by Amy Andrews
Raf grimaced, leaning his shoulder against the nearby wall. “She wants me to leave.”
“And you don’t want to?”
“I can’t.” He shrugged. “I want to be here for her.”
“She’s frightened, Raf,” Mercy said, squeezing his arm. “And angry. And it doesn’t matter how many times we tell her this isn’t her fault, she feels guilty about not being there last night.”
“Yes,” he sighed. He hated that what had happened between them last night was always going to be tinged with regret for her. And him. “I know.”
Mercy dropped her hand. “Aren’t you going back to Australia tomorrow?”
“Yes. I have a bunch of important meetings coming up with some overseas investors and a two-week European trade mission but…I’m sure I can sort something out to stay here for a bit longer.”
Mercy looked at him with compassion and understanding in her eyes but also with that shrewd practicality he’d seen her use when it came to business. “You really have fallen hard for her, haven’t you?”
He shot her a wan smile. “Is it that obvious?”
“You should go,” she said.
Raf frowned. “What? I thought you’d be on my side, Mercy Hernandez.”
Mercy smiled a sympathetic smile. “Trust me when I tell you that I mean this in the nicest possible way but…She’s not ready for you, Raf. For this. Not right now with everything that’s happening with JP. I know her, she’s going to throw everything she has into helping her father get better. She doesn’t have the space for you or anything she might be feeling for you right now and she’s just going to box it all away. Go and do what you have to do then come back the first chance you get. Let the dust settle. Give her some space. Some time. Let her miss you. Let her realize what she’s turning her back on.”
Raf let Mercy’s words sink in. The businessman recognized them for what they were. Smart, savvy advice from a woman who was one of Faith’s closest friends. But the man wanted to reject every one of them.
Fortunately, the businessman won out.
Raf knew that guy. He trusted that guy. And Mercy too. The businessman knew that sometimes retreat was the best form of attack. He didn’t know this new guy – the lovesick one. Except that he wasn’t terribly wise or rational and that scared him.
“You’re right,” he huffed out on a sigh.
Mercy smiled and gave him a quick hug. “I wish I wasn’t.”
Raf laughed. “Me too.”
“I’ll keep you up to date with what’s happening with JP if you like.”
He nodded. “Thanks.” He didn’t expect Faith would.
Raf kissed her on both cheeks and turned to go with a heavy heart. He felt like he was cutting and running, like he was quitting and it didn’t sit right. He wasn’t a quitter. He had a scar on his chin to prove it. But he had to trust Mercy’s judgement.
And it was only temporary.
He told himself that over and over as he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away. His fingers came into contact with something metallic and he grabbed it. “Wait,” he said, turning back to Mercy. “She left this.”
He held up the single earring he’d found in bed beside him this morning. Mercy smiled at him. “Keep it. And bring it back with you.”
Raf stared at it for long moments as Mercy walked away before closing his fist around it.
He would keep it and he’d bring it back.
*
A few days later Faith was so worried about her father’s despondency and lack of progress she was at her wits’ end. She’d suspected he’d be like this but part of her had hoped that this heart attack would have had a positive effect as Casey had suggested.
But her father was lying in a hospital bed refusing to see reason, talking about the end being close now and seeing his Kathleen again. About being ready. He was refusing to eat and getting him to mobilize was like trying to cajole a recalcitrant child.
The doctors had been very positive about his prognosis if he had the operation but he was still stubbornly refusing.
The upside of dealing with Pop every day was that she hadn’t had a lot of mental time and energy to mope about Raf. He texted a few times but she hadn’t answered any of them. What was the point in prolonging something that had always had a best before date?
She was sure one day she’d be able to look back on their time together with fondness, that she’d be able to smile wistfully at their magical month together. But right now her love was a little too raw. Everything was raw. Pop’s health and Raf’s departure had combined to form the perfect emotional storm and at the moment she was just hiding in the cellar praying for it to pass.
A physical therapist, who deserved a medal, came after lunch and cajoled a cantankerous Pop out of bed. The rest of the family arrived while he was doing his walk down the corridor.
“How is he?” Zel asked as they waited for him to return.
She shrugged. “The same.”
They all chatted about options for getting the pub open again until Pop returned to the room out of breath and ill of temper. He sat on the edge of the bed shooing the poor therapist away.
“Good to see you up and walking, Pop,” Ty said.
“Is it?” he asked testily.
“Of course,” Finn said with a nod. “The sooner you’re up and about, the sooner you can get out of here.”
“Faith,” he ordered. “Help me get my damn legs back on the bed.”
Dawn and Zel exchanged a look with Faith. “I can do that Pop,” Ty said, “I’m closest.”
“I said Faith,” Pop snapped.
Faith bit her tongue for about the hundredth time in the last few days. Pop wasn’t well and it was making him cranky but he was getting awful close to getting a piece of her mind. She helped her father swing his legs around.
“Do you want a blanket on?” she asked. “It’s cold here at the moment.”
Pop gave a frustrated little growl at the back of his throat, pushing at the blanket as Faith tried to put it on his bed. “Just leave it, Faith,” he barked. “Just leave me. All of you,” he said looking at them with wild eyes. “Just go home and get on with your lives.”
Looks were exchanged around the room. “Don’t talk like that, Pop,” Casey said.
“Like what?” he demanded. “I’m old. My life is over. I just want to be with your mother now.”
A pressure that had been slowly building in Faith’s chest since the morning after the ball suddenly spiked into the danger zone. She couldn’t take any more of her father’s morbid self-pity. Yes, he wasn’t well. He was depressed after his heart attack and wasn’t thinking straight. But he wasn’t dead yet and there was no reason for him to be so if he only agreed to help himself.
She’d said good-bye to one man she loved this week. She’d be damned if she’d just sit there while another one tried to check out.
“Pop,” she spat, so angry with him suddenly she wasn’t rational. “Don’t you dare lie there and tell me your life is over. That you want to be with Mom. Mom would kick your ass if she could hear you.”
“Faith!” Her father’s shock at her choice of language and her tone of voice was evident.
“There are people out there,” Faith said, pointing in the direction of the door, “that have cancer and other conditions where no matter how much they fight they’re still going to die so don’t you dare tell me when there’s something that can be done about yours that you’re just giving up.”
Faith could hear her voice getting louder and reined it in. “You have everything to live for. Sure, Mom’s not around anymore and I know how much you miss her but you have all of us who need you and the pub. And if that’s not enough for you – ”
Faith broke off, her chest heaving, her heart belting along like an Amtrak as her family stared at her like she was losing her head. Perhaps she was. And perhaps it was about time.
It felt good. She’d been wanting to scream for three days and this was so damn ther
apeutic.
“You’re about to become a grandfather. Dawn is pregnant. And I sure as hell hope that’s enough for you because Mom would definitely kick your ass if it wasn’t.”
Everyone turned to stare at Dawn including Pop. “Is that true?” he asked.
Dawn slid her hand onto her belly as Finn nodded. “Due in September.”
Faith was going to have to apologize to Dawn later about breaking their news but desperate times called for desperate measures. “September,” Faith reiterated, her voice sharp, drawing the attention back to herself. “So stop fucking around, Pop and get the damn surgery already.”
And with that, she stormed out of the room.
*
Two weeks later at nine in the morning Faith bounded down the stairs from the apartment on a mission. The last two weeks on her own while Pop was in the hospital had been an emotional rollercoaster but she’d also had a lot of time to think about the direction of her life. And with Pop, having sailed through surgery and ready to come home it was time to make some changes.
There was nothing she could do about Raf. He’d gone and it was probably for the best. What was that old saying about people coming into your life for a reason? Raf had shown her what she was missing and broken her out of her rut. He’d never been destined to stay. He’d been a wake-up call.
A catalyst, as Dawn would say.
Something to chalk up to experience and all that.
One day she’d probably even look back at their time together with fondness. Without the heaviness in her chest and the deep, hollow ache that gnawed at her insides.
But if heartbreak had taught her anything, if Raf had taught her anything, it was that she couldn’t back to where she’d been before him.
It was time to reclaim her life.
Faith crossed the corridor. Mrs. Gianelli, a woman from the neighborhood who had taken over a lot of the running of the pub so Faith could spend time at the hospital, would be in shortly. They weren’t opening until after lunch today so the family could throw a little welcome home party and everyone was gathering downstairs to help set up.
A waft of toasty warm air greeted her as she opened the door. It may have been April but it was still cool out and someone had started the fire. Everyone was there already waiting for her. Ty and Zel. Finn and Dawn. Even the twins. Considering they’d worked a gig until two this morning it was a miracle. Mercy was there as well. She was so sweet to give them a hand.
Faith took a deep breath. No time like the present to make her announcement.
“Gosh you guys are keen,” she teased as she drew level with their tables. Everyone had coffee.
“It’s a big day,” Zel said. She glanced at the bags of bunting Faith had brought down earlier then looked around the interior. “What did you have in mind?”
“Actually…” She sat next to Mercy. “I wanted to run something past you guys first.” If she let everyone get distracted by the party preparations she’d never say what she needed to say and that was the old Faith.
“I want to hire a permanent manager for the pub.”
No one said anything. Casey and Ronan looked up from their coffees. Ty exchanged a look with Finn.
“If I don’t get out of this pub now I never will. It’s time. It’s past time.” She paused. “I’m reapplying to Columbia.”
There was more silence, then Finn smiled. “Good for you.”
Mercy flung her arm around Faith and kissed her cheek. “That’s wonderful news.”
Faith grinned at her then glanced at Ty. “Our finances can stretch to it especially with my wage out of the picture.”
“Hey,” he said, reaching his hand across the table to cover hers. “It’s a brilliant idea. You’ll get no arguments from me.”
“Or me.” Zel grinned.
“Or me,” Casey replied. “We should have thought of it years ago.”
Faith’s pulse fluttered as she took in her family beaming with approval. She couldn’t believe it had really been that simple all along. Just hiring a manager. Her sense of duty and tradition had been that ingrained she’d been blind to the options. But having Mrs. Gianelli around had opened Faith’s eyes.
She withdrew her hand from Ty’s. The support of her brothers meant everything but they all knew the biggest obstacle wasn’t in this room. “Pop won’t like it.”
“Pop will come around,” Finn declared. “No matter how unintentional, all of us including him have been taking advantage of you for years, Faith.”
“I was happy to do it,” she said, dismissively. “I wanted to.”
“We know,” Finn said. “But we all conveniently forgot along the way that you had dreams too.”
Faith nodded. Those dreams had been lost amongst the everyday responsibilities but she still remembered her excitement the day she’d received her admission letter from Columbia eight years ago.
*
“We’d have to find the right person to look after this place, though,” she said, trying not to get ahead of herself. “We were lucky to find Mrs. Gianelli but she’s only temporary.”
“We’ll find someone,” Dawn assured her.
Faith smiled at her, buoyed by her absolute confidence.
“And while you’re making changes maybe now Pop is so much better you can cut the apron strings from him too?” Ronan suggested.
“Well now, let’s not go crazy,” Faith joked and everyone laughed.
Faith was overwhelmed by the sudden lightness across her shoulders. The truth was, she had been too overprotective of him. If Pop continued to be as good as he was now it was time to break the cycle of co-dependence they’d fallen into over the years.
“Seriously though, Faith,” Ty said when he’d sobered. “We’re all going to be involved in Pop’s health care from now on. As a family. Not just you taking sole responsibility for it.”
Faith felt another weight lifted from her shoulders. She hadn’t minded caring for Pop but having her brothers more involved would be great. “I’d like that,” she said, nodding and looking at each one of them. “Thank you for your support. I don’t know what to say… just thank you.”
“No.” Finn shook his head. “Thank you.”
Faith blinked back tears suddenly emotional. Mercy hugged her. “Now all we need to fix,” she said, “is the romance department.”
Faith forced herself to laugh. “I’m sure I’ll take up with some hippy art student before you know it.”
“Or maybe,” Mercy said with a mysterious smile, “a certain Australian who is back in town in a couple of days?”
Faith’s heart skipped a couple of beats. Rafael? Back in New York? “Raf’s coming back?”
Mercy nodded. “He is.”
Dear God. Faith wasn’t sure she could stand that. Having him so near and yet, in a lot of ways, so damn far. It was almost more bearable having him on the other side of the world. His casual kind of loving couldn’t hurt her so much from afar.
“For business?”
Mercy shook her head. “No.”
Faith didn’t dare ask for any further clarification because, if anything, buying into something happening between them had just become more impossible.
She was going to Columbia for crying out loud.
She’d given that up once, she wasn’t going to do it again. Not even for someone who loved her. Certainly not for someone who wouldn’t.
Faith shook her head. “I think I’m going to fall in love with art again.” Mercy had already kick-started the process with her wine label job and applying for Columbia had knocked it into hyper drive. “I’m going to paint and go to Paris.”
Mercy smiled at her. “You don’t have to choose one over the other.”
Faith supposed she was right although she had made a life out of absolutes. Pop. The pub. She was beginning to think it was the only way she worked. And great art demanded a certain amount of single-mindedness.
“I know.” She gave Mercy a hug to reassure her but secretly chose art anyway
.
*
Two days later Faith was down in the basement tapping a new keg. It was less frigid these days but she barely noticed the temperature any more. Coming down here was suddenly like a portal to all the times she’d shared with Raf and that always left her feeling hot under the collar.
Faith grunted as she struggled with a particularly recalcitrant fixture. Usually she could do this in her sleep but there was always the odd one that proved difficult and the poor lighting didn’t help.
She swore as her hands slipped off the cold metal and she scraped her knuckle. “Goddamn it,” she spat, leaning her good hand up high on the wall as she automatically sucked the injured finger into her mouth. She heard the creak that the second stair from the top always made and she swore again.
“James Patrick Sullivan,” she called out, bending down again to the keg. “I don’t care how well you feel. There’s to be no lifting for six weeks. Doctor’s orders. So just turn yourself around.”
“And miss out on how good your ass looks in those jeans?”
Faith jumped at the lazy Aussie drawl. She’d been trying unsuccessfully not to think about the fact that Raf was in New York.
She turned. Man, he was a sight for sore eyes. He looked browner and blonder and taller. His smile was sexier. His stubble was stubblier. He filled out his Levis better. He smelled better.
He was everything she remembered only better.
“Raf,” she said, fighting hard to sound casual. She would not swoon at his feet. It didn’t matter why he was in New York. She wasn’t interested in rekindling their sexual relationship. She needed more than that from him.
And she had her art.
“Hey,” he said, smiling.
Hey. Just one simple word and a smile and her traitorous pulse had kicked into overdrive. If he touched her she was doomed.
“You look good,” he said, his gaze traveling over her shirt and her jeans then back up again. “Really good.”
Her body melted beneath the heat in his gaze but there was no way she was returning the compliment. No way she was going to get into some flirty banter down here in the basement surrounded by erotic memories of them.
“Your dad looks great,” he said.