Mara just went on, oblivious.
“I’ve known that man long enough to know when he’s getting laid,” she explained in this carefree tone like she was half-heartedly complaining about the rain instead of discussing her ex-husband's love life.
Evie felt her face drain of all colour, while her palms began sweating again. She felt like she was going to choke again and put the latte down. At least she could take solace in the fact that her boss did not sound condemning. Mara sounded piteous.
Evie wasn’t sure which scenario was scarier.
“Oh, Coinneach tried to hide it,” she went on, shaking her head fondly and flipping a lock of her long dark hair back from her face, “but he’s so terribly transparent.”
Evie cocked an eyebrow at that, as her teeth began to worry at the inside of her cheek. It was great that Mara wasn’t enraged by the prospect of the two of them together, but where was all of this headed then? What was the point of bringing it up, if it didn’t bother her?
“And I wouldn’t have intervened,” Mara stated, placing a particular emphasis on the last word, “if I didn’t respect you as much as I do.”
This was said like a declaration. Evie could see that it was harder for the woman to make this last point than it had been to admit she knew they were sleeping together. Mara reached her hand forward, placing it over top of Evie’s own, an awkward bonding gesture, “You deserve the truth…and I know Coinneach won’t give that to you.”
“What?” Evie finally managed, bristling beneath the woman’s benevolence.
Evie pulled her hand away. The movement was a little too quick to not be ostensibly rude, so she settled her hands in her lap. She received a hard look from those dark piercing eyes.
Mara gave a sad shake of her head. In that same smarmy know-it-all voice that she used with her patients, she revealed, “Connieach is a very proud man. Always has been and stubbornly, always will be. He won’t tell you the truth, because he can’t admit the truth to himself.”
This sounded more like a riddle to the redhead than sound advice or mentorship. Evie wanted to rebuke her boss for playing such childish games, but she couldn’t form the words. She couldn’t rebuke her boss, Mara signed her paychecks.
“I thought it best that I tell you. That way, you can make an informed decision about how you wish to proceed.”
Mara talked much more fondly about meeting her husband than he certainly had. Mara reminisced about their younger years together with relished pleasure, going into florid detail as she explained how they met and how they had fallen madly in love. A whirlwind romance, a passion so magnetic that no one and nothing could pull them apart. She spoke about how hard it had been to allow Connie to give up his education for the sake of her own, how happy she had been to behold and encourage his creative passions in turn, when he had approached her with his ideas for designing eyeglasses.
“But Coinneach is a proud man,” she repeated for what seemed like the millionth time. It was melancholy now, as she tacked on, “and he has never handled rejection well.”
For the first time, Evie could sense that this ice-woman had actual feelings. She could see that this recollection was harder for Mara than all the rest, as she broached the end of Thistle and the end of their marriage in her story. “It was challenging to try and find an investor without knowing how and even though the store was a success, we were stretched too thin to finance the launch of the frame line on our own.”
Evie could sense the disappointment that Connie must have felt, having his dreams tossed aside by bank after bank. She had seen it for herself this time around.
“But we could have weathered that storm,” Mara regretfully recalled, “We would have found a way through it, even though he had pulled away from me because of it.”
The girl could see the woman’s pain now, the way it had broken her. The woman’s dark eyes were glassy now with it, and Evie wasn’t sure what she would do if tears were shed.
Mara’s head bobbed up, her mouth curving into a broader smile to cover the pain. “That’s why it was so hard to give him up,” she admitted, “when I realized he was in love. Not with me, like I had so blindly believed…but with Ian.”
Evie felt like her head was a basketball, set spinning on a finger to the awed gasps of hundreds of children in a crowded stadium. Her hands gripped the sides of the small table. It was either her, or the room was spinning, but either way, it took all her strength to keep herself upright in the chair and not vomit.
Connie’s not in love with Ian! They’re both dudes, she argued with herself. They fight more than they talk. She had a million different denials coursing through her, roadblocked at the tip of her tongue, and all she managed was a very weak, “no.”
“It’s true, Evangeline,” Mara repeated, her eyes intense now, boring holes into Evie, “He will never admit it, but it’s true. That’s why I had to tell you. I don’t want to see the same thing that happened to me happen to you. You deserve better than that.”
Evie felt her emotions rev, her fear and anxiety roadkill beneath the rage that coursed through her veins like the screaming engine of a muscle-car pushed to its max. “No,” she retaliated, the words strained through her clenched teeth.
Mara’s gaze hardened at the sight of her resistance. She set her jaw and enforced, “That’s why Ian moved away. It took a while, but soon, it was all I could see. I left Coinneach, so he could be happy, and the stubborn arse turned around and drove Ian away. He blamed him for our divorce, and after Ian was gone, he blamed me.”
Evie shook her head as she felt the heat of her own cheeks blazing. “You expect me to believe,” she retorted, a sudden boost of confidence, making her spit out the words, “that Connie…that he’s gay?”
“He’s bisexual,” Mara corrected, “That’s why he’s focused on you. You’re his distraction. His denial. You’re his way of proving to himself and everyone else that he’s not.”
Evie turned away from her boss, scrambling to her feet and struggling into her coat. She couldn’t stay here and listen to this any longer. It was just absurd!
Mara’s secure grip snatched her wrist, her own anger and pain resurfacing, raw on her features as she hissed, “That’s what ruined the business. That’s why he packed all the frames away and tried to forget about them. It was to punish himself for the mess that he had made because he cannot admit that he is in love with his best friend.”
◆◆◆
Evie knew that what she had been told was a complete fabrication. The delusions of a very spiteful, very desperate ex-wife. Mara must have felt insanely jealous to find out that the man she dumped on his ass was not down and out, but had in fact, traded up.
None of it was true. Connie could not possibly be gay—or bi or whatever Mara had insisted he was! He just wasn’t.
Evie’s cheeks were hot and wet, as raindrops slowly built into a downpour. She ducked under the awning of a nearby flower shop and swiped under her eyes. She fumbled in the bag for the umbrella as her phone vibrated in her back pocket.
There were two messages on her home screen.
A.W. - Done with your boss. Want to meet up and hang out:)
C.S. - Join me for a celebratory toast? I’m at Rockstar’s.
The redhead read both messages twice. She wanted to be with both of them. She knew that Andy had an early flight the next morning, and she could use a laugh with him to forget about Mara’s blindsided revenge tactic. Yet, she felt ashamed to spend the evening with another man when Connie was so deserving of some praise and celebration. Making out with the Gaelic god at the pub would be just what she needed to prove his ex-wife was a clawing grasping she-devil trying to tear them apart.
‘Out of respect for me’? Ha! She’s so conniving, Evie thought bitterly. She wondered how long it had taken Mara to come up with that script, her every word carefully crafted, cloaked to try and disguise her real intention. Evie wasn’t going to fall for it.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped out f
rom under the awning and flicked the umbrella open. It didn’t take her long to reach The One Horned Mare. When she came through the familiar door, she was delighted indeed to be greeted by Connie’s gregarious smile, as he regaled the regulars with his good news. She arrived right on time. Rockstar handed her a drink just as the entire taproom raised a glass for a toast.
Connie encircled her waist, and they all cheered, as the designer crushed her against his muscular body. They spent the rest of the evening canoodling—or what Evie thought canoodling must look like. Their hands never left one another, pushing the boundaries of what was acceptable. He told her all about the contract and the plan, mapping out what their next few weeks would look like. Everything was moving quickly now. Time was going to fly by, and they would be at the frame launch before they knew it.
Evie tried so hard to enjoy herself, wanting with every part of her being to leave behind what Mara had said and just relish this time she had with Connie all to herself. She drowned the pestering remembrance of his ex-wife’s revelation in blackberry mojito’s. She tried her damndest not to dissect the Scot and his every mannerism—tried not to spot clues that either confirmed or assuaged her fears.
The redhead knew she must be failing.
Tension filtered into their revelry, like a thick miasma that poisoned their touches and repelling their affections. Knowing that the night was sunk, Evie decided to head back to her flat. Connie offered to walk her, and although she was sure the uncomfortable tension would follow them, she accepted. On the way, they kept their hands in their own pockets and struggled to make small talk.
Finally, as they crossed over the bridge and came to the apartment block where her flat was, Connie’s warm fingers snatched at her hand, slamming her back into the sidewall of the building. Shadows encompassed them, the light from the street lamps shaded by the canopy of a large tree. His face was close, his lips near her cheek, but they were both locked. Their joints seized by the rancour of miasmatic tension that had taken their evening hostage.
Evie wanted to just have out with it—wanted to rid herself of this awfulness that had leeched between them. Surely, he knew, and this was his way of confronting Mara’s treacherous lies.
In a harsh whisper, Connie demanded, “Did ya sleep with ‘em?”
Evie’s eyes blinked blankly.
The question was like a knuckle sandwich, right on the kisser, and left her seeing stars. Had she heard him right? Her mind scrambled to catch up, to take in, to understand. Connie took this as resistance. His hand closed, crushing Evie’s fingers, making her knuckles grind together. She winced and bit back the pain. In a tone more venomous than the first, Connie repeated his demand.
“I saw ya with the investor this morning, aye? Being a wee bit more than friendly.”
There was a moment of hesitation. Was Connie waiting for her to confess and repent? His tongue darted out to moisten his bottom lip, “Dinna make me ask ya again, lass. Did ya sleep with ‘em or no’?”
Evie felt something deep inside of her chest snap.
It was sharp and painful, like the breaking of a mirror—something once beautiful, now jagged and dangerous. Evie tore her hand free from his. She planted both firmly against his chest and shoved as hard as she could.
Connie moved only slightly. Knowing that it was because he allowed it, infuriating her further. She glared up at the Gaelic god’s contorted features, seeing only his ugly jealousy.
“How dare you!” she spat up at him.
Evie could see the muscles of his jaw flex as his hands tightened into fists at his sides. Her outburst did little to dissuade him. He peered down his straight nose at her disdainfully.
“Ya stayed behind with him last night.” Connie indignantly suggested, too provoked to sound aloof, even though he tried, “What would ya have me thinkin’ then?”
“He’s my friend!” she screamed, waspishly at him.
All the pent-up rage and disappointment and hurt bubbled up within her, like an atom splitting. It lashed out of Evie with a force she had never known she could wield. It felt relieving to have it out and directed at his absurd accusations, like the cap popping from a shaken soda. “I’ve known him for years! Online! We never met until last night.”
Connie’s face was red as he roared back at her, “And you invited him back to yer place, no? After you’ve been tellin’ me we canna be together, because of yer flatmate.”
His words were just as heated, just as raucous as her own had been. They bounced back and forth off the cement walls that enclosed the small walkway to the condo park, taunting both with their echoes. He threw his arms out in a come-get-me gesture, as he dared her, “Go ahead…deny it again!”
Evie was livid. She felt herself take a menacing step forward, no longer in control of the power that coursed through her. “You’re one to talk,” she thundered, shoving him back again with her fists, “when your fucking boyfriend is sleeping on your bloody couch!”
The air between them crackled, lit with the electrical charge of the altercation, even as their bodies stilled. The only sound Evie could hear was the booming of her galloping heart, and the rapid heaving of her panted breaths. The redhead felt flushed from head to toe, the heat coursing through her, surely roiling off like she was steaming. Evie couldn’t believe what he had accused her of. Worse yet, she found it even harder to understand what she had of him. Could this day get any more mental?!
They both stood there, trying to catch their breath and their wits.
Evie wasn’t sure what to do. Her resentment was ebbing, giving way to the overwhelming wave of guilt that rushed in to fill its wake. Her eyes stung, her throat seized, and her joints ached as she loosened the white-knuckled clench of her fingers. Her head felt like a blender—someone had shoved all these emotions inside of her and then hit the kill switch, emulsifying her brain. She wasn’t sure what was running out of her now, but whatever it was, it was stinky and raw and tasted like crap.
Connie looked no better. His dark brows were lowered over his eyes. Those beautifully patterned orbs that sparkled like a kaleidoscope when he was jovial, now seemed devoid of colour, as flat and hard as stone. The shadows cast menacingly across his features, carving out his cheekbones and jawline, leaving him towering over her like a dark and sinister comic book villain. If she had not been charged by the argument, she might have even felt threatened by his hulking presence looming over her.
Instead, Evie just felt spent.
Her fighting posture wilted, her gaze left the awfulness of his dull eyes, and she closed them with regret. She heard a shuffling movement. Open again, she saw Connie take an apprehensive step towards her. It was not enough to close the gap but was an attempt to perhaps bridge it.
“I take it, Mara told ya that,” his voice was stiff. It was not a demand, as many of his other heated words had been. This was soft, almost as weak as it was disgruntled. A quest to separate assumption and deduction from the truth.
There was a blaze of heat that raced up her sternum, stinging the back of her throat. She felt vile and repulsed by the way she had used what Mara had given her as ammunition against him. Her stomach pitched and twisted, as the sting of her eyes gave way to tears that spilled down her cheeks. Horrified by the hot wetness on her skin, Evie hastily swiped at them. The gush made her hands feel like tiny wipers on a large windshield in a hurricane—no hope of keeping up. In shame and defeat, she plastered her hands against her entire face, shielding Connie from the uncensored grief that contorted her features as her chest tightened and hiccupped with the unbidden burble of ugly sobs.
Good grief, Evie, she rebuked herself, disturbed by her lack of control, this is why you can’t keep a man! This is why your relationships fail. No one wants to be with an emotionally immature female volcano that could erupt at any moment into an endless flow of furious ugly crying!
Evie felt pressure on her shoulders and then the strength of Connie’s arms as they encircled her. She collapsed into his chest, like a to
wer toppling after the throes of an earthquake. Her tear fogged glasses pressed uncomfortably between them, as the wetness was rubbed from her cheeks against his dress shirt. She felt his cheek against the crown of her head as he supported her.
You’re an idiot! A complete, undeniably stupid, idiot, she berated herself, as though it might stay the coursing tears and terribly loud blubbering, if he wasn’t going to leave you earlier, you have sure as hell sealed the deal. Go on, cry some more. Nothing spells ‘keeper’ like mascara stains on a white dress shirt.
The acrid thoughts did little to staunch the tears. They flowed on, heedless of her intrepid mortification, and even though the embarrassment was overwhelming, Evie still had enough room to take comfort in the warmth of the body sheltering her through this storm.
How was it possible to hate someone so bitterly, then turn around and desire them so completely?
Warm hands ran soothingly over her shoulder blades, and she felt the press of Connie’s cheek against her temple. In a low voice, Connie solemnly swore, “It’s not true, Evie.”
The redhead thought of what his ex-wife had told her in the coffee shop. The innocent caution that Mara had hastened to warn her, like a weedling worm munching into the core of her brain. Who was the real fool? Evie had made gun shells out of it and fired away. Had it been in self-defence or had she intended for it to hurt? She wasn’t sure she could make that distinction anymore.
Connie’s hands smoothed her hair. An earnest whisper in her ear determined to emphasize, “Whatever she told ya, it’s not true.”
“I know,” she managed through her sobs.
The Scot pulled her away, lifted her chin so he could look down into her face. His mouth was a soft curve, and she repeated it, needing to stress it. “I know.”
His dark head dipped forward, his mouth pressing against the tremble of her own. The kiss deepened as he encompassed her. He drew her against him, no longer to support her, but so that their bodies melded together as one.
Seeing Colour Page 28
