She blinked. That was unexpected.
“But you come home,” he continued. “I don’t care if it’s New Hampshire or Georgia, but dammit, Gwen, I want you away from him.”
“After the wedding.”
“No.”
“You don’t get to dictate the terms of my life.” She felt her temper rising, but underneath it, a desperation. “I’ve got commitments here, too!”
His voice was laced with frustration. “Dammit, Gwen, all I want is your love!”
“You have it!”
The line was silent for so long, Gwen worried he might’ve hung up on her, but then he sighed heavily. “Which pains you more, Gwen? Never seeing me again, or never seeing him?”
She sighed, suddenly exhausted with their conversation. “Anthony, why are you doing this?”
“Gwen, if it doesn’t break your heart, is it really love?” he asked, the fight leaving his voice as well.
Her throat clogged, and she made an inarticulate sound.
There was a gentle knock on her door, and it swung open silently. Reilly stood in front of her, his stance relaxed, a small scowl on his face. His black hair was effortlessly tousled, and his sharp hazel eyes found hers immediately, causing her breath to catch. His shoulders filled the doorway, and his head nearly touched the low ceiling.
She closed her eyes and imagined Anthony’s easy smile, his teasing laugh. How he called her Red. How he wanted her to be his wife, forever. Life with him would be easy. He’d give her everything she ever wanted, and all she’d ever have to do was ask.
Life with Reilly would be so hard. He’d have to leave suddenly when called on a mission, strange visitors would show up without notice, and his time would be stretched thin between his Protector duties, his school, and her.
When they were out together, Anthony rarely frowned, and Reilly rarely smiled.
The choice should be obvious, but somehow, it just wasn’t.
She drew a shaky breath. “I don’t know what to say.”
After another moment of silence, he swallowed loudly. “I know now that you were never mine, but losing you still breaks my heart.”
He hung up, and she stared at the blank screen, her heart pounding, her stomach roiling.
“Gwendolyn?”
Reilly’s voice, soft and low and too damn perfect, filtered through her brain fog. She covered her face, her tears falling through her fingers.
She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
She tightened her lips against the oncoming sob, but it was useless. He opened his arms, and she fell into them as she fell apart.
“A fight with Anthony?”
She nodded into his chest.
“Oh, lass. He’s upset you’re staying here.” His voice was gravelly, as though it caused him great pain that he might somehow cause her great pain.
She buried her head deeper into his chest. If he knew the truth of it, he would be wracked with guilt. She couldn’t tell him. He’d insist she leave, go to Anthony, and try to fix it. He’d put her on the plane himself, and away from him was the last place she wanted to be.
But it was probably the only place she should be.
“Do you care to talk about it?” he murmured.
She took a gulp of air, then let out an unsteady breath. “No,” she whispered.
He tightened his arms in response, and for once, she was more than grateful for his silence.
Allowing him to comfort her was something she’d always done, but suddenly she realized that she couldn’t have it all. He couldn’t be the one to comfort her if she married another. He wouldn’t be the one to comfort her when he married another. Her heart hurt with the knowledge, and she cried even harder.
She was destined to love a man who would never love her back, and she knew she could never give her heart to someone else. Her soul demanded one thing, but her mind demanded another.
And her heart was caught in the crossfire.
• • •
Gwen’s face was contorted by the anguish. Her tear-stained cheeks, her red-rimmed eyes…and pain etched into the lines around those eyes. This despair was different than anything she’d ever shown him; perhaps it was the strongest she’d ever experienced.
And he was the cause of it.
Reilly felt ill.
He pulled her off the bed and tucked her into himself, and she tried, unsuccessfully, to take a deep breath.
“Cry as long as you need.”
The words were enough for the dam to burst even further open. She twisted so that they were chest-to-chest, then buried her face into the crook of his neck, clasped her hands around him, and sobbed.
It was, he realized, the sound of her heart breaking.
He’d never felt so helpless, or so worried. He wasn’t a worrier, by any stretch of the imagination. He was one of the very few who had supreme confidence that he was always where he was supposed to be, doing what he was supposed to do. It helped that the Fates vowed to tell him when his time as a Protector was finished, and that until then, his life was secure.
She continued to cry, albeit softer now. In a way, it was worse, for it sounded as though she had lost the best piece of her soul, without any hope of getting it back.
It seemed, from the noises she was making, that she did indeed feel something deep for Anthony. She told Anthony she was staying with him, and the man—rightfully—was upset by that. But by the saints, the man needed to get off his arse and start putting Gwen first. Other people could wait; Gwen deserved to be treated better. She deserved the best of Anthony, not what was left over after he’d given it to others.
For a man to be the recipient of such love, and to not cherish it?
Reilly sighed heavily, seeing the irony in his thoughts. For years he hadn’t given Gwen the best of him. In fact, she sometimes got the worst of him, especially if he’d had a particularly rough go of things during his travels. He knew he could be ornery, and in his foulest of moods, he’d call her just to hear her laugh.
And she’d work so hard to cheer him. She’d coax a chuckle out of him, and after the really bad trips, she’d take the time to come to him. Once, she’d flown over, knocked on his door, handed him a beer, then made herself comfortable on the couch until he’d finished it. No words were spoken; she was simply there for him.
He needed her then, and she knew it. She gave him the best of herself, because she was an angel, and he was a beast.
He’d been so blind, and he was terrified the price for his stupidity was too high to bear. If she would but give him a chance, he would spend every day of the rest of their lives, and the rest of forever, showing her how much she meant to him. He would treat her better than anyone ever could. He may not be perfect, but he was perfect for her.
But did her heart belong to another? He truly couldn’t say, not while she cried herself dry on his shoulder.
What a mess.
Later, after she’d cried herself out, he held her close as she slept the sleep of the emotionally drained.
Eventually, he placed her on the bed, and tucked the covers around her. He watched her sleep, the pain a physical one, her beauty suddenly too much for him to bear. He looked at the pale green walls—her favorite color—and tried to swallow past the enormous lump in his throat.
Was all truly fair in love and war? he wondered, James’s words coming back to him in a rush. He knew he could make her happy. She was his soul mate. But was he hers? He looked at her sleeping figure, his heart as tangled as his thoughts.
He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t try. He would take Colin’s advice, and show her how much she meant to him. He would shower her with chivalry, show her his best side. Keep her smiling and safe. He would make her happy, or die trying.
The dress was a good start, but it was only a start. If she didn’t see it, if she didn’t return his feelings…
He’d let her go.
Reilly loved her too much to do anything else.
Her p
hone buzzed, and he picked it up to silence it. The text showed across the locked screen, and Anthony’s name jumped out at him.
I won’t stop loving you. And maybe that’ll be enough someday. I’ll wait, Gwen. I will. Maybe it’ll be enough, and you won’t allow the person who doesn’t love you keep you from the one that does.
Reilly stared at it until the screen went dark again, then flipped the volume switch to silent. He stood another moment, wondering, and finally left her to her sleep.
Chapter Seven
The next morning, Gwen shuffled into the kitchen, her eyes still a bit puffy and her nose a little red.
“Good morning,” he greeted her. He pushed a coffee mug toward her.
She gratefully accepted it, then took a step in the direction of the refrigerator. She pulled up short when she realized that it already had cream in it, and took a long sip. It was sugared up to the point where she could barely taste the coffee.
Perfect.
“That’s really good, Ry, thanks. Where did you go last night?” She looked anywhere but him. “I heard you come in.”
She didn’t have to worry about making any eye contact with him, as he didn’t even look up from his paper. “Just an errand,” he replied nonchalantly, though he did wince a little as he shifted in his chair.
“Are you okay?”
“Aye, just slept wrong. Don’t worry yourself over it.” He turned the page.
“I’m—I’m sorry for last night.”
He looked up in surprise. “Whatever for?”
She shrugged uncomfortably. “For crying all over you?”
“You’ve done it before, and I hope you know you can do it again. Think nothing of it, lass.” He went back to the paper, engrossed in the day’s news.
Her head began to throb. She sat down, silently contemplative. Last night, when she awoke in the middle of the night, it was easy to rationalize her choice. Anthony was stable, and didn’t she just decide recently that she would be happy? She needed to fix things with Anthony.
In the light of day, though, the question actually became, could she be happy without Reilly in her life?
“So what do you care to do today?” he asked, interrupting her turmoil.
Gwen paused, the cup halfway to her lips again. “Do? But don’t you have to work?”
“The school is on break until next month,” he informed her, turning the page. She craned her neck to see what he was so engrossed in, then rolled her eyes. Rugby scores.
“The comics are way better than rugby scores,” she felt compelled to point out. “Also, no one actually reads a newspaper anymore. The internet has all that.”
“Rubbish,” he retorted, his eyes tracking the small print. His face lit up with a smile. “Tickets go on sale in a couple weeks. Looks like we play Poland to start the season.”
“Thrilling.”
“’Tis if you’ve ever seen our boys play…Eh. So, back to the topic at hand. What do you wish to do? Do you want to get off island, head to the Continent?”
Gwen wouldn’t mind taking a day trip to Paris for the day. She loved that city, with all its sparkling lights. And, though she could be as rough and tumble as the next tomboy, there was something about the Tiffany’s store on the Champs-Élysées that brought her to an unnaturally happy mental place.
She wasn’t shy about the fact that she’d grown up wealthy, and Gwen wasn’t one to turn her back on the finer things in life. She just made sure to balance it with giving back as much as she could.
“Paris?”
“Mmm…nay,” he murmured.
Daydreams of drowning herself in window shopping fled quickly. “Okay. How about we head to Temple Street?” she asked, referring to one of her favorite streets in Dublin. It was always bustling and great for people-watching. They also had some of the best coffee shops and bars in the city.
He shrugged. “If that’s what you’d like.”
She folded her arms and sat back. “Do you have something better in mind?”
He raised an eyebrow but didn’t look up from the paper. “Not particularly, nay.”
Frustrated, she blew out a breath. “I want you to understand that we could be sitting on the couch together, staring at paint dry, and I’d still have a good time. But I have to wonder, Ry. When’s the last time you let your hair down? Had some fun?”
He did glance up then. “I’ve my school.”
“That’s work. I mean fun. You know, something that you do only for amusement?” she teased. “In all our years, I swear I’ve never seen you dance, or sing, or really let loose.”
“I prefer to redirect my energy in other ways.”
“Such as…?” she prompted him.
“Woodwork. Sword play. Flying metal beasts in the sky. Knife practice. Training legions of O’Rourke Protectors.”
She snorted. “Oh, yeah. That last one sounds like loads of fun.”
He frowned and canted his head at her. “So you think I’m starchy?”
“Starchy?” she giggled. “Maybe a little. Or maybe you’re just a homebody. Either way, I’d love for you to try my brand of fun.”
He headed to the counter and began to make some toast. “Your brand?” he echoed. “Are you talking about how you like to stay out until the wee hours of the morning at dance clubs? Or that you like to eat at various restaurants, but the fancy ones are your favorite?”
She laughed because there was no heat or accusation to his words. “I call it embracing my youth. We won’t have it forever, you know. Though I don’t stay out all night anymore. It got old.” He didn’t answer her, just grabbed the bread when it popped up and began to butter it. She soldiered on, “But when you stay in all the time, it makes it a bit hard for others to get to know how wonderful you are.”
“I don’t need others.”
She rolled her eyes at his stubborn tone. “Oh, let’s not go there. Everyone needs others. Sometimes, don’t you wish you could just let go of all your responsibilities, and be a little bit carefree?”
He stayed silent for so long, Gwen began to worry that he was irritated with her. But then he turned and met her eyes. “Aye. But I’ve never done it.”
His bleak expression stopped her in her tracks. Selfishly, she wanted to be the one to make that look go away. She racked her brain for a moment until the lightbulb clicked on.
“Up for a little game?”
He brought the plate back to the table and sat down. “I’m listening.”
“Pretend that we only have until Ellie’s wedding together before we can never see each other again.”
“This is a terrible game.”
“Well, you said the school is off for a month,” she rushed on, her cheeks heating. “So just go with it.”
He set his jaw. “I don’t care to tempt the Fates with such talk.”
“That’s the first rule of our game. Rule one: Forget about the damn Fates. Don’t let them have this time. This is all yours, Reilly. You hear that, Fates? Leave him alone for three weeks!” she called out.
Alarmed, he put out his hand. “Gwen, truly, please don’t.”
She pursed her lips. “If they are as all-knowing as they’d like you to believe, they knew this was coming. You and I both need a vacation, and I’m just the person to plan such a thing.”
“That sounds ominous,” he deadpanned, but his mouth quirked. “I’m certain this is a bad idea.”
“You are certain of no such thing,” she retorted, reaching across the small table and snagging his plate. The toast was still warm, and she popped it into her mouth.
“No, please, go right ahead. I’m no longer hungry,” Reilly grumbled, though she saw the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
She grinned and spoke around the food. “How fortuitous, as I’m starving.”
She swallowed and realized with a start that the toast had strawberry jam on it. She loved strawberry jam.
Reilly didn’t eat jam.
She looked at her empty coffee cup
, which was made exactly as she liked it, and looked back at the toast.
Reilly drank his coffee black, if he even had coffee, and he only had butter on his toast.
She was probably making too big a deal of it, but…he had made her breakfast. He’d never really made her breakfast before. She’d stolen his food, and he hers, but it was more that they co-existed in the kitchen in the mornings. She studied him as he re-opened the paper to the business section.
It’s just me overanalyzing everything. He is trying to make me feel better after last night’s sobfest. That was it. She watched him find nothing of interest, then fold the paper and stack the sections in front of him. He sat back in his chair, his torso eclipsing any view of the perfectly crafted woodwork that made up the chair back. The nip in the air outside had him wearing a flannel over his dark tee shirt, and his facial scruff only added to the lumberjack look he was wearing.
Gwen had never before had a thing for the lumberjack look, but she couldn’t help being attracted to it when it sat directly opposite her over a breakfast made especially for her.
Totally inappropriate train of thought, she chastised herself. But still, she was a female, and there was a fine specimen of a male sitting directly in front of her, on a chair that he built, in a cottage that he restored with his own two hands.
He could also pull off the leather jacket and jeans look, she admitted. And a suit. Oh, Reilly in a suit was a sight to behold. Typically, she shied away from men in suits; her parents’ circle was full of well-dressed, stuffy men who wouldn’t know a Phillips head from a flat head. But dressing up Reilly in a suit and tie did something to her insides every time.
And don’t even start her when he wore his medieval garb.
What was wrong with her? She needed to get herself back under control. For years, she had been so good about corralling her thoughts. She’d had them on lockdown, and the only time they came to the forefront was at night; she had long ago accepted that she couldn’t (and didn’t want to) control her dreams.
Reilly chortled, noticing her sudden blush. “Oh, the coin I’d pay to know those thoughts.”
Falling Through Time Page 13
