I did this, turning in his arms, lifting my hands to his biceps, and most importantly, catching his eyes.
“When I say I lost it,” I whispered when he was looking down at me. “I lost it, Mickey. Like, lost it. I went more than a little crazy. I was hurt and I wanted them to hurt so I made them hurt. I went out of my way to do it. I took every opportunity to do it and if there weren’t any, I created them. I did not do what I should have done, felt the pain, but powered through it for myself and my kids. I nursed it and fed from it and behaved selfishly, thoughtlessly, and worst of all, spitefully.”
“He fucked and got engaged to another woman while he was married to you, babe. Again, within your rights,” Mickey told me.
“For three years?” I asked.
He didn’t even blink.
He asked back, “Is there a time limit for bein’ pissed about betrayal?”
“My kids saw it, Mickey.”
To that, he said nothing.
My heart pinched but I had to keep going.
“I should have shielded them from it. I can’t say it was frequently. But it was not rare. It happened at their school events. When Conrad would pick up the kids. When I’d pick them up. They should have never seen that. And what they didn’t see, they heard. I connived to find ways to get into it with Conrad and Martine, embarrass them, take my pain out on them. I went to Conrad’s practice. I went to the hospital where Martine worked. I wanted everyone to know what kind of people they were. In the end, it was only me I made a fool of.”
“How’d your kids know about that other shit?” Mickey asked.
“Eventually, as he went for more and more custody, Conrad shared it with them. Before they came here, they were old enough to speak with the judge and decide who they wanted to live with. I made it so they did not want to live with me.”
Mickey’s mouth got tight but he said through it, “He shouldn’t have done that, Amy.”
“I shouldn’t have given him the ammunition to do it, Mickey,” I returned and shook my head, looking to his shoulder, dropping my voice and admitting, “I don’t think you understand how bad I got. How ugly I was. Petty and stupid. He had no choice but to push things with me, and in the end, move across the country to make his family safe from my ugliness.”
When Mickey didn’t say anything, panic started leaking into me.
I lifted my eyes to his and assured urgently, “I know this is crazy. But that isn’t me anymore. If there’s a lesson to be learned, any mother will learn it when her children are taken from her. I learned it, Mickey. I fell into a pit of agony that I dug myself and allowed myself to drown in it, wanting to pull everyone down there with me. And I went to extremes to do that, taking my kids with me. I didn’t deserve to keep them because no good mother behaved like me. But the minute Conrad and Martine moved out here and took my kids with them, I knew something had to change. Months, I gave them, seeing my kids one weekend every four weeks, and I gave them that to give them a break from me. I did this planning to move out here, fix my relationship with the kids, heal my family so I could give my babies something that would be safe and healthy. So I went crazy, but I learned. I learned that was not me. That was someone else. But she was not me.”
When I stopped talking and he simply continued to stare down at me impassively, I turned my head and looked to the sea, knowing he thought I was a psycho bitch, a terrible mother, and if things went bad between us, he’d be treated to the same thing.
And I lived right across the street.
This was our beginning and our end just as I knew, when he’d learned the worst in me, it would be.
I clenched my teeth as the tears threatened, but I didn’t blame him.
That didn’t mean I wasn’t bleeding.
“You done?” he asked matter-of-factly.
My eyes shot to his.
“Yes,” I answered tentatively.
“Raised by nannies,” he stated strangely.
“I’m sorry?”
“Growing up, your parents give you anything?”
I knew what he was asking, shook my head, but said, “Well, they taught me I should act appropriately, which in this case was championing all my shenanigans because they also taught me a Bourne-Hathaway should demand to be treated a whole lot better than Conrad treated me.”
“A Bourne-Hathaway?”
“Mom’s a Bourne,” I told him then reluctantly kept the information flowing. “As in Bourne-Tran Freight and Shipping.”
His eyes got slightly wide as his arms convulsed around me before his gaze went over my head and he sighed.
He’d heard of Bourne-Tran.
Not surprising.
“Oil and shipping,” he muttered.
Strike two.
I had a feeling I wouldn’t be getting to strike three.
“You’ve never heard of me and we’re not objects of fascination because great-granddad Hathaway was into privacy,” I stated stupidly and Mickey looked down at me, expression still impassive. “He was a very smart man, so even back then he saw the way of things and decreed that any of his offspring would behave with decorum. Flash and attention and exploits were not tolerated, and he guaranteed this by putting a codicil on all Calway money that would guarantee if this ever happened, a trust fund wouldn’t be awarded, and if it happened after, it would be rescinded. We lived quiet, at his command, even if he’s long since dead. And Mom and Dad were perfect for each other since her family had much the same philosophy.” I looked to his throat and finished, “Though, Uncle Hugh is a bit of a wild one.”
“Amy,” Mickey called.
I looked to him.
“So you’re an oil and shipping heiress,” he noted.
I nodded.
“Raised by nannies,” he went on.
I nodded again.
“And you’re not tight with your parents,” he kept going.
I shook my head.
“Your brother?” he asked.
“Lawr barely speaks to them,” I whispered then added inanely, “At least he barely speaks to Dad.”
“Right,” he grunted, then he said, “So you’re an oil and shipping heiress with a shit ton of money who got married, had kids, then your husband fucked you over. Until then, your life had been golden and you probably had everything you ever wanted, except what was important. So when something you wanted was taken away from you, you had no clue how to deal and no foundation to keep you solid. What you did have was parents who felt you should stick it to your ex because he had the audacity to fuck over a Bourne-Hathaway.”
My life hadn’t been golden.
But I knew what he was saying.
“That’s pretty much it,” I kept whispering.
Mickey nodded once. “How long were you with him?”
“Married sixteen years. But we were together for three before we were married.”
Something moved through his eyes at my answer but he didn’t address that.
He stated, “So he fucked you over, you lost it, and went psycho on his ass.”
Yes, there it was, he thought I was psycho.
“Yeah,” I confirmed.
“And your parents didn’t advise you to go psycho by hiring a really fuckin’ good attorney?” he asked.
“I had that too,” I shared. “I just lost sight of priorities and didn’t let him fight like he wanted to because I didn’t want it to get ugly for the kids.”
“But they saw a different kind of ugly.”
I couldn’t say it aloud again so I just nodded.
“Shit happens, Amy.”
I felt my lips part.
It took a while but I finally asked, “I’m sorry?”
“Honest to Christ, I’m actually shocked you had it in you to pull yourself together at all.”
I was so surprised, I couldn’t say anything.
Mickey didn’t feel the same way and kept speaking.
“Grew up, you know I had money, not like you but in this town we were part of the elite,
” he told me. “Dad got offered membership to the Club. Granddad didn’t because he was Irish and he was Catholic and they were assholes. They were still assholes when they offered membership to Dad, who’s also obviously Irish and Catholic, but by that time, he made so much money, they felt they could lift their racist, bigoted, unwritten rule and offered it to him anyway. He took it just so he could find ways to shove it up their asses.”
When he stopped speaking and didn’t go on, without anything else to say, I said, “Okay.”
With this prompt, Mickey continued, “So Dad went and got drunk and loud and obnoxious and loved every minute knowin’ those arrogant fuckers hated it. Dad let his boys go knowin’ we’d get drunk and loud and obnoxious too. We upped it by doin’ that as well as gettin’ into fights with any stick-up-his-ass asshole who looked at us funny, and you probably get there were a lot of them. He also probably knew we’d go all out to get whatever rich bitch pussy we could nail, which is undoubtedly why he snuck us condoms, puttin’ ’em under our pillows.”
I emitted a soft gasp at this but didn’t respond verbally.
So Mickey kept going.
“And we did. Had my fill of spoiled little rich girl, Amy, and none of them were near as well-off as you. They grew up and some are still around, and not one of ’em has it in ’em to learn a fuckin’ thing except to think they’re entitled to have what they want and do whatever they wanna do and they don’t give that first fuck if it’s right or wrong or hurts anybody.”
“I—” I started but stopped when his arms got extra tight and he dipped his face so it was close to mine.
“You stumbled,” he stated firmly. “Then you picked your ass up, opened your eyes and saw what was important and started fightin’ for it. So you fucked up. Now you’re makin’ it right. And that’s the only thing that means anything.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“Do you…really think that?” I asked.
“Fuck yeah,” he answered. “The mistakes we make in life don’t define us, Amy. The way we handle ’em after makin’ ’em do. You made a mistake. Now you’re handling it and doing it the right way and that’s who you are. A mother who wants to heal her family and make them safe and healthy. So really, you got that strength in you, that’s all you ever were. Your ex tripped you up and you weren’t expecting it and you didn’t handle it right. But that’s over, so you gotta find the strength to keep handling it right now.”
“I…it’s hard to get over the making the mistake part.”
He lifted his head away, but not far. “Yeah, what you lost makin’ yours, I get that. But the root of this issue is not your burden to bear. I understand how it went down, but a cheater manipulating a bad situation he created, gettin’ the upper hand with his kids and continuing to beat down the wife he fucked over.” He shook his head. “No. You get that now, I’m seeing. But I’ll repeat…no. You’re right. You know it and I don’t have to say it, but your kids shouldn’t have seen that. But what I saw is this guy who shared your bed for sixteen years then tore your family apart and sent you reeling up in your face at your front door without you buyin’ that shit at all, just movin’ to be close to your kids. He’s a motherfucking asshole, Amy, and in all this, whatever you served up to him, he bought that and deserved every second of the shit you shoved down his throat. So that…you let go. Because that’s not on you.”
“I shouldn’t have licked my wounds, kept them fresh, torn at them more, Mickey,” I told him. “I should have taken my licks, sorted myself out and moved on.”
“Rhiannon was passed out every night before I could make love to her and that shit went on for months,” he declared.
I stared.
But he wasn’t done.
“Seein’ my wife like that, sloppy drunk before she was unconscious, half the time she got to that point, she still had a wineglass in her hand. So many stains on the carpet, I had to put new in when she moved out because the carpet was a mess but more, to erase those memories for my kids and for me. So I didn’t have it in me to go for it when she was sober. A man needs to fuck, Amy, and I was dry for eight months when I had a wife in my bed and I still never even considered steppin’ out on her. She was my wife. Good or bad, you do not do that shit. It’s bad, you end it and then you find ass to tap.”
“Conrad made love to me the night before he told me he was leaving me,” I whispered and watched Mickey’s jaw go hard.
“Fuck, he’s a motherfucking asshole,” he bit out.
I curled my hands tight on his biceps and asked, “Does all I’ve admitted honestly not cause you alarm?”
“That you’re human?” he asked back.
And again, Lawr was right.
“I guess,” I said quietly.
“Anyone can find themselves in a place they don’t wanna be, and even knowin’ they don’t wanna be there, they can’t get out. It’s findin’ it in you to get out that says it all about you, Amy. So no. I’m not alarmed you’re human. In fact, knowin’ this shit, I went from likin’ you to likin’ you a fuckuva lot more.”
I couldn’t believe that either.
I wanted to believe but it seemed too easy.
“Really?” I asked, my voice pitched higher.
His face again dipped lower as did his voice. “Yeah, baby.”
“It was ugly,” I reiterated.
“Life isn’t always beauty,” he returned. “Most of the time it’s shit. But you keep fightin’ to turn it around, that says it all about you. And you’re fightin’. As a fighter too, I fuckin’ love that in you.”
Oh God.
It was that easy.
My voice dipped lower too when I said, “I love it that you understand.”
“I love it that you had the courage to give that to me,” he replied.
Oh God!
I was going to start crying.
In case that happened, I ducked my head and shoved my face in his chest.
Mickey started stroking my back with one hand as he said into the top of my hair, “You got your face in my chest, we can’t make out on the wharf for the five minutes we got left before we gotta go get my boy.”
I instantly took my face out of his chest, but even though I wanted a kiss, that wasn’t why I did it.
I did it to beg, “Don’t go home and think on this, Mickey, think on it and decide differently. Decide I’m some whackjob, psycho, crazy lady you’re worried about starting something with, worried about her being around your kids. Because I might not have known who I was before I moved to Maine, but I’ve spent a lot of time figuring it out once I got here, and that is not me.”
He stopped stroking my back and used that hand to cup my cheek. “Good I got your assurance on that, but don’t need it. I’m thinkin’ I knew who you were before you knew, and you’re worried about something that’s just not gonna happen.”
“Okay,” I said shakily as the vision of him started getting misty. “Now I like you a fuckuva lot more.”
I got his misty smile before he dipped his head and then I got his warm lips.
He kissed me.
It wasn’t wild and hard and amazing.
It was slow and sweet and amazing.
And apparently it lasted five minutes, because when he ended it, he lifted his head and whispered, “Gotta go pick up Cill, darlin’.”
I held on because I had to (slow and sweet also did a number on me) and I nodded.
He gently pulled away but held my hand as he walked me down the wharf and to his truck. He put me in. He got in. He backed out. I took deep breaths.
Then I let all that settle inside me.
I’d fretted.
I’d worried.
And Mickey made it easy.
That was when I smiled.
We drove and got Cillian, who hefted himself into the backseat, crying, “Hey, Amy!” then took up the entire conversation babbling all the way home.
Mickey didn’t drive to his driveway. He drove to mine.
&nbs
p; Then he turned in his seat and said to his son, “You can get out and run home or you can hang and I’ll drive you there, but not makin’ Amy walk in her shoes.”
“Wiped so I’ll hang,” Cillian said to his dad and looked to me. “See you later, Amy.”
I turned in my seat too. “Later, kiddo.”
I got Cillian’s grin, which also brought relief since the last time I saw him he was far from grinning.
Then Mickey and I got out and he again held my hand, right in front of his son, as he walked me to my front door.
When we got there and I got it open, he surprised me by stepping in with me.
He also surprised me by shoving me to the side.
It wouldn’t be a surprise after he did this when he took me in his arms and kissed me again, this time hard and deep, but short. So I knew he shoved me to the side so not only could Cillian not see us from the drive, but if Aisling was home, she couldn’t see us from their house.
When he lifted his head, he noted, “Your turn to have us over to dinner, Amy.”
“Tomorrow okay?” I replied instantly and got his easy grin.
“Yeah,” he whispered.
“Good,” I whispered back.
“Kids wanna go back to Dove House,” he told me.
I nodded. I wanted them back too, and so did the oldies.
“I’ll talk to Dela and arrange it with the kids tomorrow night.”
“Great,” he murmured, eyes dropping to my mouth.
That was when I said something I didn’t want to say.
“Cill’s in the truck, honey.”
His gaze lifted to mine. “Right.”
I pressed closer in his arms, tightening mine still around his shoulders. “It was a good night.”
“Yeah.”
“Thank you, Mickey.”
“We’ll do it again, Amy.”
We’d do it again.
I smiled.
He smiled back, dipped in, touched his mouth to mine and let me go.
I walked him to the door, stood in it and watched him walk out.
He was two steps out before he twisted his torso my way.
“Need to wear that dress when I can take it off.”
Wet flooded between my legs and I latched onto the edge of the door with my hand in order to remain standing.
Soaring (9781311625663) Page 27
