“Eleanor is having a hen party?” Surprised, Reilly couldn’t picture quiet, introverted Ellie Carberry—soon to be O’Rourke—partying it up on the town. Gwen, he could see. She loved to go out and have a good time.
Gwen snorted. “In a way, I suppose. We’re going to do dinner.”
“That sounds more like the Ellie we all know. You want to stay here?”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth he regretted them. Of course she couldn’t stay with him. She was seeing someone. Hell, she was marrying someone.
Someone else.
But it wasn’t his bed she crawled into when her nightmares became too much, his traitorous mind reminded him.
She cleared her throat. “Thanks, but I got a hotel room. Anthony will be meeting me out there, so…”
His breathing wasn’t quite right, but he managed to sound normal when he replied, “Of course. Figured I’d ask.”
“Yeah, and with all the wedding stuff I have going on with El, I’ll be crazy busy with her, so, you know, it works out. Thanks, though.”
“Sure.”
Gwen rambled on, a sure sign she was nervous, and Reilly again vowed to be more civil to her.
Gwen continued, “I’ll be out there for a few weeks. You know, before the wedding. Do you, um, have any travel plans?”
“Do you perhaps mean a weekend away in France, or something a little further?”
She coughed. “Something a little further.”
Inexplicably, Reilly felt the tension ease out of him. If she was talking about their last trip together (which was really her and Ellie ending up in medieval Ireland, and him, Colin, and James coming to rescue them), they might be able to find some common ground, and he could smooth out this conversation.
“Not at the moment I don’t.”
“Oh.”
The disappointment in her voice was unmistakable. He ran his hands over the woodwork of his dresser and asked, “Did you want me to be gone?”
“Oh, no! I wanted to go with you.”
Reilly froze, those six words wreaking absolute havoc on his heart. She wanted to travel with him? Time travel?
His pulse suddenly kicked into high gear, and he strove to maintain his even voice. “I don’t think your fiancé would appreciate you traveling with me. Especially out of cell range.”
“You might be right, but really, he’s not like that. He’s not the jealous type.”
Reilly would beg to differ, as he was the one staring him down in an airport parking lot, but as that was an argument he didn’t care to get into, he refrained from replying. Instead, he queried, “How’d the meeting with the parents go?”
Gwen let out a frustrated sigh. “They haven’t met him yet, but they seem thrilled. They’ve been pestering me about finding a man for years.”
“I know.”
“They love me and want me to—” she started.
“Find a respectable husband with loads of money, become a trophy wife, and bear two-point-five perfect children?”
“I was going to say be a part of their world, but as usual, you’re probably right. Maybe not the point-five part, though. A whole child seems like a better deal, if I’m to go through pregnancy a third time.”
“Aye, I’d agree. Are you home now?”
“Walking into my house at this very moment. I wish I was walking into yours, though. God, I miss Ireland in the fall.”
His heart stuttered a little, and he cursed himself thoroughly. He strove for a light tone. “Gwendolyn Allen, you’re flirting with me again.”
She hesitated a moment, and Reilly mentally slapped himself; their banter could not include such remarks anymore.
“I should’ve told you when it happened,” she said softly. Apologetically.
He knew she meant not telling him about her engagement. “Why didn’t you?”
He could almost hear the wheels spinning in her head, but finally, she went with the truth. He could tell from her tone.
“I really did want to tell you in person. Anthony and I have been together for a while.”
Reilly’s chest tightened. “Define a while.”
“Four months.”
The world again dropped out from Reilly’s feet, and he struggled to catch his breath. Four months…meaning she’d been seeing Anthony when she video called him, but she didn’t say a thing about it. That bothered him. She shared everything with him—her happiness and her sadness. He lived for those moments, though he doubted she knew that. He hoped she didn’t know that.
She made it abundantly clear in their early years of friendship that she was interested in being more than friends. But she was too important to him to bring into his world of constantly changing locations and times. Add to that, she didn’t know he was a time traveler, and Reilly couldn’t bring himself to ruin what was the best relationship of his life with sex.
Not that he hadn’t imagined it with Gwen. With her fiery, copper-red hair, luminous, forest-green eyes, soft, freckled skin, and feisty mouth, he’d have to be dead not to.
And he was as far from dead as any human had a right to be.
Reilly had admitted to himself more times than he could remember that he needed Gwen like he needed air. Her spirit always lifted his own, and her laugh soothed his troubled soul. She knew when to sit in silence and when to tease him out of a mood. She could read him better than anyone of his acquaintance, not that it was hard; he’d simply allowed her to get to know the real him.
And now she even knew about the time-traveling side of him, not that he’d had much say about that after she and Eleanor ended up on the wrong side of a time gate.
“Are you very angry with me?” she asked in a small voice.
He shook his head, though she couldn’t see him. “Never, Gwendolyn. Just surprised. And a bit hurt.”
Hurt that she hadn’t told him about Venezuela, hurt that she’d been in a relationship long enough to decide that man was the one for her. He could hear her swallow hard, and he felt a rock land in his stomach. She replied quietly, “I’m sorry, Reilly.”
“Forgiven.” And he did forgive her, because it wasn’t her fault. He messed up; he should’ve confessed his feelings when she gave him the chance. Instead, he shut her down again, and she moved on. He had to accept that.
“So you’re okay with it?”
He cleared his throat. “Don’t waste another moment worrying, lass. I’m happy for you and your new beau.”
“Really?”
“Aye. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”
They chatted easily for a few more minutes—well, easily on Gwen’s part, Reilly had to force a lightness to his tone, lest she think he was still upset—and when they hung up, Reilly sat down heavily on his couch.
Gwen was truly getting married.
He absently rubbed the hollow spot in his chest and stared out his window, unseeing.
• • •
Almost a week later, Gwen paced nervously in the living room of her quaint Cape Cod house. She loved her little beach home, tucked alongside New Hampshire’s small coastline, but in the summer, her tiny coastal town was a tourist attraction, due to the art galleries and homemade candy shops that lined Main Street. The quintessential, sleepy New England fishing community had quite the boom a few years back, and now artisans and politicians alike flocked there during the summer months.
Gwen tried to stay away until autumn came.
She was all dressed up for the big political event at the yacht club in the city. Her mom, Bev, and her dad, Rick, were flying in from their home in California, to support their highly politicized side of the family. This wasn’t their first song-and-dance; these kinds of parties were what her parents lived for. They loved to mingle and mix with the wealthy elite; as the only child, Gwen had always simply gone along. It was fun to get dressed up and drink really expensive wine (which to her, she admitted only to Reilly, tasted the same as inexpensive wine). Usually.
It was always a good time because Reilly w
as there. They’d made games of the various things they were sure to hear, such as whenever someone mentioned their summer home, each of them would tuck a cocktail napkin into Ry’s suit pocket. At the end of the night, they’d count the napkins, and that’s the number of whiskey shots they would split.
A heaviness settled into the pit of Gwen’s stomach at the thought. She didn’t want to put on a smile tonight. She didn’t want to walk around in the high heels, or make up stories about South Africa. She wanted to crawl into bed, pull the covers over her head, and pretend that the last couple weeks of her life were just a really bad dream.
Gwen checked her appearance in the mirror again. It was what it was. She had agreed to go to the fundraiser, and go she would. Tonight would be fun. It would just be a different kind of fun, and that would be something to take her mind off her troubles.
She felt, rather than heard, Anthony’s bike pull into her driveway. A moment later, he walked into her house and swept into a bow.
“You look gorgeous. And you’re not even holding a wrench.”
She laughed. “I can’t believe you rode your motorcycle while wearing a tux!”
“I didn’t feel like taking the truck,” he shrugged, then winked.
He really was charming, and a genuinely nice person. Her parents were going to adore him, for he was definitely a chameleon, and would fit in with the political crowd just as easily as he did with the guys at a bar.
“Good thing I have a car,” she replied dryly. “I don’t think I can comfortably get onto the back of your bike wearing this.” She tugged at the tight bodice, then twisted around. “Would you mind finishing up the zipper?”
“I’d like to unfinish it,” he murmured, but he zipped it and spun her around. “Did I tell you how stunning you are?”
She smiled at him, wishing for the millionth time that she was as in love with him as he was with her.
Do not think of that right now.
She leaned up on her toes to kiss him. “Well, let’s go. We wouldn’t want to be late to the party.”
“Red, there is no party until you arrive.”
She smiled at him again. She appreciated the compliment. Reilly usually grunted at her.
Last night, Reilly insisted on driving her all the way to her house, even though she was supposed to stay at Colin’s. As soon as he’d checked every room and assured himself that she was good, he left in a hurry.
She hated that he wasn’t speaking to her.
Do not think about Reilly.
She brought herself back into the present. “Well, we have at least an hour of driving ahead of us, so if you’re ready, I am, too.”
Anth swiped the keys from her front table. “I’ll fill your tank. The reality is that my car battery died and I didn’t want to make us late, so I took the bike. If it’s okay with you, I’ll drive. Those shoes look killer.”
She glanced down at the stilettos. “I could drive barefoot.”
“Or you could allow me to be a gentleman and drive us.”
She capitulated, and after they were well on their way, he flicked a glance to her.
“So. That guy. The Irish one.”
Gwen sighed. “Reilly, yes. He’s been my friend for years, and my driver cancelled, so Reilly came to pick me up.”
“Does he live here in New England?”
“No, he lives in Ireland.”
Anthony’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Ah. Why was he in town?”
To go to the gala, she thought, a pang of guilt hitting her. She had told him about it before their time traveling adventure, though she specifically hadn’t asked him to go with her, as she always did.
“He was visiting his family, as a few of them live in the city,” she added. “But he’s gone back to Ireland now.”
He didn’t even say goodbye. She had gotten a text from Colin.
That may have been about the time when she started feeling panicky. She still wasn’t sure why she felt so anxious, but she wished it would stop already.
“Did you two have a thing, ever?”
Gwen blinked. “Wow, you’re not mincing words, Anth.”
“Well, I come out to see you wrapped up in his arms, wearing his jacket, and it makes a guy a little bit unsure, you know? So I think it’s a fair question.”
She shook her head decisively. “We did not have a thing. We do not currently have a thing. We are very good friends, but that’s it.”
Anthony reached over and laced his fingers with hers. “Good. Because it about killed me to see you in someone else’s arms. You’re with me.”
She squeezed his hand. “Willingly.”
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. “Excellent. Now, remind me about your parents and tell me all about the fun I’m going to pretend to have.”
“Lots. Remember that they know nothing of Venezuela. However, my parents are thrilled at our engagement, and I’m sure we’ll be passed around more than the appetizers.”
“Sounds painful.”
“It will be.”
“And what’s your speech about?”
Gwen blew out a gusty breath. “I’m going to be talking about the devastating effects of the opioid crisis in New England, and by extension, the entire country. And I’ll be asking for people to consider donating to this cause.”
“Well, whatever you do, don’t beg. You’re better than that.”
Gwen frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean by that?”
He patted her knee. “Don’t worry about it. Do you want to practice the speech?”
Perhaps it was misplaced humor that fell flat, so she let it go. “Nah, I’m good, thanks. It’s important to me—really important—but I just can’t practice it anymore.”
“Understood.”
As they talked and the miles dragged by, Gwen could appreciate that she was content. She wasn’t jumping up and down overjoyed, and her belly wasn’t fluttering with butterflies, but content was enough for her.
She’d long ago accepted that security and contentment was more than enough, as it was leaps and bounds ahead of loneliness and heartbreak.
• • •
“Where’s Mr. O’Malley this evening?”
Gwen smiled politely at the couple across from her and Anthony. “He had other engagements.”
“It isn’t as though she keeps track of his whereabouts,” Anthony added sharply.
Gwen dipped her head at the couple slightly, and placed her hand on her fiancé’s arm. “Excuse us.” She ushered him away from the taken aback couple and dragged him into an adjoining room. “What is wrong with you?” she hissed.
“Does anyone see me standing there?” he huffed in reply. He mocked, “Where’s Mr. O’Malley? Does he plan to join us this evening? What a wonderful man, that Reilly of yours!”
Gwen frowned. “Stop it. They know him as my friend; he’s been to almost every one of these events and has made an effort to get to know these people. They’re meeting you as my fiancé, and you’re not exactly making the best impression!”
Anthony rolled his eyes. “And are these people the kind of people you care to make an impression on, Gwendolyn?” He glanced back at the throng of well-dressed people, sipping champagne while talking and laughing. “I bet they’ve never done a day’s work in their life! Do they even know what a hammer is?”
Gwen’s jaw set. “You don’t know them, Anthony—”
He barked out a laugh. “No, I don’t. And I don’t care to, either.”
“They are part of my world,” she exclaimed in a low voice. She glanced up at an elderly couple passing by. “Those are the Hendricks. They’ve donated more than six million dollars to fund research into Alzheimer’s. And over there, the man in the dark gray suit? That’s Mark Torrey. Two years ago, he lost his daughter to drug overdose and has donated his entire yearly paycheck to—”
“Oh, please,” Anthony cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Money doesn’t equate with hard work. What we do is important. Wh
at we do actually helps people.”
Gwen blinked at him, words failing her. “I’m—I’m sorry, what?”
He looked over the assorted people of her extended family, business associates, and longtime family friends with disdain. “You joined us to get away from the falsity of all this. I don’t understand why we’re here. We could be doing so much more with our time. They could be doing so much more. Give them a hammer or bring them to a third world country. Let them see who really needs help. It’s those kids without a school building in Nairobi. Not,” he sniffed with a glance to Mr. Torrey, “overprivileged rich brats who spent their daddy’s money on some drugs and had to pay the piper.”
Gwen’s heart constricted tightly, cutting off her breath. Jennifer Torrey was one of the nicest women Gwen had ever known, and watching her fall victim to the opioid crisis was something she would always struggle with. Anthony’s careless remarks about her friend sliced deeply.
“I live by the creed that you need to gather all the facts before making a judgement,” she replied stiffly.
“That’s idealistic of you, but hardly relevant. I was in that room with you. Those are hours I’ll never get back; those people are so self-important, it makes me sick.”
Gwen’s mouth worked for a few seconds before she just shook her head in disgusted shock. “I think you need to leave.”
His head snapped back. “Excuse me?”
She swallowed, her throat painfully dry, her breath still short. “You need to go. I don’t want you here.”
“We came together,” he pointed out.
“You can take a car service back to my place to get your bike or I can have the bike sent to you tomorrow,” she said, her voice stronger. “But I want you gone right now.”
“I’m not made of money like everyone else here,” he shot back.
She fumbled in her purse and withdrew her wallet. She shoved a couple hundred-dollar bills at him. “Go away.”
He took the money and shook his head in disgust. “We need to have a long talk about this, Gwendolyn.”
She gritted her teeth, but instead of responding, she spun on her heel and left him behind her.
Falling Through Time: Mists of Fate - Book Four Page 5