Page 32 of Ciaran

“Rebecca. After my mom.”

For a moment, his strong, tough exterior slips, and behind the pain in his eyes I see the little boy who lost his mother at a key time in his life. I remember their parents dying, of course. They’d held a minute’s silence before class when the news filtered through. When the boys returned to school a few weeks later, Ciaran told me he didn’t want to talk about it, and I’d honored his wishes.

I touch his forearm, and his hand comes over the top of mine as he stares out across the Hudson toward New Jersey. A muscle twitches in his cheek where, I guess, he’s clenching his teeth in an attempt to manage his emotions. If I was braver, I’d pull him into my arms and give him a hug, but I’m not brave. I’m a coward who put up with being treated like a doormat for a decade when I should have stood up for myself much earlier.

“I’m sorry you lost your parents,” I finally say when several minutes have passed without either of us uttering a word. Not that I mind silence. In fact, a lot of the time, I crave it. Tanner liked noise: loud music, slamming doors, yelling. Everything he did was at a deafening volume. There’s something about Ciaran’s quiet yet confident demeanor that is fast becoming like a drug to me, or at least an antidote to the woman Tanner turned me into. Somewhere deep inside, the girl I once was is still there, fighting for her freedom. Now that I have head space to think, I can hear that girl as clear as day.

Ciaran slowly turns his head and looks at me. His eyes search mine, flicking from one to the other, and he squeezes my hand. Caught in his gaze like a fly trapped in a spider’s web, I freeze. The air in my lungs seems to disappear, and my breath snags in my throat. I briefly drop my gaze to his mouth, where full, soft lips, slightly parted, call to me. I lean forward and, with the lightest of touches, press my mouth to his.

A spark of electricity passes between us, and I increase the pressure while Ciaran remains still. He doesn’t yank me into his arms. He doesn’t force my mouth open and thrust his tongue inside. He allows me to control everything.

I move my lips over his, and he follows my lead. The gentle kiss lights a fire deep inside me, more powerful than any hard, passionate, slamming-up-against-the-hull-of-the-boat kiss would. Two people, both damaged in their own ways, seeking comfort in one another.

Ciaran shifts his position, squirming in his seat, and the warmth leaves me. I only found the courage to walk out on Tanner five weeks earlier, and yet already, I’m kissing another man. What sort of a woman does that make me?

I pull away and drop my head. “I’m sorry,” I mumble, my gaze riveted on the deck of the boat. “I just needed…” My voice trails off, and I gnaw on my bottom lip.

Goddammit, Millie. What have you done?

Ciaran gently coaxes my chin up until we’re face to face once more, our mouths mere inches apart.

“Know what I need?” he asks softly.

I shake my head glumly.

“I need you to help me get the main sail up. We’re not going anywhere until she’s flying free.”

My stomach vaults. Is there a hidden meaning to him using those specific words? Even if there isn’t, he’s giving me a get-out-of-jail-free card. He must have read my discomfort. What a man. What an amazingly intuitive, beautiful man. I don’t need to tell him what I need because he already knows. He’s put it so wonderfully. I need to fly free before I can leave my past behind and embrace my future.

I offer him a shy smile. “I’ve never done it before. You’ll need to give me very clear instructions.”

He playfully flicks the end of my nose. “That I can do.”

Ciaran is true to his word, and in no time at all, we’re sailing down the Hudson. I could easily become addicted to this, the way the boat cuts through the waves, sending a fine spray into the air to dampen my clothing and hair. The sense of freedom, the belief I can do anything. The sight of birds flying overhead, their squawking competing with the noise of the waves crashing against the hull.

I tilt my head toward the sun, squinting even when I drop my sunglasses into place to cover my eyes. I close them and allow the rocking motion to soothe me. Ciaran calls out the odd instruction, but mostly, he lets me relax while he does all the hard work.

The boat slows, and I open my eyes in time to watch him drop the anchor. Once he’s certain the boat is secured, he opens the rucksack he brought with him and sets a blanket on the deck.

“Hungry?” he asks, removing several plastic tubs from the bag.

“Starved,” I say, sitting on the blanket. “Must be all this fresh air.”

“You’ve definitely got some color to your cheeks now.”

I press a hand to my face. “I’d better put on more sunscreen.” I apply the cream, wiping my hands on a tissue. Ciaran passes me a sandwich, and the two of us eat in comfortable silence. He hands over a bottle of water, even taking care to loosen the cap first.

“So, what do you think of the love of my life?” he says, lying back and lacing his hands behind his head.

I follow suit. “She’s beautiful, Ciaran. I can totally see the allure.”

He twists his head to look at me. “Freeing, isn’t it?”

I nod. “Do you sail often?”

“Not as often as I’d like, but it’s a real stressbuster.”

Realizing my lips are dry and slightly cracked from the sea air, I reach for my lip balm, dab a little on my mouth, and slip the tube back into my pocket. “Being a cop must be a tough job.”

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