Page 70 of Troubles

“Lissy, I don’t know much about anythin’ other than nothin’, but I can recognize when things have gone tits up. You’re both thinkin’ the worst and maybe…maybe you’re both wrong.” He slides a napkin across the table to me. “Do you want me to leave ye while ye read it?”

I dab at my tears and shake my head. “Stay.” I hold the envelope, feeling the weight of it, knowing that it’s going to rip the scab off the barely stemmed flow of my fragile heart.

I unfold his note, placing the ring on table next to my plate. The words blur as my hands tremble and shake.

Lisbeth,

This ring is yours, always. How you wear it is up to you. I want it all, but I’m afraid I’ve driven you away and that was never my intent.

I’m away to Dublin to see my family and give you the space you need. The last thing I ever wanted was to become a distraction. You and your needs were always first and foremost in my mind.

Our flat is paid up through the end of your school term. Stay there. I want to know that you’ve a safe place to stay. I’ll stay at the loft when I get back.

“Too many people know the price of everything and the value of nothing.” I value every moment we’ve spent together, and every memory we’ve made.

I love you always,

Aidan

Oscar Wilde—he quoted Oscar Wilde. My heart tap dances beneath my ribs.

“I don’t know where you both got lost, but I’ve not seen that man as devastated since he showed up in my pub after his brother died, Lis. Sure, it didn’t help that Finn got his fists to him first, but Aidan was ruined.”

I twirl the ring around on the table, lift it and test it out on my pointer finger, spinning it around. “What do you mean? Finn hit him?”

Something feels off—wrong—somehow.

“Called him to the pub Sunday morning and laid him low. Told him how things might’ve looked to ye, not knowing Lorna.” Francie stacks his empty plates and pushes them to the edge of the table.

“What?”

39

Aidan

“These were the only seats available when you booked us?”

I fold myself into the postage stamp-sized space. In the center of the plane. In the middle bank of seats. In the center of the row. And all I have running through my head is the song “Stuck in the Middle with You,” Bublé’s version, not the old one. We’re so tucked in here, changing seats with Lorna won’t win me any extra leg room.

“There were the two seats in first class.” She smirks at me.

This last-minute fare set me back a ridiculous amount of money, no way was a first-class upgrade even an option. I push myself back into my seat as far as I can, hating everything about this trip.

I check my phone for the millionth time this week, the millionth time today. Not that I really expect Lisbeth to call or text, not if I’ve been labeled a distraction. I have seven hours of absolutely no distractions to think about what happened. To think about Lis.

The past week had been so busy with shoots, editing the final product and getting things squared away for the week or so that I’ll be gone. I don’t intend for it to be any longer than that. I’ve started building my life—the life I want is here in the States.

I scrub my hands over my face, and check my phone one last time before turning it off for the flight. I try again to relax and get comfortable, but it’s just not going to happen. The flight attendants run through their bit and I really only pay attention when they get to the part about the booze available.

“You excited to go home?” Lorna tries to chat with me, but I’m tired. I’m cranky.

“Yeah. Sure.” I close my eyes, hoping she’ll stop. I just don’t want to talk.

“Your mum will be so happy to have you back.” She’s not getting it.

I tune her out for a bit as the plane taxis and takes off, counting the minutes for the pub in the sky to open and let me drown my sorrows.

It’s pretty obvious I’ve been ignoring Lorna when my eyes pop open at the formal offer of a beverage. I order whiskey for me and the three pregnant women in my row, not that I plan on sharing with them.

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