by Jane Henry
“Don’t make this choice because of the scholarship, lass,” Nolan says quietly. “You know we’ll send you anywhere you want.”
And I do, I do know that. I appreciate that the McCarthy family’s generous with their wealth. But a part of me feels if I take this scholarship, I won’t be beholden to them. And that matters to me.
“Thank you, but I’ve made my decision.” They say I’m proud and stubborn, and I don’t deny it.
“Well, then,” Nolan says. “We’ll support you, Fiona.”
Sheena winces.
My throat feels tight, and my eyes water. I nod, unable to say anything at first but a weak, “Thank you.”
“We’ll talk about this in the morning,” Nolan says. “I’ll have to talk to Keenan as well.”
“Thank you,” I repeat, the words so small and inadequate. They’ve done so much for me. “Goodnight.”
I head to my room and shut the door. The click it makes feels like it has an air of finality. A lump forms in my throat and I swallow it down hard, because I will not cry over this. I’ve made a decision. One I hope I don’t regret.
It’s time for me to move away from Ballyhock.
I prepare for bed in a sort of daze. I clean the little makeup I wear off my face, brush my teeth and hair. I stare at myself in the mirror, surprised to see I look older tonight. Maybe it’s because I’ve told Sheena and Nolan it’s time for me to move away. Maybe it’s the pain of seeing Lachlan holding another woman. Or maybe I’m just tired. I sigh.
I look older than my eighteen years, and I wonder at times if I really am older. I’ve lived through so much. I don’t feel like the carefree teenagers I know from school. Aisling talks freely of boys and makeup and her favorite bands.
I don’t care about frivolous things. I care about making solid choices that will help my future. I care about settling down one day with a good man who’ll take care of me, not one looking to get laid. I suppose when you’ve lived like I have, seen what I have, you don’t take second chances lightly. I welcome the responsibilities of adulthood, because bloody hell, I’ve long since shed the frivolity of youth.
I lie down, sleepy from the drinks I had, but wishing I’d had more to really knock me out. My heart is heavy. I lie on my side and close my eyes, and it isn’t until I hear Nolan and Sheena heading to bed that I really let myself feel. That I drop down my guard and let the emotions of the evening swallow me whole.
The lump in my chest and the ache in my heart give way to tears. I face my pillow, bury myself in it, and I finally let myself cry.
I love Lachlan McCarthy. I have loved him since before it was proper, and hell, I’m not sure it’s even proper now. The moment I first laid eyes on him, when I was only a child, something in me whispered one quiet, unbidden word.
Him.
At first, I blamed my teenager hormones, thinking it was only a schoolgirl crush. But bloody hell, that was five years ago, and not a single boy has ever turned my head since.
I love a full-grown man, and he doesn’t love me back.
I can still feel his cold gaze in the garden the night of my party. And I’ll never, never be able to erase the image of him with another woman in his arms from my mind.
I weep until my pillow’s wet with tears, my eyes are swollen, and my head throbs. I hope letting myself cry is like leaching poison from a wound, but it doesn’t work that way. The longer I cry, the heavier my heart feels.
There comes a sort of quiet after a sob fest. I try to rest, but I’m too pent up, too mired in misery to settle my mind and get to sleep. There are no more tears to spend, but it feels as if there’s no hope, either.
I finally sit up and sigh, rubbing my hand across my face. I pick up my phone and text Megan. It’s midnight, and she’s likely in bed. Nolan’s cousin, wife to Clan member Carson, Megan is someone who gets it. Really, truly gets it, unlike Aisling ever will. Until she finally gave into the protection of the Clan, Megan fought it tooth and nail. She hated being trailed by the guard and insisted that her cousins give her freedom.
The Clan won. Now she’s blissfully content being the wife to Carson and stepmother to Carson’s little Breena, and she no longer fights being tucked into the McCarthy Clan fold.
Some of us still find it stifling.
My fingers fly over the keys.
You up?
A moment later, a response comes in.
Megan: Yes but barely, haha. You alright?
I pause before answering. I don’t want her to feel like she has to drop everything for me, not when I really am okay and not endangered. Heartsick is an illness for which perhaps there’s no cure.
I’m okay.
I feel like I should say more, and my fingers travel swiftly over the screen once more, only to erase each message over and over. There was a time when Megan would meet me for a drink or for a walk along the cliffs of Ballyhock, but now that she’s married and has a child she’s responsible for, those days are over. Not to say she wouldn’t drop everything if I truly needed her—hell, they all will, and have. It just doesn’t feel like this is so important I need to rattle her out of her cozy home.
I finally settle for a simple message.
Just couldn’t sleep, and I miss you. Let’s get together soon?
Megan: absolutely! Have you decided about school?
I blink back sudden tears again. Going to Boston takes me away from Megan, too.
Aye. I draw in a deep breath that makes my shoulders rise, then release it. Deflating.
I’ll be taking up the scholarship at Boston University.
This time three beats pass before she responds.
Megan: Ah. Congrats, love!
I can almost hear the pain in her voice. She continues.
It’s a big move, but you’ll have an opportunity of a lifetime. We’ll miss you loads, but you’ll always have a home here with us!
I blink back the damn tears that surface again and smile anyway.
Thank you.
I want to reach out to her. I want to talk to someone about what’s on my heart, but I can’t. I can’t do that to her, not now, when it’s late and she’s got work in the morning, and I need time to process this myself. Aisling wouldn’t understand. Sheena would, but… well, I don’t want to confide in her about Lachlan. I barely want to admit it to myself.
She wishes me goodnight, and I try once more to get some sleep, but it’s useless. Every time I close my eyes, I see another woman in his arms.
I reach for the locket I wear around my neck, his gift to me, and for a moment I think of taking it off. But no. He was my friend when he gave it to me, and tearing it off would be childish and petty. I open it, peer down, and see the younger version of myself. I close my eyes and will myself to be buoyed by the image, but the effort falls flat.
I punch my pillow, sit up, and stretch. I listen for any sound, but Nolan, Sheena, and the children have gone to bed. We have a guard outside, so there’s no sneaking away like an errant teen, though Megan helped me orchestrate that a few times. I need a little time alone.
I quickly dress and slide on my sandals. We only have a short summer here in Ballyhock. Even the warmest days are breezy, tempered by the ocean that surrounds us, but it was warm when I got home.
I quietly walk to the front door and close it behind me. My phone’s in my pocket and the guard stands within a few feet. One looks my way with a curious expression.
“Y’alright?” he asks.
I nod. “I’m fine, just having a bit of trouble sleeping. Going to take a walk.”
He nods, prepared to follow me. I cringe.
“Any chance you can… give me a little privacy tonight?”
“So sorry, but no. I can walk a few paces behind, but I’m not allowed to give you total freedom.”
I know this, but I suppose it was worth a try.
I nod, and head toward the pathway that takes me to the ocean. I shiver when a brisk wind picks up. I forget how cool it gets when the sun sets here,
even in the height of summer. I walk quicker as if to walk away from the cold.
The moon casts a lovely glow over the path that leads to the beach. Large, flat rocks pave my way to the ocean. Both the McCarthy family home and the home I share with Sheena and Nolan lead to the gorgeous, rugged cliffs of Ballyhock. Below us lies the fathomless Irish Sea, and from several vantage points, one can see the harbor. I have a dim awareness that the McCarthy Clan conducts business on the harbor, though I don’t know what exactly that business entails. I love them, so sometimes ignorance is bliss.
Below the cliffs, near the waterfront, lies a small, private beach owned also by the McCarthys, groomed in recent years for the McCarthy family and their friends and family to visit. It’s rarely warm enough to swim, though the height of summer is best. Still, I often go with my mates to the shore, grab fish and chips from a local chippy, and we sit on blankets on the beach and dig our toes in the warm sand.
Tonight, I just want to look from the cliffs to the waves below. I want to hear the soothing sound of waves lapping on shore. I want to inhale the cleansing salty air and exhale my troubles.
The guard follows me noiselessly as I make my way to the very tops of the Ballyhock cliffs. Maeve has argued for years that it’s too dangerous up here, now that there are little ones that run amok at the McCarthy family home. But the men of the Clan insist we’ve enough guards, and all the children are safely tucked away behind the wrought-iron gate. So, they’ve left the cliffs in their natural state. I’m glad they put no barrier between the cliffs and the ocean. I much prefer it this way.
I walk along the edge, and my heart lifts, just a little, with the smell of the ocean and the sounds at the shore. I close my eyes and stand with my face toward the water. A gentle breeze stirs my hair and tickles my skin. I shiver. It’s a little colder than I thought.
When I open my eyes, I almost give a start when I see a figure moving below the cliffs on the shore. My skin prickles with awareness. I crouch, draw closer to the edge, and stare.
I know those wide, inked shoulders. I know the graceful, powerful walk, the way the lines and planes of his body move in synchronized perfection. Oh, God, he’s beautiful, even more than I ever imagined.
I watch, mesmerized, as Lachlan walks boldly toward the water, never looking back, but moving forward with purposeful steps toward the cold waves that crash and lap at the shore. His feet hit the icy water, but he doesn’t flinch. He continues walking until the water hits his waist, gives a little shiver, then bends and dives straight into an oncoming wave. I gasp when he’s swallowed up whole. Half a minute later, he resurfaces, but he doesn’t turn back. He swims deeper into the depths, with the grace and strength of an athlete.
After a moment, he stops swimming and rides the waves. I consider turning away. What will happen if he sees me up here watching him? Will he think I’ve followed him, or that I’m some sort of creepy stalker?
Don’t look, I think to myself. Don’t watch me.
But he’s trained well, and he misses nothing.
I know the moment he sees me, for he stops moving. The waves carry him as if he’s driftwood, rising with the swell of the waves and sinking back down. I don’t realize I’m grasping the locket around my neck until my palm begins to hurt. I look down at my white-knuckled grip and blink in surprise.
What am I doing? Why am I here?
Who even am I?
I tear my gaze away from the locket and look back at the beach. I blink in surprise and get to my feet. He’s gone. Did he sink beneath the surface? No, he couldn’t have. He’s too powerful a swimmer, and the ocean’s relatively calm tonight. I turn to my guard.
“Did you see him?”
He’s immediately on alert, straightening.
“See who, miss?”
I swallow. I can hardly bring myself to say his name. “Lachlan.”
He shakes his head, but his body tightens. I know why. Lachlan’s high ranking among his peers, and the men that protect me are all on their best behavior when he’s near. “No, miss. I’m sorry, I didn’t.”
I turn wordlessly back to the sea.
I wonder for a moment if he’s beneath the depths, but then I see the second set of footprints beneath the bright light of the moon. The first leading him to the ocean. The second leading him out.
I crane my neck over my shoulder, as if he’s somehow miraculously appeared right behind me, but of course I see nothing at all. With a sigh, I turn back to the sea and rub my arms briskly.
I came here tonight to calm my overwrought nerves, but instead, I’ve done the exact opposite.
“Bloody hell,” I whisper under my breath. “What are you doing to me?”
I need to go back. I should. But for some reason, I can’t tear myself away from the beauty and power of the ocean below. I imagine how far the horizon stretches, away to foreign countries and people of other lands. I wonder if on the other side of this someone else, just like me, is trying to find her way.
I don’t realize I’m crying again until a breeze chills my wet cheeks.
“Y’alright, Fiona?”
Oh, God. It isn’t my guard this time. I shiver. I know his voice. I love his voice. I live for the sound of my name on his lips.
I swipe my tears away. I don’t want him to see me like this.
I turn around and lift my chin as bravely as I can. “Lachlan.” I open my mouth but somehow can’t say anything more beyond his name.
He’s standing a few paces behind me wearing nothing but a pair of swimming shorts. He’s bare-chested and barefoot, still dripping from his swim, but over his arm he carries his folded clothes.
“Fiona,” he says softly, his brows drawing together. “Why are you out here tonight?” He looks around me as if checking for my guard, and when he sees him a good ways off, he jerks his chin toward him. “I’ll take over, thanks. She’s on my watch now.”
I shiver. He’s dismissing my guard. He’s my guard, just like in the old days.
She’s on my watch now.
Desperate longing fills me. Oh how I wish I mattered to him as he does me.
“You’ll freeze your arse off,” I say, and the power of suggestion makes my own body shiver with a chill that runs straight to my core. “It’s cold out tonight. You must be crazy.”
He shoots me a lopsided grin that makes my heart melt. “Aye,” he says. “Thought you knew that.” His jovial look evaporates. “Fiona.”
“What?”
“You’ve been crying.” He looks at once sorrowful and stern, as if he wants to know the purpose of my sadness. “Tell me. Who did this to you?” His tone holds the promise of punishment, harsh and threatening.
How can I tell him that he’s the one that made me cry?
I don’t reply. He doesn’t speak again, but steps even closer to me. I don’t bother to hide my gawking at him, my eyes roving over his muscled, tattooed body, McCarthy family ink that marks him as inducted mafia. The wide, broad breadth of his shoulders, the smattering of dark hair on his chest, and the flat hardness of his belly. Those powerful, corded forearms, and the swimming trunks that are low—way too low—on his hips. My mouth is dry, and I swallow hard, the heat of arousal pulsing through me at his nearness.
My mind is a jumble of thoughts and squeals.
So. Much. Naked. Skin.
I’ve never seen so much of him up close like this. It’s almost too much, overwhelming, like looking straight at the sun.
He’s so tall, I crane my neck when he steps right in front of me, right into my personal space.
“Answer me,” he demands, dark brows drawing tightly over his eyes.
“Did what?” I whisper.
He reaches for my face, his large, rough hand easily twice the size of my own, but freezes midway, as if touching me will turn him to stone. We do not touch.
“Who made you cry?” he asks, barely masking his fury, his need to seek vengeance for the wrongs committed against me.
If ever I loved him, it’s
hopeless now.
Chapter 4
I want to know who did this to her, who made those pretty eyes brim with tears. I’ll make them pay. I’ll make them rue the day they made my girl anything but happy.
My girl.
As soon as I give space to my uncensored thoughts, I regret them. I can’t do that to her. A connection to me means being roped into mob life. And though I’d worship the ground she walks on and take care of her every need, there’s no escaping the sometimes vicious, violent lives we lead.
“It’s no one,” she says, but it’s a lie. I can tell by the way her gaze swings from mine, unwilling to make eye contact with me. But I’ve known her for years, and I know when she’s being evasive. She’s strong-willed and feisty, but I know how to handle her.
“Fiona.” My voice is laced with warning, stern and corrective. I want answers, and I want them now.
I step closer to her, so close now I can see the glimmer of tears on her cheek, reflecting moonlight. Her eyes are red-rimmed and swollen. She didn’t just get choked up or shed a lone tear. She’s been weeping.
I can’t help myself. I reach for her before I know what I’m doing. Before tonight, I’ve never let myself touch her before, though I’ve imagined just this so many times it’s like a fantasy come true. I cup her jaw, so small in my hand. So fragile and soft. I brush my thumb along her cheekbone, wiping away tears.
She leans into my touch, her eyes closing with a soft sigh of relief.
My heart thunders, my skin alive and prickling with awareness and heat. She’s so close I could brush my lips against hers, and I know, I fucking know, that her face would tip up to mine and she’d welcome that kiss.
And I know we’d never be the same again.
We both want this. We both crave this.
I’m a man of the Clan who’s risked life and limb for my brothers. I’ve taken lives and issued threats, and defended my brothers in battle. I’ve put myself on the front line and welcomed danger. I face my fears with conviction and strength, never allowing myself to quake in the face of duty. But this… bloody hell. My hand begins to tremble and my heart races. Keeping myself apart from her’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.