Ramsay (29 page)

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, bronze 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.

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 shot. 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."

My stomach knotted. "Courtney told me he was already planning to marry her. That day I left his apartment, she came by and told me they were still involved, and he was going to marry her when he was done ruining me." I swallowed. The memory of that moment still brought bile to my throat. Eileen let out a small, high-pitched laugh, lacking any humor.

"The only one who had plans at that point regardin' marriage was Courtney herself. She lied to ya, Lydia. I don't know the particulars of Brogan and Courtney's relationship, but I do know he doesn't love her, and he never has. Her ex-husband's been released from prison and she's playin' the safety card as a way of stayin' close to Brogan. She has some strange hold on him, aye, but
if
he marries her, he will spend the rest of his days miserable, which is about what he's aimin' for, I do believe."

I wasn't sure if that was any of my business. I wasn't even sure I shouldn't hope for just that. And yet, the thought of it made me feel sick and desperate all the same. "But Eileen, he doesn't love me either. I'm nothing but a princess in his eyes," I said. "A mo chree, that's what he calls me. And maybe he's only ever wanted to knock me off my imagined throne." I stared unseeing behind Eileen, then moved my eyes back to her worried expression. "I saw him a couple weeks ago at a restaurant. Did Fionn tell you? That night, he looked at me as if I was nothing to him, as if he'd never known me at all."

"Aye, he's scared of ya. He's scared he's gona beg ya to forgive him, and that ya might. And he's scared that ya might not. He's all knotted up, and he bloody hates himself. I've seen it before, Lydia. He was only seventeen then, but I remember it well." She eyed me with meaning, reaching across the table and laying her small hand on top of mine, giving it a squeeze. "I'm havin' Brogan to dinner at my place on Saturday. Please come, Lydia. Please. Just think on it. I won't lie to ya. He won't make it easy for ya. But I'm askin' ya, no I'm beggin' ya to try. Even if ya decide ya don't want to be with him again, if ya can only find it in your heart to forgive him and to help him forgive himself. Please."

I shook my head. "Dinner? Oh no, no, I can't, Eileen."

She gave my hand another squeeze before she pulled away. "
Please
," she repeated as she stood up. "Seven o'clock. And Lydia, m
o chroí doesn't mean princess. It means
my heart
. When he's callin' ya mo chroí, he's callin' ya his beloved, the very thing that keeps him alive."

I sucked in a sudden, sharp breath as she smiled gently at me and walked toward the door. "Eileen," I called out and she paused. "What does,
iss bra lum too mean?" I'd spoken the sounds slowly, hoping she'd understand.

Eileen tilted her head, pausing for a moment.
"It means I love you," she said. She gave me one small, fleeting smile before she
left, closing the door of the coffee shop behind her.

Please. I love you. Please. I love you.
That's what he'd said that night in the police station, the day I'd screamed at him and told him I'd never forgive him.
Please
, he'd begged me.
I love you.
And I'd turned away. Again.

Mo chroí
.
My heart.

I sat there for a long time, not drinking my tea, a lump clogging my throat as I simply stared at the wall.

**********

"What are you going to do?" Daisy asked, her eyes wide.

"I don't know, Daisy," I said, pacing across the plush carpet of her bedroom. She'd been getting ready for bed when I'd gotten home and I'd come straight to her room, needing to talk. "And anyway, why did you give Eileen the name of the shop I work at?"

She poured lotion from a small bottle on her bedside table and began rubbing it into one elbow. The soothing scent of lavender met my nose. "She seemed so distraught, Lydia."

I stopped pacing momentarily. "And I'm not distraught? I haven't been distraught for three months now?"

She changed elbows. "I thought maybe . . . well, perhaps you could help each other with your . . . distraughtedness."

"That's not a word," I snapped.

"Distraughtegy?"

I thinned my lips, noting her teasing expression.

"Distress. And this isn't funny. Not in the least." I folded my arms and continued pacing.

Daisy capped the lotion bottle, stood, and came over to me, halting my pacing by putting her hands on my upper arms. "Lydia," she said, "in these last three months, you've become like a sister to me. I like to think we've helped each other through our
distress.
But . . . I'm getting better, and you're . . . not. And I think it's because in my case, there are no loose ends, nothing to work through, but with Brogan, well, I think there might be. And I think you know that, too. I think it's eating you alive. And until you at least figure out how you feel about him and
talk to him,
it's going to
continue
to eat you alive."

I stared at her, wanting to reject her words, but knowing I couldn't. And now tonight, after talking to Eileen, I had so many doubts, so many unanswered questions I'd thought needed no explanation, could
have
no explanation. But what if . . . what if they could? I'd seen him in that restaurant and despite everything, my heart had still called out to him. My instinct had been to run into his arms and heal the terrible, heart-wrenching ache inside me—not grief over my brother's death, for that was healing on its own. The ache I still felt inside was the loss of . . .
him.
Either I was a complete and utter idiot, an explanation that wasn't completely off the table, or . . . or I still loved him, because my heart knew he was a
good
man who had made some bad choices, even if those bad choices had led at least partially to this terrible situation we were in now.

And yet, I didn't absolve myself of my
own
misguided actions. Perhaps I could have done more to help Stuart. He'd come to me first that day, and I'd known how messed up he'd been. I'd seen his desperation and his paranoia, and yet I'd let him walk right out the door, even giving him money, a measly fifty bucks, but still.

And before that, I'd made excuses for Stuart, worked double time to cover up his mistakes, which only allowed him to keep making them, leading eventually to him threatening Brogan with a gun. I wrapped my arms around myself, a shiver moving down my spine. I was
far
from blameless myself. "You're right," I whispered. "God, you're right."

Daisy let go of my arms and looked at me sympathetically. "Talk to him," she repeated.

I bit at my lip. "Eileen says he won't make it easy on me. She says he'll try not to let me forgive him, that he wants the punishment."

"Well," Daisy said, stepping back, "I guess you have to decide if you still believe he deserves it, and if not . . . what you're going to do about that."

"Yes.” I hugged her tightly, holding on for a moment, wishing I could verbalize my love for her, too, but I was spent.
Emotionally exhausted.
I dragged myself to my room and quickly changed and brushed my teeth, falling into bed. I didn't think I'd be able to sleep, but surprisingly, once my head hit the pillow, I was out like a light almost immediately.

I was in a large room, open at the top. I craned my neck back, gazing at the bright blue sky, billowy white clouds floating lazily by. When I looked back down, I realized the walls around me were filled with artwork, swirls and splashes of color decorating every square inch.

Walking closer, I saw there were pictures woven into the splashes of color. One in particular caught my eye: it was a picture of our family home, the lush grounds beyond, horses in the distance. It was the one Stuart had drawn when he was young. I marveled at the beauty, the talent of which it spoke.