be attached to.
Why couldn’t I just say yes to being his girlfriend?
Diarmuid’s face flashed in my mind. And the memory of his hands on me made me shiver even as my insides burned.
I didn’t feel this way when Tim touched me or kissed me. We’d done little more than that. I always pulled back and he never pushed although I knew he wanted more, physically and emotionally. I felt like I didn’t have much to give and the guilt ate at me. Tim deserved better. I wasn’t ready to give up on trying to move on. I had to move on. Right?
I let out a sigh. “I need more time, Tim.”
He frowned as he cupped my cheek, pulling my face up to meet his gaze. “Man, that guy really did a number on you, didn’t he?”
I stiffened. “What guy?”
“The one who broke your heart so badly that you can’t let me in.”
I sagged, unshed guilt brimming my eyes, shame burning my cheeks. “How did you know?”
He chuckled, but it wasn’t unkind. “I may just be a farmer’s boy, but I’m not so naïve, Saoirse. You’re holding yourself from me. There has to be a reason.” He shrugged. “I guessed at the reason. But you just confirmed it by your response.”
I lowered my head, unable to keep looking into his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
He pulled me against his body and kissed my forehead again. “It’s okay. I can wait.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and swore to myself that I’d try—really try to get over Diarmuid.
82
____________
Diarmuid
Four months later… I was still trying to fight Ava in the divorce courts.
All I wanted to do was go after Saoirse. The need to get her back was a like a demon clawing under my skin, every day passing made these devils howl louder.
But I couldn’t.
Not now while my life was a fucking mess.
Even if I found Saoirse, begged her to come back to me, how could I expect her to take me back if I was still married to that bitch? What could I offer her, jobless and facing bankruptcy?
Saoirse already wanted more, deserved more. How could I expect her to take me when I had nothing?
I dragged my sorry ass to my fridge. There was nothing in here but two bottles of pale lager. Declan was right. I needed something stronger than this shit.
It was only eleven a.m. but I’d stopped caring. I grabbed both beer bottles and took the caps off them, settling into my armchair and guzzling one of them down.
A knock sounded at my door. I groaned.
I didn’t want to speak or talk to anyone right now.
Declan and Danny had both come to visit me while I was in jail even though I told them not to. Now they were taking turns calling me every other day like I was a kid on suicide watch. I’d been ignoring their calls lately.
That was probably one of them. Or both. No one else except Brian wanted anything to do with me these days.
Perhaps if I ignored them they’d go away?
The knock sounded again.
Ah, fuck.
I got up, grumbling. The poor fucker on the other side of that door was going to hear enough cussing to send him running like the devil was after him.
I yanked open the door, ready to growl at the offending person.
But it wasn’t Danny or Declan.
On my step was Maeve, one of Ava’s old school friends. The one who became a nurse. She was the most decent of the snippy, bitchy lot. I never did understand why she and Ava were friends.
What the hell did she want?
“Hi, Diarmuid,” she said, seeming nervous.
“Let me fucking guess. You’re here to deliver a message from the bitch.”
Maeve shook her head. “Ava doesn’t know I’m here.” She glanced around as if checking to see if anyone was watching. “Can I come in?”
I narrowed my eyes at her. I wanted to kick her off my property, to get back to wallowing in peace. But something in her tone made me pause.
Ava didn’t know she was here.
Now I was curious. We all know what curiosity did.
I stepped aside and let her in.
Maeve walked a few steps into my living room, then spun to face me. I didn’t offer her a seat. Didn’t take one myself.
“Talk.”
Maeve jolted at my harsh tone. “I…I think what Ava’s doing to you is wrong.”
Not that Maeve’s opinion mattered. But it was still nice to hear, I guess.
“Tell her that.”
Maeve shook her head. “Ava won’t listen to reason. I couldn’t stand by again…” She paused. Swallowed.
Again?
“Maeve,” I said slowly, “what do you mean…again?”
“I’ve been so racked with guilt all these years. That’s why…that’s why I have to tell you… Ava lied to you.”
I let out a snort. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
Maeve shook her head. “No, you don’t know this. But if you do, perhaps you can use it against her. For the case, I mean. I know she’s suing you.”
A trickle of hope broke through my grey din. I narrowed my eyes at Maeve. She could be lying. Ava could have sent her over to feed me bullshit to fuck up my case against her.
“How do I know this isn’t a trick? Some kind of scheme Ava’s cooked up to fuck me up even more.”
Maeve’s eyes widened. She shook her head vehemently. “I wouldn’t. I’m not. She and I aren’t even friends anymore.”
Strangely I believed her.
“Let’s say I believe you. What could you possibly know about Ava that could help me?”
“Four years ago… She was never pregnant.”
Everything in my world froze.
The clock ticked.
One second.
Two.
“What?”
Maeve shook her head, her eyes growing wide with apprehension. “She was worried you were going to leave her. Said you were spending too much time with this…girl.”
Fuck.
“She decided to fake a pregnancy. She knew you’d ‘do the right thing’,” Maeve marked these bitter words with finger quotes, “you’d marry her, move back here with her.”
The fucking bitch.
Anger boiled inside me so hot it felt like it was blistering on my skin.
But on the outside, I was frozen in disbelief that a woman I once shared a bed with could do such a thing.
“She asked me to fake the doctor’s pregnancy test. Here’s the proof.” She handed out two slips of paper to me that she pulled from her jacket pocket.
I unfolded them and stared at each one.
On the first paper was a pregnancy test result for someone named Emer Ellis.
“I’m sorry,” Maeve said, dipping her chin. “I know I should have told you earlier. I wanted to.”
This whole fucking marriage was a sham.
All these years I’d suffered her making a fool out of me while she ran around with my last name and with other men.
I held myself back because I thought to be married to Ava meant something.
Half of me wanted to punch a hole in the closest wall. The other part wanted to grab Maeve and shake her. But I forced myself to remain calm, at least on the outside.
Four years ago, I would have blown up, completely lost the plot at this revelation. But now, now just I wanted to be done with Ava.
I wanted it to be done. Out. Over.
Then I could go after what was really important. Or who…
A small, maniacal part of me began to laugh as a plan began to form.
Ava yanked open her apartment door at
my banging. “What do ye—? Diarmuid?”
Her hand went to brush back her bedhead, her lids batting at me, her chest pushing out towards me so her robe split apart.
Unbelievable.
I knew she had a guy in there with her. I could fucking smell him on her.
I didn’t care one fucking bit.
I pointed my finger in her face. “I know how much of a liar you’ve been, Ava.”
Ava’s face changed from sultry to pissed. “If you’re not here to play nice, you can speak to my fucking lawyer.”
I shoved a copy of the two pregnancy tests in her face. “My lawyer has the originals.”
She grabbed the paper, her hands shaking, her mouth dropping open. “Where’d you—?”
“Doesn’t matter. I found it.”
She looked up at me, fear in her eyes. “I can explain.”
“Save it. I didn’t come here for an explanation.”
Ava swallowed. “What do ye want, Diarmuid? You want me to say I’m sorry?”
“No.” I leaned in. “Drop the fucking case, give me a fucking divorce and don’t ever EVER darken my door again.”
I banged on Moina’s door, hoping to hell that she still lived here. Otherwise I was plum out of leads to follow in hunting Saoirse down in Dublin.
I heard footsteps inside and moments later the door opened.
Moina stood in the doorway, barely changed since I saw her last, four years ago.
She jammed her arms across her chest. “It’s about bloody time you came looking for her.” Moina raised an eyebrow. “What kept ye?”
I snorted. “You haven’t seen the news?” I asked in disbelief.
She shook her head. “Don’t watch or read that poison. The media is full of shit.”
Well, that explained a lot.
“Trust me,” I said, “I came as soon as I could.”
Moina didn’t probe any further, merely stepped aside to let me in.
Her apartment hadn’t changed, still neat and cozy. Perhaps a few more used books with well-worn spines crammed into her shelf.
Moina closed the door and I spun to face her.
“So…where is she?”
Moina pursed her lips. “Unfortunately, I’ve been sworn to secrecy. I can’t tell you where Saoirse’s gone.”
“What? Tell me why she left me, then.”
Moina pressed her lips together and gave me a look. “I can’t tell you anything.”
“What was the point of letting me in, then?” I spluttered with frustration.
Moina narrowed her eyes at me, then walked over to the bookshelf. “Saoirse was really upset when she arrived here. I can’t tell you why, but let’s just say, it was not her choice to leave you.”
Not her choice…
She was forced? By who?
Ava.
The realisation dawned on me as soon as I asked the question. I’d been so dumb. Of course Saoirse wouldn’t leave unless she thought she had to.
Hope rose in me. Maybe there was a chance she’d take me back.
“Like I said,” Moina continued, “I can’t tell you where she’s gone. But I can’t be responsible if you draw your own conclusions.”
She pulled out a piece of paper from the bookcase and gave me a look before she walked over to her tiny dining room table and placed the piece of paper onto the empty tabletop.
What was that piece of paper?
Moina walked up to me and grabbed my arm, squeezing it. “She loves you so much. Do you love her?”
“With everything I am.”
Moina’s eyes grew wet. “Then go get her.”
Moina took a step back and cleared her throat. “I’m going to the bathroom. Which means I’ll have to leave you here alone.” She gave me a pointed look as if to say, you get it?
I nodded slightly, my eyes darting over her shoulder to that piece of paper on the table.
Moina walked out of the room and I pounced on the paper.
It was an acceptance letter addressed to Saoirse Quinn.
From the University of Queensland for a full science scholarship.
My heart warmed.
She did apply for the scholarships. And she got one.
My smart, beautiful girl. You make me so proud.
“You got everything you need?” Moina asked, stepping back into the room.
I kissed her cheek and waved the paper. “Thank you. Hang on, selkie, I’m coming to get you.”
I called Declan on my hands-free as soon as I got in the car.
“What’s the craic, asshole?” Declan said when he answered the phone.
“Mate, I’m going after Saoirse.”
“Fucking finally.” I could practically hear Declan fist pumping in the background. The brute was a closet romantic. “You found her, then? Where is she?”
“Australia.”
“What? Hang on, we need Danny here, too.”
I heard a hold tone. Twenty seconds later two excited voices came over the phone, Declan and Danny.
“Shit, are you really going to go get her?” Danny asked. Declan must have caught him up to speed already.
“Yes,” I said.
“Even though you’re shit-scared of planes.”
I gritted my teeth, already breaking out into a cold fucking sweat at the idea of getting on one of those flying death traps. “Yes.”
“Road trip!” Declan called.
“What? The two of you eejits are not coming.”
Declan snorted. “We are if you want to use my jet.”
His jet?
“Since when do you have a fucking jet?” Danny asked.
“Just bought it,” Declan said. “Hawker Beechwood, interior’s just been updated.”
Danny let out a whistle.
“I do not need to use your private jet,” I said. “You two are not coming.”
That was final.
“This is one sweet plane,” Danny said as he dropped into the leather seat in front of me.
Declan had just finished taking us on a tour through his new indulgent purchase, a private jet with five cabin areas done up in black leather and wood. Bold and masculine, just like its owner.
“Got a pretty good deal for it too.” Declan eased himself onto the couch that ran along one wall. His eyes flicked to me. “You okay, Diarmuid?”
“Fine,” I said through my clenched jaw.
He raised his eyebrow. “Really?”
“Really.”
“’Cause you look like you’re about to rip my armrest to shreds.”
I glanced down. My knuckles were white, nails digging into the leather armrest. I forced my fingers open like rusty hinges.
“Well, it’s a twenty-four-hour flight including layover in Abu Dhabi. What d’ye say we play a game.” Declan pulled out a deck of cards with one hand and a bottle of Macallan aged whiskey with the other.
Danny straightened up. “Hell yeah.”
I let out a groan. “Hell no. The last time we played, someone lost their eyebrows.”
Danny snorted.
Declan chuckled and threw a wadded-up napkin at me. “Don’t fall asleep early on us like a fuckin’ grandma.”
“It’s nine in the morning.”
“It’s six o’clock where we’re headed.” Declan began to pour healthy fingers of amber liquid into three glasses.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Not playing. Not drinking.”
“You just don’t want to get your ass whooped again.”
“You have never whooped my ass in poker.”
Declan raised an eyebrow.
“Chicken,” coughed Danny.
“I think you still owe me fifty quid from the last game,” Declan said as he shuffled the deck.
I snorted. “I owe you nothing, cheater.”
I knew what they were doing. Trying to distract me. And it was working.
Half an hour later we were crowded around the table, on our third drink and several hands in, using onion and cheese Tayto cris
ps as our poker “chips”. I barely registered it as the plane taxied onto the runway.
Declan leaned over and grabbed one of Danny’s crisps, stuffing it into his mouth.
“Hey, eat your own damn crisps,” Danny said, swatting at him.
Declan grinned. “Crisps always taste nicer when they’re someone else’s.”
Danny caught my eye and grinned. He and I both snatched a handful of Declan’s crisps, fitting as many of them as possible in our respective mouths.
“Hey!” Declan cried.
“Hmmm, you’re totally right, Dex,” I said through a mouthful of stolen crisps.
“Tastes so much better,” mumbled Danny.
“Bullies,” Declan muttered, but he had a smile on his face.
I flinched as the plane’s engine roared. As we took off down the runway, I tightened my belt as much as it would go, my heart feeling like it was going to bang out of my fucking chest.
“Your turn, Diarmuid,” I heard Danny say.
I squeezed my eyes shut as the point of the plane lifted off and my stomach dropped. Saoirse’s face flashed in my head and I felt her all around me.
I’m coming, selkie. I’d cross the fucking world for you.
I don’t believe in the paranormal or any of that shit. But in that plane, I swear, I felt her presence like a calming warmth around my shoulders. And I relaxed just a little.
The plane leveled off in the air and my shoulders relaxed completely.
I opened my eyes to see Danny and Declan watching me.
I shot them both a smirk and dropped a handful of crisps into the pot. “Ready to have your asses handed to ye?”
83
____________
Diarmuid
Australia.
Fucking hot as shite.
Sweat was pooling down the small of my back as Declan, Danny and I strode through the University of Queensland campus.
Danny, sweet-talker that he was, was able to get Saoirse’s details off the very smitten college housing administrator. Moody bastard as he was, that boy could sweet-talk the pants off a nun if he wanted to. A handy skill to have when writing love song lyrics.
I was planning on waiting until she’d finished class. Until she’d come home and I could surprise her on her doorstep, when we’d have plenty of time to catch up.
