by Penny Reid
Lucy had a problem. Not a little problem. A big problem.
And what had her brother done? Carted her off, sent her to New York as though she were an embarrassment. No wonder she’d developed an insatiable penchant for fancy golf balls, and eyeshadow, and whatever else.
Ronan sent me a dirty look that promised a world of hurt, and I volleyed one right back at him. I itched to get my hands on the bastard. The last time we’d fought, I’d pulled my punches, as pummeling him had been counterproductive to my goal of seeing him expelled from the team for misconduct.
But this time . . .
He clapped a hand on my shoulder, murder in his eyes, and flexed his beefy fingers into the joint. “Time for us to have a chat, arsehole.”
I shook him off and gestured to the door leading outside. “Ladies first.”
He smirked humorlessly, shaking his head, but preceded me out the door. I strolled behind him at a safe distance. I had no plans to attack him from behind. As well, our teammates had fallen in line behind me. Even if I wanted to tackle him, I had nine of his biggest fans watching my every move.
Once outside, he paused until I drew even with him, then we walked side by side down the lawn, toward the fountain at the center of the drive.
He spoke first. “Explain to me how this happened.”
I chuckled grimly. “I don’t owe you shite, Fitzpatrick.”
He continued as though I hadn’t spoken. “First Brona. Now Lucy? Is my mam next?”
I shuddered inwardly, grimacing, but catching the insult about his mother just before it left my tongue.
“Are you going to mess around with all the women in my life? I’d just like to know what to expect.” His tone was deceptively light. I knew once we reached the grounds beyond the fountain, where the light tapered to darkness, he would make his move.
“For the record, I never fucked Brona.” I stuffed my hands in my shorts pockets as I taunted him with a forced air of boredom. I couldn’t wait to drive my fists into his pretty face.
“That’s bullshit.”
“Nope. I never touched her beyond what was required to color your perception of the situation. You did all the heavy lifting with that one, Mother Fitzpatrick.”
Ronan’s steps slowed and he was quiet for several beats. “You never fucked Brona?”
“I did not.”
“And did you . . .” He cleared his throat and I turned my head to watch his profile. His throat worked and I saw true anguish pass over his features.
Clearing his throat a second time, he called to the guys behind us. “Back off, would you?”
They stopped at his command and we continued toward the fountain.
“What about Lucy?” he finally managed gruffly once we’d gained some distance from the others.
I frowned at him.
I noted he couldn’t bring himself to ask, Did you fuck Lucy?
Furthermore, some of the air left my balloon of fury at the hint of vulnerability coloring his words.
I sighed, shaking my head and looking away. “I wouldn’t call it that.”
“What would you call it?”
“None of your goddamn business.”
Ronan choked a harsh laugh, his tone incredulous. “None of my business?”
“That’s right. What goes on between me and Lucy—”
He jerked to a stop, grabbing my shirtfront. “Don’t you fecking say her name.”
I pushed him off, aware of the others hovering several yards away. My earlier anger had been eclipsed by a remarkable exhaustion. Maybe since the first time I’d laid eyes on the man, I didn’t want to fight Ronan.
“What happens with us is between us.”
“Like hell it is,” he charged at me, “not when you’re trying to—”
“I love her,” I admitted, to him and to myself.
He stopped, brown eyes flashing dangerously. “That’s bullshit.”
I laughed—again humorlessly—shaking my head at the irony of his statement. “That’s what she said when I told her I wanted her to be mine. When she rejected me.”
Why I was opening that wound in front of Ronan Fitzpatrick, I had no idea. Perhaps that was what people in love do. They become morose Byron-esque caricatures of self-loathing. They become masochists.
Fuck, I hated myself.
Ugh.
I was quite suddenly everything I couldn’t stand about the man in front of me.
And furthermore, I couldn’t bring myself to care.
“She rejected you?”
That stopped him, and he stood a little straighter, his expression telling me he was proud of his sister. Obviously, he’d misinterpreted my meaning. He likely thought she’d rejected my untoward sexual advances. Little did he know . . .
I thought about correcting his assumption but decided to let him swim around in his dream world. As I’d said, it wasn’t any of his business.
Now to the other matter.
“What I want to know,” I started, waiting until he met my glare before continuing, “is why, if you knew Lucy had a thieving problem, did you never insist she seek psychological help?”
Ronan flinched. Clearly my words had caught him completely off guard. He opened his mouth to respond. I cut him off, renewed irritation flaring at his apathy and inaction.
“She needs help, Ronan. She’s not something to be ashamed of, sent away.”
He sputtered for a moment before lamely explaining, “I didn’t send her away. I thought that it had stopped— I thought she wasn’t—”
“Well, clearly tonight’s events prove that you’re wrong,” I reprimanded. “And this isn’t the first time I’ve come across her flexing this compulsion. Your mother is obviously a bad influence, so I blame her. You know Lucy doesn’t steal unless that blasted woman is around, driving her to do it.”
Ronan continued looking at me as though I’d grown a rugby ball for a head until I glowered at him and added, “And I blame you, too.”
“You blame me?” he asked stupidly, eyes wide.
“Yes. You’re her brother. You should be watching out for her, not ignoring her cries for help.”
“Her cries for help?” he parroted, looking even more stunned.
“Yes,” I ground out through clenched teeth, losing my patience. A growl rumbled from my chest. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Ronan. Could you spare a moment in your self-absorbed little bubble to think of your lovely sister? She’s . . . magnificent and wonderful and selfless and needs you. And where are you?”
“Where am I?” That question he asked with a slight grin.
It infuriated me.
“I don’t know. But you’re not taking care of her, are you?” I challenged, daring him to contradict.
He studied me, his gaze coolly assessing. It took me several moments to see through my own irritation before I realized he was no longer angry. Or, at least, he didn’t appear to be.
“Hmm.”
Then he nodded, turned, and walked away.
And I watched him go, a frown of stunned confusion on my face. Finally finding my voice, I called after him, “Where are you going?”
“To talk to Lucy,” he called back over his shoulder, almost cheerfully. Then added, “And, for Christ’s sake, Sean. Go put some socks on. You can’t run in bare feet.”
Chapter Twenty
@LucyFitz Up, down, up, down… I AM SO READY FOR SOME CALM F%$&ING WATERS!
*Lucy*
After Bryan and William escorted me to the suite, I found Annie and Broderick sharing a late night cup of cocoa in the lounge area. Honestly, I would’ve found the sight adorable if I hadn’t been so distressed. Annie saw the look on my face and quickly stood, coming to wrap her arms around me.
“What happened?” she asked with concern.
I bit my bottom lip to keep from crying and shook my head. “I’m the worst sister in the world.”
Annie placed her hands on my arms just above the elbows and gave me a reassuring squeeze. “Surely, whatever
it is, it can’t be that bad.”
My non-response was a tangle of self-recrimination. “Annie, your wedding is tomorrow. Yours and Ronan’s. And I’m a selfish harpy. What the hell is wrong with me?”
“Lucy, calm down. Just tell us what happened.”
My panicked eyes met Broderick’s over her shoulder and he gave me a flat, mollifying smile. “Did the shit hit the fan?”
I nodded, covering my face with my hands. “Why am I this way? Why can’t I just be normal?”
“No one wants you normal.” Annie wrapped her arm around my shoulders.
“But you and Ronan—”
“We’re not talking about Ronan and me. We’re talking about you.”
“So Ronan found out? How did he take it?” Broderick cut in, sounding sympathetic. I didn’t deserve sympathy.
“Okay, someone fill me in here.” Annie tugged my hands away from my face. “What is going on?”
“I have . . .” I started, stopped, took a deep breath, and started again. “I have a problem, Annie. I’ve been keeping a secret.”
“Secret? Don’t you mean secrets?” How Broderick managed to say that and still sound sympathetic was beyond me. He was a Jedi master of being likable.
“Broderick . . .”
“Someone fill me in before I explode with curiosity. What could possibly have you this upset?” Annie lifted her voice, glancing between the two of us.
I opened my mouth to confess, but Broderick beat me to it. “Lucy is a compulsive shoplifter and she slept with Sean Cassidy.”
Annie gasped.
I glowered.
Broderick shrugged.
“You were beating around the bush. Now it’s out there and you didn’t have to say it. You’re welcome.”
“Is this true?” Annie asked, her eyes wide with concern.
Concern.
Not judgment.
I sighed dejectedly and flung myself into one of the suite’s club chairs, again burying my face in my hands. “I just tried to steal two hundred euros of golf balls.”
“Holy shit. That’s a lot of golf balls.” Broderick gave a low whistle.
Now I was crying. Not big, gusty sobs crying. Just quiet, I-am-the-worst-person-in-the-world-lament crying. “It’s not really. It’s only about twelve balls. They’re just really expensive here.”
“Okay, wait.” Annie pulled her chair close to mine and gently pulled my hands from my face. She gave me a coaxing smile. “Start from the beginning.”
I gave her a shaky nod then proceeded to spill my guts. I told both her and Broderick everything, the entire saga of Sean Cassidy and Lucy Fitzpatrick, sans the Sean being rubbish in the sack part.
They listened, and Annie wore a thoughtful expression completely free of judgment. It was a world away from how Ronan had stared at me with stunned disbelief, as he somehow came to the conclusion I was in love with Sean.
Was I in love with him?
I rubbed at my chest, where a swelling ache had lingered ever since I left that note for him to find. How could I end things when all I wanted to do was curl myself around him and never let go?
Trying to ignore these perturbing thoughts, I turned back to Annie. “I’m so sorry I made a scene on the eve of your wedding.”
She waved away my apology. “Please. I don’t care about that. I care about you.”
“I have no idea what to do.” I shook my head, new tears leaking from the corners of my eyes.
She pursed her lips, opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Well, I think you should be with Sean, Lucy.”
I opened my mouth to object and she lifted a hand to stop me.
“I understand your reservations. You’re going to have a hell of a time talking Ronan around. He almost burst a blood vessel when I told him I’d invited Sean to the wedding. But, honey, it’s your life. Not Ronan’s. You need to live it and stop worrying so much about what he—or your mother for that matter—thinks about your decisions. You have to trust that Ronan is going to love you no matter what.”
Her response both gave me hope and deflated me. I was happy she thought I should be with him, but depressed she’d echoed my worries over Ronan.
Annie opened her mouth to speak again when an insistent knock sounded at the door. “Lucy, open up,” came Ronan’s stern voice. Annie froze in place.
“The wedding’s tomorrow. You can’t see me, go away,” she called to him, frazzled.
Ronan’s tone softened a little. “I’m sorry, love. Could you go into the other room for a little while? I need to talk to my sister.”
Annie glanced at me in question but I fervently shook my head, sniffing and wiping my nose with the back of my hand. I needed a tissue and a hiding place.
“You’re going to have to talk to him eventually,” she whispered, and I grimaced.
“She’s right. Go talk to your bro,” Rick added, whispering too.
“What are you all whispering about in there? I can hear whispering,” Ronan grumped.
I sighed and said, “Fine, I’ll talk to him. Now you and Rick go hide in the other room.”
They each gave me sympathetic looks before walking through the doorway leading to one of the bedrooms. Once the door was shut, I released a shaky exhale and went to let my brother in. Ronan strode inside with purpose, a foreign restlessness about him as if he didn’t know where to begin.
He shot me a deeply concerned look as he paced.
Unable to take his anxious silence, I blurted, “I’m so sorry.”
He stopped pacing, his eyes narrowed on me as he questioned, “For what?”
I gathered another large inhale and responded on a rush, “I am so sorry for causing the scene downstairs. It’s your wedding tomorrow and I know that was selfish and destructive. I promise, I was so much better. I hadn’t stolen anything in almost six months before the summer. But then I—”
Ronan waved his hands through the air and spoke over me. “Lucy, you have a compulsion. I’m not saying stealing is fine and dandy. I’m saying it’s a problem and it needs to be fixed. Once and for all.”
I nodded contritely and repeated, “I’m so sorry.”
My brother’s eyes softened and he gave me a small smile. “Stop being sorry. You’re not a bad person. I’m just worried about you.”
I nodded, pressing my lips together and firming my chin to keep it from wobbling. We stood apart from each other, my big brother—my hero—and me.
The disappointment.
The embarrassment.
I was so tired of being the embarrassment.
Speaking of . . .
“Is Sean okay?” I asked hesitantly.
Ronan let out a mirthless laugh, his gaze losing some of its softness as he began pacing again. “Yes, he’s fine.”
“He wasn’t arrested?”
“No.”
“Oh, good. That’s good,” I said, relief setting in. I’d been so worried.
On one hand, I was amazed by the way he’d stepped in and tried to divert the blame away from me. On the other hand, I was irritated with how he’d stepped in and diverted the blame away from me.
I’d stolen the overpriced balls. The blame rested on my shoulders. I needed to take responsibility for my actions. So, yes, I was glad he hadn’t been arrested for my fecking everything up.
When Ronan finally stopped stomping around like an angry bull, he asked, “Start from the beginning, tell me how all this . . . business between you and Cassidy . . . Tell me how it came about.”
I shrugged, unable to maintain eye contact for very long. My attention kept flittering about the room like a manic wasp.
“I’m waiting, Lucy,” Ronan lifted his voice.
I wiped at my eyes, glancing at the carpet. “We first met at a party for the rugby team. I thought he was awful,” I told him honestly.
“Right. So how do you go from thinking he’s awful to looking at him with big googly eyes?” he asked with a wild hand gesture.
I scowled a littl
e. “I don’t look at him with googly eyes. I look at him with normal eyes.”
Ronan gave me an arched brow and that big-brother stare that said I was stalling. I sighed and shifted in place.
“Fine. I guess it started properly when we bumped into each other in town one day. He asked me to dinner. I thought he was taking the piss. He wasn’t. I said yes. Things progressed from there.”
“So this is the dinner you told me about? Why did you say yes?”
“Fine. Okay, he kind of blackmailed me into it. He saw me take some eyeshadow, shoplift, and used it as leverage. But, honestly? I would have gone either way.”
Ronan’s eyes widened as though I’d just told him Santa Claus and Genghis Khan had been having a torrid love affair since the twelfth century.
“Oh God, Ronan, come on.” I rolled my eyes, feeling marginally better now we were engaging in normal brother and sister bickering. “Even you must see how gorgeous he is. It was going out to dinner once. At least, that’s what I thought. And then he said something rude and I threw my drink in his face and left.”
This news seemed to settle him somewhat.
“Good.” He nodded once. “That’s good. So how do you go from throwing your drink in his face to googly eyes?”
I released a giant exhale and sat heavily on the couch, studying my fingers as I answered. “It’s complicated. I knew going out with him was wrong and that it would anger you. I told him we could be friends and nothing more. He never told anyone about my shoplifting problem. And at first I thought he and I were friends, or becoming friends. I was doing him a favor, helping him out. But we just have this thing between us that’s hard to ignore. A draw.”
“You were drawn to him?”
“Yes,” I answered simply. “Didn’t you feel the same way when you first met Annie? Like even though you knew pursuing her was going to be whole lot of trouble you could do without, you couldn’t help doing it anyway?”
Now he only looked at me, his expression inscrutable. He folded his arms, and his lips pulled into a firm line as he admitted grudgingly, “I might have.”