by Mia Sheridan
"You sure? It isn't too short?" I'd bought the dress from the small boutique I had gotten a job at recently in the nearby town of New Canaan. It was close enough to be an easy commute, but far enough away that I didn't worry about running into anyone I knew from Greenwich. It wasn't so much that I was embarrassed about working retail, it was more that I was just too . . . raw to deal with being mocked. By Lindsey, for instance. I wouldn't be able to conjure up the moxy needed to successfully deal with her and I'd more than likely crumble. Best avoided. So yes, since Stuart had died, I'd been hiding to a certain extent, but sometimes hiding was necessary for self-preservation. But at least I had the semblance of a life now—a job, a goal. I worked weekends and a few nights a week, which was the perfect schedule to work around my online classes and still allow me plenty of study time. It'd only taken me three months to get here, and it was still only a start. Three months since my brother had died, since my heart had been decimated.
"Is that dress too short? With your legs? God, no." She leaned toward the mirror, checking her makeup, which was perfect. "Ready?"
I took a deep breath. This was the first social function I'd been to since the summer garden party I'd gone to what seemed like eons ago. The one where I'd first spotted Brogan. I pushed the thought from my mind. No, I wasn't ready. In fact, I wanted to rip this dress off, put my sweats on, and park myself in front of Netflix for the rest of the night. But I just nodded. Daisy had begged me to go to this event with her and I'd said yes. I wouldn't back out now. I owed her so much—I could muster the strength for this.
We went into the kitchen where Daisy opened a bottle of champagne, laughing as it bubbled over into the glass she held. She topped off two flutes and handed one to me. "To us," she said. "To moving on."
I raised my glass. "To moving on," I repeated. God, I only hoped I could. I still felt like an empty shell, breakable, and too delicate to step out into the world. When would that feeling start diminishing? When would I start feeling whole again?
"Oh, hey, something came in the mail for you," Daisy said, nodding to a large envelope that sat at the end of her marble counter. I frowned slightly. Who knew where I was staying? Who knew me at all for that matter? I was completely unconnected to anyone except Daisy. And distantly . . . Ginny.
I set my champagne down and picked up the envelope. No return address. Tearing it open, I pulled out the stack of papers. I sucked in a breath and sagged against the counter as I read.
"What is it?" Daisy asked, her heels clicking on the stone floor as she walked quickly to me.
I brought two fingertips to my lips as my eyes scanned the pages, flipping through them. "Brogan, he signed De Havilland Enterprises over to me," I said, shaking my head in disbelief, my hands beginning to tremble. What did this mean?
"Let me see that," Daisy said, taking the stack of papers from me and looking through them as I stared ahead, unseeing.
"Lydia, he also signed your old house over to you, and," she flipped through the stack of papers, "it looks like he's set up an account to pay for property taxes," she paused, reading, "upkeep, lawn and grounds maintenance, etcetera." She set the papers down on the countertop, looking at me. "Do you think he's trying to make up for what he did?"
I shook my head, a pit opening up in my stomach, a fresh wave of anguish making me feel as if I couldn't breathe. "I don't know," I whispered. "Maybe he does feel some guilt for what he did. But," I shook my head back and forth again, "either way, it's him officially writing me off. There's not even a note in here," I said, tears threatening. I took a deep breath, determined not to cry. "Nothing, but these documents from," I picked up the stack of papers, reading the names at the top, "Shaw and O'Malley, Attorneys at Law."
Daisy's brow furrowed. "Lydia, maybe he doesn't know what to say. Maybe this is his way of reaching out to you in the hopes you'll reach back."
I turned that over in my mind, confusion and hurt warring with a small flicker of hope. In that moment, holding Brogan's fifteen-million-dollar gesture—whatever the gesture meant—I was suddenly certain of one thing. I didn't want the business back. I didn't even really want the house anymore. I wanted my brother back. I wanted . . . Brogan back. Neither one was possible. And none of it meant anything with my heart shattered in a million pieces. With the acknowledgment came more grief because it could never be. Everything was ruined and there was no way to fix it.
"He shot my brother, Daisy." My voice sounded small.
She was quiet for a moment. "I know, Lydia, but you read the police report. You know Stuart all but forced Brogan to shoot him," she said, her expression nervous as if she was afraid to broach this subject with me. "Do you really think he planned that?"
I didn't know. I had seen Stuart earlier that day. I'd known he was paranoid and half crazy. And the toxicology report that had come back from the medical examiner confirmed my suspicions that he'd been using heroin as well.
I'd gone over it and over it in my mind, wondering if my reaction that day had been born of grief and confusion, the pile-up of all that had hit me at once: Stuart's suspicions, finding out Brogan was hiding things from me, at least one being the purchase of my old family estate, Courtney's visit, her vile words, and then Stuart's death. I had only looked at it from the vantage point of shock and mistrust. God, I was so tired of trying to figure this out, of going over and over it in my mind and thinking I might come to some conclusion, some answer.
"Maybe—" Daisy started.
"No," I said, rejecting it all. "I can't think about this tonight. I can't wonder. If he wanted to talk to me, he would have made that happen. If he wanted to provide me some answers, he would. But he hasn't because either this was his intended ending or he knows that even if it wasn't, this is not something we could ever move past. There is no way for us to recover from this." Was there? I picked up my glass of champagne and downed it, closing my eyes for a moment, attempting to regain my composure.
Daisy chewed at her lip for another moment, as if she wanted to say more, but then raised her glass, apparently rejecting the idea. "Well okay, then. Let's get out of this house, have some fun, and we'll revisit this when you're ready." She downed the last of her champagne. "Let's do this." And with that we headed for the front door, stopping to grab our wraps and small evening bags.
Daisy's driver was waiting for us out front. We had another glass of champagne in the car on the drive to the city, and when we got to the art gallery where the exclusive charity event was being held, I was feeling better. We got out of the car, laughing and clutching our wraps against the cool October air.
Inside, people drifted from one display to another. I did my best to turn off my mind. I wouldn't think about what Brogan's unexpected gesture had meant. He hadn't had the decency to tell me, had made the choice to leave me guessing, and so I wouldn't spend a moment of my time obsessing. It was too painful.
And yet . . . despite my own assertions, my mind kept returning there. Had it been a peace offering? A way to reach out? Or was it really what I'd called it at Daisy's house, a way to completely cut all ties with me? But if that were the case, was it really necessary? He didn't need to give me ownership of my family company or my home in order to cut ties. He’d already done that. Perhaps then, it was his way of saying, "I win, but now I have no need for these spoils of war. Take them, they're nothing to me now." No, that made no sense. And . . . my heart rejected it. It felt wrong.
But then there was Courtney. He'd said he'd been clear with her about her place in his life—out. But where had he been those nights?
I thought back to the way he'd made love to me—tenderly, reverently. The way he'd looked at me, the way he'd touched me, I just couldn't accept that he was doing it vengefully or dishonestly.
I thought we made a peace treaty last night.
Is that what that was?
I massaged my temples. I was going to give myself a headache—again.
I left Daisy flirting with one of the event hosts by a large, bronz
e and silver sculpture of what looked like a pile of crumpled candy wrappers. I stopped and gazed at some of the paintings for a few minutes here and there, but mostly meandered. It felt good to be out, good to get dressed up, to remember I was still young, still attractive when I exerted some effort. Several men smiled at me as I passed, their eyes lingering a moment too long and that boosted my spirits, too. I was far from ready to date, but maybe someday . . .
"This is boring as hell," Daisy said, coming up next to me and taking my arm. "I made my contribution by buying a print near the front of the gallery. We can get out of here now."
I laughed. "We've only been here for half an hour."
"Yup. Twenty minutes too long. All the men here are rich businessmen. We've both sampled that variety. Let's go somewhere where the pickings are better." She pulled me and I followed.
"I don't want to sample any variety of men," I said. "But I'll follow you somewhere where there's a variety of alcohol."
We retrieved our wraps from the coat check and walked outside. "There's a restaurant across the street, a new hibachi place. Very young and trendy. Let's check out the bar." Daisy linked her arm with mine and we crossed at the crosswalk, moving as quickly as possible so as not to get chilled in the unseasonably cold weather.
The hibachi restaurant was dim and warm and smelled wonderfully of savory, grilled meat.
"We're just going to have a drink," Daisy said to the hostess when she greeted us.
"Of course." She smiled, waving her arm toward the bar to our left.
We turned toward it as a small group who had obviously just eaten moved toward the restaurant door. My heart stuttered violently when my eyes met Brogan's. For the breath of a moment, something inside that was wholly uncaring of the rules and reasons of my head lurched toward him in joyous delight. Shock registered in his light-blue eyes, but then they immediately shuttered, moving away from me as if I was of no consequence at all. I stopped in my tracks, frozen, my gaze moving to the people he was with: Fionn, two older men I didn't know, and . . . Courtney. She saw me, her cat-like eyes registering surprise as well right before she hooked her arm through Brogan's and smiled at me, showing the bare hint of teeth. The message was clear in her expression: I win.
And I had lost. Oh yes, and it had been a slaughter.
"Lydia," Fionn said, stopping in front of me as the rest of them moved on. I blinked at him. Next to me, Daisy put her hand gently on my arm. Fionn didn't seem to notice her.
"I . . . I—" Oh God. I was going to faint right here in the lobby of this restaurant.
"How are ya?" he asked gently.
"I . . ." Fionn's eyes moved over my face, his expression worried.
"Lydia," Daisy said. Fionn's eyes jumped briefly to her and back to me.
"Listen, Lydia—"
"Fionn," Brogan said from behind me. Fionn glanced to where Brogan must have been standing and then off to the left.
"For feck's sake," he murmured. His gaze met mine again. "Lydia—"
"I have to go," I choked, turning, stumbling slightly, not knowing where to go. Brogan was at the exit.
"We have to use the restroom," Daisy said, her grip on my arm tightening. Fionn hung his head, his hand moving to the back of his neck, but he didn't stop us. Daisy pulled me and I followed, stumbling again. My legs didn't seem to want to work.
I held myself together until we got to the ladies’ room and then I collapsed onto the small, velvet couch in the bathroom lobby, sobs moving up my throat so forcefully I couldn't choke them down.
I knew now.
I had wondered, and now I had my answer—Brogan had given me the business and my family home to assuage any guilt he might hold. That had been his way of saying anything we'd had between us was over. Finished. Just like me. And if the gesture itself didn't say so, Courtney's presence certainly did.
I realized then that, despite my grief over Stuart's death, despite my horror and confusion and deep despair, I'd held a kernel of hope in my heart that Brogan would come to me—come for me—and attempt to make things right. I’d hoped that I hadn't imagined he'd cared for me, that he might even love me as I'd loved him. I'd begun to admit to it earlier tonight when I'd opened that envelope, but I knew without a shadow of a doubt when I'd come face to face with him.
But now, now I knew. There was no hope, not even hope I wasn't ready to fully explore. There was nothing but a vast empty hole of grief and loneliness. And I knew in my heart I'd never recover from this, not fully. I'd known more loss than most would know in a lifetime, but nothing had carved such an irreparable hole as this.
As the bathroom attendant brought me tissues, Daisy sat beside me and held my hand as I cried on her shoulder for what must have been the hundredth time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Lydia
I resisted groaning when I heard the bell ring on the door of the boutique. There'd been a sale today, and I was dead on my feet. I was the only one closing, and I'd been cleaning up and hoping to be done with customers for the day.
Laying a white cashmere sweater that I'd just folded down on the pile in front of me, I turned, freezing when I saw Eileen standing in the doorway. "Hi," I said, blinking at her, not knowing the appropriate reaction.
Her smile was small and quick. "Hi, Lydia," she said. We stared at each other for a moment.
"How are you? Are you here . . . are you shopping?" I asked.
She walked toward me, shaking her head. "No, I'm actually here to see ya."
I tilted my head. "Oh? How did you know I work here?"
"Em, your friend Daisy told me."
"Daisy?" When had Eileen seen Daisy? And why would Daisy divulge my place of employment to anyone associated with Brogan? "I, uh . . ." I pursed my lips. "I'm sorry, Eileen, this is just . . . unexpected and I—"
She came just a bit closer, her pale blue eyes the precise color of her brother's. Looking into them made my heart hurt. "I'm sorry to just show up like this, Lydia. I was just hopin' we could talk. Maybe get coffee? I won't take up much of your time, I promise."
Oh God, this was not going to be good for me. I'd been doing okay in the weeks since I'd run into Brogan. Most days, I didn't even cry anymore. And now . . .
"Please?" Eileen pleaded.
I let out a breath. "Okay, sure. Let me, um, just finish up here and I'll meet you in the coffee shop next door. They're open for another hour or so."
Eileen let out a breath and smiled. "Okay, great." She started to turn. "Should I order for ya?"
"Oh, sure, uh . . . a raspberry Chai would be great."
She smiled again. "Okay." Turning, she walked out the door, the bell chiming again behind her.
I walked to it and turned the lock even though it was five minutes before the official closing time. It took me a few more minutes to close out the register and put the money in the safe in the back. Gathering my things and putting my jacket on, I then set the shop alarm and locked the door behind me.
Next door, Eileen was sitting at a table by the window. I sat down in the chair across from her, cupping my hands around the still-hot mug in front of me. "Thanks," I said, nodding down to the tea.
She gave me a small smile, taking a sip from her own cup. "How are ya, Lydia?" she asked. "Really?"
Surprised by the tenderness in her expression, I answered honestly, "I'm okay, mostly."
She nodded, pressing her lips together. "I'm sorry about your brother," she said. I nodded, not taking my eyes from her. "It must have been a terrible shock."
"Yes," I said, surprised by the tears that pricked my eyes. I missed Stuart, but I was also very aware of his issues and the ways in which he’d contributed to his own death. I'd been thinking about him a lot lately, now that the pain of losing him was diminishing, and I was ready to remember him as he'd really been—not some perfected version, but realistically, a very flawed man. And somehow acknowledging who he'd really been felt like a weight lifted from my shoulders. "He . . . wasn't perfect, not by a long sh
ot. But . . . he was my brother. I miss him." He was my only family left. I looked to the side. "I miss . . . the possibility that he could have changed his life . . . grown up . . . I don't know. I'm not in denial about who he really was. I just wish he'd had a chance to change."
"I understand," she said before pausing again. "Me brother tortures himself for what happened." I blinked at her, before looking down into my tea, squeezing the warm mug in my hands. "He can't forgive himself, Lydia."
I swallowed down the lump in my throat. "Eileen . . ." Her name broke off in a whisper, my heart squeezing.
"Lydia, he needs your forgiveness. He doesn't think he deserves it, and he'll try to keep ya from givin' it, but God, he needs it so badly."
"I . . . I . . . I just . . . he betrayed me in other ways, ways you don't know about. He lied to me about buying my house and—"
"He didn't tell ya about that because he bought it originally as part of his bloody stupid revenge plan." She frowned, shaking her head. "And then, well, then when he realized the error of his judgment in that regard, he couldn't just hand it over. Ya still had no way to pay for the taxes alone. You'd only have had to sell it again, the way your family had to the first time. He'd made sure of that. He needed to fix the situation before he gave it back to ya. He thought he was doin' right by ya, Lydia. I know it's all twisted, but I swear to ya on me life, on the very legs I walk on, that me brother has a heart of gold unlike anyone I've ever known."
I swallowed. I wanted to put my hands over my ears and beg her to stop. She was causing me to doubt the carefully constructed walls I'd built since I'd left Brogan's apartment that day, the walls that were keeping me safe, secure. I needed those walls. I'd struggled to lift each brick into place. "Did he send you here?"
"Jaysus, no. He'd kill me if he knew I was here. But I had to try, because he's been spendin' time with that scanger, Courtney. She wants him to marry her, and I'm scared to bloody death he might eventually do it just to punish himself."