Chasing River (Burying Water #3) (39 page)

“So?” I wander toward the kitchen. “What do you want to eat? I have cold cuts and cheese, fruit . . .” I open the freezer. “. . .veggie burgers . . .” I don’t have to turn around to know that he’s rolling his eyes at that. “A lasagna?”

“Meat or vegetarian?”

Mom being a surgeon and a terrible cook, most of our meals growing up were frozen, pre-made grocery store finds. She’d buy a lot of vegetarian things, even though none of us were vegetarian. It drove Dad nuts, and he’d grumble about it, but in the end, he’d shut up and eat it. The first thing that changed when he retired was that he started doing all the grocery shopping. I haven’t seen a vegetarian casserole in our house in the better part of a year.

“Meat . . . if saying that will make you eat it.”

“You’re too much like your mother in some ways.”

“And too much like you in others,” I retort, punching buttons until the oven preheat lights come on. “It’s going to take an hour to bake. Can you make it that long, or should we go out to eat?”

“Nope.” Flipping through three cupboards before finding the glassware, he pulls two glasses out and pours each to a third full with the amber liquid. He never drinks hard liquor. “Neither of us are leaving this kitchen until you explain why you were arrested.”

My stomach drops. “How did you—”

“Told you, I’m not deaf. Besides, Ivy promised you weren’t hurt, but you were in trouble. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.” He sets both tumblers on the kitchen table, drags the chairs out, and sits. “Let’s hear it, from the beginning. And I want to know exactly how this guy is involved, because I’m guessing he’s at the center of it.”

Crap.
Dad’s never been one for delays, so I shouldn’t be at all surprised.

“So?”

I pour the whiskey back, grimacing at the unpleasant burn. It’s not nearly as unpleasant as this conversation is going to be. “Remember that bombing last week?”

“It’s not that bad, actually.” I scoop a mouthful in. “A bit too much salt, but the sauce is good.”

Dad twirls his fork in his hand absently. “The IRA, Amber. I ought to drag you to the airport right now.”

“See? This is why I lied in the first place.”

His answering glare is full of exasperation. “And now you’re actually carrying on with this . . .
River
. What kind of name is that anyway? Doesn’t sound Irish.”

“I like it, actually. It suits him.”

He snorts. “What’s his middle name? Twigs? Bog?”

I roll my eyes. Dad’s sarcastic side can be pretty predictable. “He saved my life, Dad. If it hadn’t been for River, you would have been flying here anyway, only it’d be to visit me in the hospital or collect my body.”

The cords in his neck tense. “Because of his brother.”

“Yes,
his brother
. Not River. He had nothing to do with it or with those people. Condemning him would be like condemning me for that mess with Jesse and Alex. You know . . . the one that cost you your job?”

“My choices are what cost me my job,” he mumbles. “I can’t blame Jesse for that.”

“Yeah, so Alex told me . . . finally,” I say softly. “I know what you did, Dad.”

His gaze flashes to me. “I’m not proud of what I did but, to be clear, it was the best way to protect everyone under the circumstances.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do. And we’re not talking about me here. We’re talking about you, and what is going on here in Ireland. I know you’re twenty-five years old and I can’t dictate what you do anymore, but your mother and I raised you to be better than this. Just associating with this family is a bad idea, Amber. Look what’s happened since that bombing. You’ve been arrested for lying to a police officer!”

“You lied to an entire police organization,” I remind him. “And a judge. And Mom, for a while.”

He purses his lips. I’m guessing Alex is going to get an earful when Dad makes it home. “Well, you’re damn lucky that detective isn’t pressing charges. I should go down there and kiss his ass. And do you realize that you could just as easily have been in that pub when it got bombed?”

“I know,” I say quietly. Had I not decided to go to Cork, I likely would have. I would have met the infamous Aengus Delaney, looked the asshole right in the eye, perhaps shared a pint with him.

And then who knows? I could have ended up like Rowen. Or worse.

Dad pours himself another whiskey. “You know, since Jesse finally settled down and started using his head, I thought I could finally relax. I thought our family was past this sort of thing. I never thought you’d do something so stup—” He cuts himself off, and then, in a slightly softer voice that screams of disappointment, he finishes off with, “so dangerous.”

“Neither did I,” I admit. His words burn, but not nearly as much as they might have in the past. “But it was the best way to protect everyone.”

He heaves a sigh, shaking his head to himself. “How do you know?” He parrots me, just as I did to him.

I rest my chin on his shoulder. “I just do.”

He chews his food in silence for a few moments, before asking, “So are you going to come home with me?”

I shake my head.

“I didn’t think so,” he grumbles. “Leaving here on Sunday?”

“I changed my flight this morning. I’m staying in Ireland for another week, at least.”

“And then?”

“And then I don’t know.” I hope I find my answer soon, though. “I’m taking it one day at a time, like I have every day since I arrived here.”

He stabs at his food with his fork. “This thing you have with him is doomed, Amber. You do realize that, right? That boy’ll never
not
be a criminal.”

“I do realize what he is.”

“He’ll never step foot in our home.”

“I know that, too.”

“And Dublin is 4,682 miles away from Sisters. I Googled it.”

I smile, sadly. “I really care about him. 4,682 times more than I ever cared about Aaron, or Brody, or even Neil. In a different way. A deeper way.”

I can see the frustration in his face as he mentally runs back through the obstacles to this relationship that he just presented. All of them are valid. That frustration is followed by a flash of realization, and then fear.

“You are
not
actually thinking of staying here. That’s just . . . You can’t do that, Amber! You have a career and a family in Oregon. A life! You can’t just blow that off for some guy you’ve known for a minute!” Each word comes out faster, louder, laced with more panic. “That’d be just about the dumbest thing—”

“Dad!” I cut him off with a yell, but follow it up with a pat on his arm and a smile. “You’re not saying anything to me that I haven’t already thought about. You raised me well. Now you need to trust that I’ll do the right thing for
me
.” I have an envelope’s worth of plane tickets to countries I’ve dreamed of visiting and yet I’ve been watching the clock on the wall, anxiously waiting for River to come back. Leaving Ireland doesn’t sound at all appealing to me, and yet ditching all of my plans doesn’t, either.

There has to be some other answer.

He heaves a sigh that turns into a monstrous yawn. He’s exhausted, but too stubborn to turn in just yet. “Just do me a favor . . . please.”

“What?” I ask with hesitation.

“Get on a plane and fly somewhere—anywhere away from here and
him
.”

I open my mouth to protest but he cuts me off with a raised hand.

“No. Just listen to me. I get it, okay? You care about him, a lot. I’m not going to try to change how you feel. God knows I won’t get anywhere with that. The boy did save your life after all. That’s bound to create a strong connection. But, sometimes people need some time and space to think clearly. You’re one of those people, Amber. Despite what you’ve been through and all these changes you may feel going on in your life right now, you’re not suddenly going to become this spontaneous, fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants girl who wanders through life ‘one day at a time.’ ”

I hate it when he uses my own words against me.

“You’ve always thrived on thinking through your options, and that’s not going to change. It’s in your core, it’s who you are, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that, hon. I think you’ll feel better with whatever decision you make
after
you’ve given yourself some time and space to weigh things out. I know
I’ll
feel better about it.”

He’s right, of course. It’s who Amber Welles is, at heart, no matter what’s happened since coming here.

It’s my current.

It’s the only way I’ll know what I want in the long run. It’s the only way I won’t wonder if I’m doing the right thing.

“You’ll be happy with whatever decision I make?”

He snorts. “I did not say that. Just to be clear, I think that even having this conversation is insane. I’m not even sure who I’m talking to right now. But I’m hoping the level-headed daughter I raised will come back to me soon enough.”

I plant a kiss on his cheek. “You know, that’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

“I only have brilliant ideas. Like, right now, for example?” He stifles another yawn. “I have this brilliant idea to take a nap.”

“A nap?”

He ruffles my hair. “A nap. We can talk some more in a few hours, if you want.”

I smile, remembering how hard it was to adjust to the time zone difference. I watch him sling his duffel bag over his weary shoulders and head for the stairs. “See you tomorrow.”

“Just a few hours! Which room is mine?”

“Take the one on the top floor.” I’d rather not have my dad sleeping in the room directly beside us.

“I take it Stream will be staying here tonight?”

“
Dad
 . . .”

Whatever he mutters under his breath, I can’t understand it. Probably for the best.

The air is thicker in this little hospital room than elsewhere.

Or maybe it’s that seeing my brother—his body basically mummified in gauze, with an IV drip full of morphine needed to numb his pain, and his usual perma-grin lost—is making it hard for me to breathe.

The chair legs scrape against the linoleum floor as I drag it closer.

Rowen’s eyes open and shift to catch mine. “Have they arrested Ma yet?” he croaks.

I chuckle, despite everything. Breaking the news about Aengus and his looming incarceration to her wasn’t easy but it was unavoidable, seeing as the second she saw the garda outside his door, she went off on him, accusing them of being “a little too late with the protection.” “She’s in the cafeteria, getting something to eat. She’ll be back in a bit.”

“I could hear her yelling.”

“I don’t doubt it.” I pause to study the bandaged stump lying across the hospital bed. “What does it feel like?”

“Like I still have a leg.” His listless eyes stare up at the ceiling. “Though I can’t feel much with all these drugs, thank Christ. You should see the nurse that just popped her head in while you were gone.” A lazy smirk lifts the right side of his mouth. “Do you think she’ll give me a sponge bath if I ask?”

I shake my head. At least Rowen’s spirit wasn’t blown apart with his body. He’s always been one to make the best of any situation. I can’t say I’d be making jokes right now, if I were in his place. And I deserve to be, more so than Rowen does. This shouldn’t have happened to him. If I’d just listened to Amber in the first place and talked to Duffy, he’d still have his leg and Delaney’s wouldn’t be a pile of firewood.

That hard marble that lodged in my throat three hours ago, when Ma and I first walked in here, suddenly expands. I hang my head, unable to stop the tear that slips out from the corner of my eye. “I’m so sorry, Rowen.”

Silence falls over the room.

Finally he sighs, and says in a rare somber voice, rank with emotion, “This is all on Aengus. Not you, not anyone else.” When I look up, I find a matching drop rolling down his cheek. It only spurs on more of my own.

I wipe them away with my knuckles. He doesn’t need me here, crying. Ma’s done enough of that. “You’re going to get better. We’ll get you fitted with a leg. You’ll be walking around and pouring pints again in no time.” I hope the doctors are wrong about the nerve damage. I don’t know if I can handle seeing Rowen in the kind of pain that our da has suffered all these years. “I’ll talk to your school tomorrow.”

“Was Ma being realistic about the pub being open again in a month or two?”

I sigh. And shake my head. “You know how slow insurance companies move.”

“What are they going to do for money? How are they going to—”

“They’ll be fine. Besides, that’s not for you to worry about. You just worry about getting better and getting out of here. Ma will have your old room ready for ya.”

He groans. “Bloody hell. She’ll be trying to wipe me own arse, won’t she?”

I start to laugh. Because he’s right. “For a while. Then you’ll be strong enough to come back to Dublin. At least we don’t have to sell the house anymore.” With Aengus heading to prison, the need to move away from him isn’t there. By the time he gets out—if he makes it out of there alive—we’ll likely be living elsewhere anyway.