Page 9 of Ciaran

“Manhattan isn’t cheap. I’m lucky. I live at the hotel with Declan and Callum, although I expect he’ll want to move out soon now that he’s with Laurella. Those lovebirds will want their own place sooner or later.”

The way he looks at me makes me think I’m being tested somehow, with the furrowed brow, interested expression, and forward body posture as he waits for my reply. All those signs give him away. Or maybe I’m overthinking things again. It happens a lot these days. I didn’t used to be this indecisive person who would read body language so badly, then try to figure out the right things to say. A decade of stepping on eggshells will do that to a person, I guess.

“I’m glad he’s happy.”

Ciaran’s whole face brightens, and his broad smile and twinkling eyes have my belly flipping. I clamp down on the feeling, not trusting my instincts. Ciaran’s kind and warm personality is oh so tempting after surviving the last cruel and toxic decade of my life, but I’ve been fooled once. I won’t let it happen again. Men are off the menu, no matter how good-hearted they may seem. Besides, Tanner will never let me go. As long as that man sucks air into his lungs, I’m trapped, with no option but to hide. And if hiding doesn’t work… I’ll run. I can’t put down roots here. I can’t allow myself to get close to anyone, including the man sitting across the table from me.

“Yeah, he really is.” Nostalgia and a tinge of envy leak into Ciaran’s tone.

I can barely believe it when I hear myself utter, “Are you?”

Ciaran’s eyes cut to mine, and for a second, he lets me steal a look behind the curtain of the happy-go-lucky guy I could always rely upon, to a man whose life is missing something. Then the shutters come down, and he shrugs. “Of course.”

“Would you like to taste the wine, sir?”

Ciaran and I both turn to the server, and I breathe a sigh of relief at the timely interruption. I can’t believe I did what I promised myself I wouldn’t by opening a door to Ciaran asking me the same question.

“No, it’s fine,” Ciaran says.

After filling our glasses, the server retreats. I take a sip, reminding myself to keep to one glass. It’s been a long time since I’ve tasted alcohol. Tanner preferred me sober when he doled out his special brand of hateful vitriol. If I was numbed with alcohol, it might not hurt so much. And we couldn’t have that now, could we?

“So, tell me about your life since you left New York, and how you’ve ended up back here.”

Unease stirs in my chest. When I accepted Ciaran’s dinner invitation, I knew he’d ask about my life, and I prepared a few stock answers. But now, sitting here with a man who is showing me nothing but sincerity and genuine interest, I realize he deserves more than a few well-worn phrases. But the truth? I won’t share that. A hint of legitimacy and some carefully chosen facts sprinkled through my answer should work.

“Well, as you know, we moved to Chicago because Tanner got that try-out with the Bears.” I avoid his gaze, instead picking at a stray thread on my dress. “It didn’t work out, but by then we’d made Chicago our home. Chicago is great, but I prefer New York. I always planned to return someday. Tanner adored Chicago from the moment we arrived. He has a job that he loves there, so asking him to return to New York didn’t seem fair.” I shrug and lift my eyes to his. “When we split up, it gave me the push I needed to come home.”

“And what have you been doing? Did you ever become a teacher like you planned?”

I notice he doesn’t delve further about Tanner, but a twinge of disappointment nips at me at his question. A teacher was all I ever wanted to be, yet whenever I tentatively broached the possibility attending a teaching college with Tanner, he’d demanded a full-time wife. I’d tried to explain how important teaching was to me, but he responded with, “If you feel you can cope with both, Millie…” (insert a perfectly nonchalant shoulder shrug).

I wish I’d realized earlier what a master manipulator he was. How easily persuasion tripped off his tongue. I should have known his behavior wasn’t normal from the get-go, but I’d been so flattered and in love—or so I’d thought—I’d believed it meant he cared.

In reality, my isolation made it easier for him to control me. I sometimes wonder if twenty-eight-year-old me would have been so easy to mold as my younger self was. I like to think not, but my morale is so low, I can’t say, hand on heart, that my instincts would have warned me to run, far and fast.

“No. I kept meaning to, but then time kind of got away from me.”

Ciaran’s fingers creep across the table, and he brushes the tips of his against mine. “It’s never too late.”

On instinct, I withdraw my hand. Living for years with an abusive partner, albeit one who never laid a finger on me, meant I always suspected the worst of the most innocent situations. Tanner had often taken a moment of affection and turned it into a ruse to soften me up before he lashed out by saying some terrible things that slowly stripped away my confidence day by day, month by month, year by year.

“It is for me.” My words come out soft, barely audible, and I drop my head so I don’t have to witness the concern etched into Ciaran’s expression.

“What happened to you in Chicago? What did he do to you?”

And there it is, the question I knew would come. Give him his due—he’s waited longer than most people would have.

I shake my head and reach for my glass of wine, needing to grab hold of something to steady me and slow down my thundering heart. I take a sip and lift my chin, but one look at Ciaran tells me I owe him something—a few crumbs.

“Life wasn’t easy, Ciaran. Tanner did his best. All he ever wanted was to be a football player. Unfortunately, he injured his knee, which ended his playing career. The club took him on as a coach, but it was hard for him, you know, to watch others living his dream.” I hitch a shoulder, aiming for detached or casual, though those few words hide a horror I scarcely survived with my spirit intact. “I guess over the years it’s taken its toll. I’m no longer that eighteen-year-old girl who never thought anything bad would happen, assuming she’d sail through life while her idealistic fantasies became reality without too much effort.”

A look of embarrassment crosses his face, a slight flush creeping over those chiseled cheekbones. God, he really is beautiful, and not just physically. His inner goodness shines through, and it’s that which draws me in and makes me crave something I can’t have.

“Sorry, that was rude of me. Just because we were friends at school doesn’t give me the right to pry into your life.”

Great. Now I feel like the asshole. This time, I touch his fingertips with mine. A brief connection, meant as an apology.

Ciaran leans back to allow the waiter to set down our appetizers. When he retreats, I lay my napkin in my lap and pick up my silverware. The smell coming from the delicious plate of food in front of me has my mouth watering and my stomach demanding I wolf it down as fast as possible. Instead, I delicately pick a mussel from its shell and pop it into my mouth. I chew, then swallow, with the delicious flavor exploding on my tongue.

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