After spending an entire evening with Emer and Delaney, I’ve come to the conclusion that they are genuinely both lovely, and that between the two of them, they never stop talking. Even in the elevator, on our way to breakfast, they chattered away, always trying to include me in their conversations.
But I’ve always been quiet, one to keep my thoughts to myself. Still, I enjoy listening to them, learning more about the men and all their little quirks.
All four of the guys, as well as Agnus, are already waiting for us in the restaurant. Owen’s hard, brooding gaze watches me as I sit down, never wavering as the others start to talk and interact, unaware of the silent conversation going on between the two of us.
I’m not done with you, his eyes say.
You’re going to break me.
I’m going to fuck you, his smirk says.
And then break me.
“What about ye, Bree?” Agnus asks as she stirs milk into her tea.
I glance over at her and lift my brows, not knowing what the question was.
“Anyone special back home?”
I risk a glance at Owen, but his attention is diverted now, his stormy eyes brooding, mouth drawn into a tight line as he listens to something Cillian is saying.
Black hair brushes over his forehead as he tilts his head to the side in a silent answer to Cillian’s question. He roughs a hand over the dark scruff on his jaw, his muscles tensing and bunching under his fitted t-shirt.
God, he’s gorgeous.
As if he feels my gaze, he glances back, and my insides melt at the heat that burns in his eyes.
“No.” I look back at Agnus, hoping the heat that warms my cheeks isn’t too noticeable.
“Ye’ll find the right one when the time is right.” Emer says, giving me a look that isn’t as subtle as I’m sure she thinks it is.
I shrug. “People always say that, but how many don’t find the right one? Or, they think they do and end up in a loveless marriage…or worse.”
It’s probably the most I’ve opened up since being here, and I realize that all eyes are on me, including Owen’s.
He frowns at me, but I have no idea what he’s thinking. Because, for the life of me, I can’t figure the man out. The only thing he’s said to me all morning was a quick growl in my ear that we still needed to talk.
But the hardness in his gaze now has me on the edge of my seat, my nerves twisting in my stomach.
“Not everyone’s made for marriage,” I say, my words directed at Owen, but knowing they hold just as true for myself.
“Amen to that,” Shane says with a laugh, lifting his coffee cup towards me and winking.
Agnus clucks her tongue. “Surely, ye want to have a family one day?”
“Ma, leave her alone,” Emer says. “Not everyone wants the same things.”
“I know that.” Agnus frowns. “I raised yer brother, didn’t I?”
Shane chuckles. “Nothing wrong with bachelorhood.”
“And nothing wrong with finding the love of yer life when ye’re sixteen years old,” Emer says, placing her hand on Aiden’s, her smile brightening her whole face.
Shane grunts and gives a look like he’d rather be speared in the eyes with a fork than ever settle for what Emer and Aiden have.
That’s where we’re different. It’s not that I don’t believe in family, or in finding the one. I just know not everyone is that lucky. Watching my mother go through a revolving door of men and hostile relationships, I can say with certainty that there are very few Prince Charmings out there.
“I’m not saying I don’t envy what you have,” I say, glancing back at Emer. “I’m just a realist. I don’t believe in fate or soulmates.”
“That’s not what ye told me when we were little,” Emer says with a twinkle in her eye. “It was ye who convinced me to take a chance on Aiden.”
“I didn’t know that,” Aiden says beside her.
“She gave me yer note. The one with the lyrics on it.”
My blood goes cold.
Aiden chuckles. “I write music, sweetheart. Not poetry. Maybe ye had another secret admirer.” He cups her chin when she frowns. “If ye want me to write ye pretty words, I’d be happy to try. But that’s always been Cillian and Owen’s specialty.”
“Wasn’t me,” Cillian says, putting his hands up and shaking his head, the look on his face pure horror at the thought.
There’s a clatter at the other end of the table when Owen drops his utensils on his plate and pushes his chair back.
No one says a word as we watch him storm out of the restaurant.
A tension-filled silence stretches between us, before Shane finally breaks it. “Can someone tell me what the hell just happened?”
Looks pass between the men, before their attention turns to me.
Shit.
Emer is frowning when she says, “Ye told me Aiden wrote the note.”
“I…” Shifting under their stares, I wince. “I wanted you to think he did.”
“Bree?” Emer asks.
“I was twelve and stupid, and…”
“In love,” Emer says, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“Infatuated,” I correct her. “I’m sorry.”
“Wait.” Shane sits up, his eyes widening when he finally understands. “Ye’re saying Owen used to crush on ye? Did ye know that?”
Emer shakes her head, while Aiden continues to frown.
“I should go talk to him,” Aiden says.
“No.” Agnus pats her son-in-law’s arm before standing. “Let me.”
“That was awkward,” Shane says, when his mother leaves.
“Which is exactly why Owen never wanted anyone to know,” Aiden says, still frowning.
“Ye knew?” Emer asks.
He shrugs. “I had my suspicions when we were younger.”
“I’m really sorry,” I say again.
Emer places her hand on Aiden’s and squeezes it. “It might be wrong to say, but ye did me a favor. I’d been half in love with this buffoon since before I could ride a bike. Ye only gave me the courage to let him know.”
Maybe. But I doubt Owen will see it that way.
Chapter 15
Owen
A mess of confused emotions twist in my stomach. All this time, Emer thought my note—the words I poured from my heart—were from Aiden. But that’s not what I’m most upset about.
What irks me the most is that Bree lied, again.
The rational part of my brain reminds me that she was just a kid when she did it. But I can’t help but wonder what else she’s lying about. Or what other secrets are just waiting to be uncovered. Something in the back of my head warned me that she would bring trouble, and I was right.
I pace the hotel foyer, knowing I just made a bigger jackass of myself by storming out of the restaurant than if I’d just laughed the damn thing off. But I’m pissed. And more confused now than ever.
I didn’t sleep last night with all the thoughts of Bree spinning in my head.
Tempting me.
Taunting me.
And the pressure of a migraine squeezing inside my head.
I catch a glimpse of Agnus walking towards me. I mutter a curse under my breath and turn towards the elevators.
“Don’t even think about walking away from me, boy.”
Hand ready to hit the elevator button, I curl my outstretched fingers into fists and turn to meet her hard gaze.
“If this is about the letter. I wrote it a long time ago. It doesn’t mean anything.”
She purses her lips, eyes narrowing, then sighs. “I see the way ye look at that girl.”
“Emer’s like a sister to me.”
“I wasn’t talking about Emer.”
I start to correct her, but she clucks her tongue at me. “I may be old, but I’m not blind.”
“I love ye, Agnus. But I don’t need ye meddling in my affairs.”
“So, it’s an affair, is it?” She raises an eyebrow.
“That’s not…” I drag my fingers through my hair and glance around at the curious onlookers.
I hate making a scene, but Agnus seems intent on doing just that.
Taking in a steadying breath, I close my eyes and tilt my head to the ceiling, knowing I’m not going to get out of this conversation.
“Ye have feelings for her,” Agnus says, studying me.
“I barely know her.”
“I knew my Danny for three weeks before he asked me to marry him.”
“Jeezus, Agnus, I’m not marrying her. I’m not marrying anyone.”
She snorts. “Ye might be able to fool yerself, thinking ye’re like Shane, but ye’re not. Ye’re miserable by yerself.”
“I’m not-”
“Maybe Beatrice isn’t the one ye’ve been waiting for.” Agnus continues, ignoring my obvious frustration. “But ye’re never going to find out unless ye stop fooling yerself by thinking ye’re in love with my daughter.”
I suck in a shaky breath at her bluntness, and blink down at her.
“I’ve practically raised ye since ye were a little boy. Ye think I didn’t know how ye felt about her?”
I clench my back teeth and look away, heat warming my neck and creeping into my cheeks. “Ye don’t know what ye’re talking about.”
“I do.” The hardness of her tone is gone, replaced with sympathy. “Emer showed me that letter. I knew Aiden didn’t write it. The boy could barely write his name legibly, and I knew yer printing. Knew yer words, and yer heart.”
“Ye didn’t say anything.”
“No. Because I knew it wouldn’t make any difference. My girl has been in love with that boy since she was a child.” Agnus places a hand on my arm and smiles sadly. “I don’t deny ye’ve always cared about Emer. But ye don’t love her the way ye think ye do. Ye never have. I think ye always knew she’d never be yers, which made her safe.”
I shake my head, even though I hear the truth in her words.
“Ye’re a good boy, Owen,” Agnus says, patting my hand like I’m still a child and not a grown man that towers over her. “But ye’ve always been so worried about everyone else. So afraid that they’d leave ye. I know how hard it was when yer mother left. How difficult it’s been for ye to let anyone else in that big heart of yers. Ye’ve wrapped yer whole world around a few people. It’s time to let other people in.”
I hate how right she is. And how fucking terrified her words make me feel. Never pegged myself for a coward. But it’s what I feel right now.
Across the lobby, Bree exits the restaurant, her cheeks filling with color when she sees me. I’m blocking her path to the elevators, and she looks around like she doesn’t know if she should flee out the lobby doors, or go back into the restaurant.
“Ye’ll do the right thing. Ye always do.” Agnus squeezes my hand, then walks back into the restaurant, patting Bree’s arm before she does.
The thing is, I don’t know what the right thing is right now. But it’s probably not the dirty things my body begs to do to Bree as she slowly approaches.
As much as Agnus was trying to help, her words only increased the pressure I’m already feeling.
“I’m sorry,” Bree mutters when she reaches me. “About the note. I was-”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say roughly.
“It does. If I’d told her-”
“No. It. Doesn’t,” I say a little too harshly, making her flinch. I know Agnus was right. “It changes nothing.”
“Still, I’m sorry-”
“No more apologies, Bree.” I step towards her, watching her eyes widen, her cheeks flush at the nearness of my body. “No more lies. Promise me.”
“I promise.” She says the words softly, glancing down at the floor.
I reach past her, my arm brushing against her shoulder, and press the elevator button, needing some time to sort out my thoughts. Needing my guitar and a notepad to channel the angst that’s been crippling me for too long.
“Just tell me why ye did it? Why ye told Emer the note was from Aiden. Did I do something to hurt ye?”
She inhales a small, unsteady breath before admitting, “No.”
“Then what?”
Her tongue darts out over her bottom lip and she exhales unevenly before she says, “I saw the way you looked at her. And I wanted it to be me.” Her hand goes to my chest, resting there for a second.
The elevator doors open, and she drops her hand, stepping in. “I guess we both know something about caring for someone who’ll never feel the same way. I’m sorry I was the cause of your pain.”
“We’ll talk later,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck.
“Sure.” She gives me a forced smile, and I see the resignation in her eyes as the doors close in front of her.
Damn it.
Chase after the girl, ye idiot, my heart hammers.
I start to press the elevator button, with every intention of doing it, then stop.
Before I allow my heart or cock to make any more decisions concerning her, I need to get my head screwed on. And that just isn’t possible when she’s anywhere near me.
Chapter 16
Bree
It would be easy to stay in the hotel room, mope around like a heartsick teenager, and wait for Owen to come back and talk. But after an hour of waiting, I know I have to get out, to do something to take my mind off him.
I think about renting a car and leaving the city for a couple days, exploring the countryside. But after hearing about Delaney’s experience driving on the opposite side of the road, I figure it’s safer to stick with taxis and bus tours.
In the lobby, I pull out a brochure that has a picture of an ancient monument on it.
“Newgrange Tours,” I mutter. A seven-hour tour from Dublin to the Neolithic tombs at Newgrange and the Hill of Tara.
Exactly what I need to get my mind off Owen, and better than the shopping trip Emer and Delaney have planned. I enjoyed my time with them last night, but I know there’ll be more questions, and more awkwardness, after this morning’s admission. And one of the reasons I came here was to see the country.
To revisit my roots.
Plus, I really hate shopping.
Grabbing a taxi to take me to the tour pick-up, I send a quick text to Emer to cancel and let her know where I’m going.
She calls me back right away. “Do ye want me to go with ye?”
“Seven hours on a bus probably isn’t the best thing for you in your condition.”
“If this is about what happened this morning-”
“It’s not. I just want to do a bit of sightseeing. I don’t know when, or if, I’ll ever be back here.”
Emer sighs on the other end. “I wanted to talk to ye about that.”
I step onto the tour bus and take a seat at the back, away from the families with young children that crowd the front.
“About what?”
“Ye moving here.”
“Oh.”
“Ye said ye didn’t have much to go back to. So, why go back?” Emer continues, rambling quickly. “I was talking to my mom, and she said ye can stay with her until-”
“Emer,” I stop her, tears pricking my eyes. “I can’t just move back. I don’t have a job.”
“Ye don’t have one back in the States, either. Just think about it.”
“I will.” I hesitate before saying, “Emer?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
I swear, I can hear her smile through the phone.
Could I do it? Move back here? There’s nothing stopping me. No one waiting for me back in Michigan. Except for Frank.
I shiver at the thought.
The man has been quiet lately, but that doesn’t mean he’s gone. That he won’t make good on his promise to find me. And there was that letter from his lawyer a few months ago. God only knows what the man is capable of.
Maybe moving here is a good idea. But if Frank does want to cause trouble, I don’t want my family being
dragged down with me.
I glance out the window as the bus starts to roll out of the parking lot.
Ireland changes as we leave the city. The bustle of the city streets is replaced by miles of open space, rolling green hills scattered with sheep as we drive north through County Meath.
It’s only an hour from Dublin to our first stop, the Hill of Tara. The seat of the great kings of Ireland.
I was here once when I was little. My Aunt Agnus brought me and Emer when my mom was off on one of her weekend getaways.
Getting off the bus, it feels like I’m in the middle of nowhere, not at one of the country’s most famous monuments. There’s a café in front of the small parking lot, but other than that, there’s nothing but hills, a few scattered farmhouses, an old church, and sheep. But buried in the long green grass and purple heather are remnants of a people that lived here thousands of years ago. My people.
I half listen to the guide as my group walks around. Compared to the towering buildings I’m used to back home, the monuments at first seem almost insignificant. It’s not until I realize how long they’ve stood here, untouched, that the significance really grabs me. Some, almost five thousand years.
A rock is no longer just a rock. It’s a symbol of someone’s belief. Of a people unifying to build something. A wild people who believed in magic, and destiny.
Standing in front of one of the earth mounds, I close my eyes and breathe in the fresh air. The scent of grass is thick, the bleating of sheep and the rustle of wind the only sounds among the awed whispers.
I belong here, my heart beats wildly. This is home.
My tour group moves on, back towards the church, but the last place I want to be is inside.
There are a couple other tours, so I’m never alone as I spend time at each monument. A few nods and polite smiles are exchanged, but everyone I see seems somewhat lost in their own thoughts.
It’s the large hawthorn tree covered in decorations that seems to draw the largest crowd. Adorned with everything from ribbons, keychains, notes, bells, and even baby pacifiers, it seems out of place.
At the otherworldly sound of chimes and tinkling when the wind blows through the branches, a memory tugs at the back of my mind. The memory of being here when I was younger. Of Agnus holding me up to place my grandmother’s charm bracelet on one of the branches.
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