Page 18 of Promise Me This

“She announced she was seeing someone a few years after that. Last I saw, they were engaged.” I blocked her on everything that day, unwilling to bear witness to the rest of her life without me. “That’s when I met Catherine. Because apparently life wasn’t done fucking me over just yet.”

Padraig shifts in his seat, draining the remainder of his glass. He tries to make eye contact with Dermot to request a refill, but the bar owner is locked in conversation with one of the local fishermen seated at the counter. Rows upon rows of liquor bottles line the wall behind Dermot. Some of that whiskey has been aged longer on his shelf than it was in a barrel. Experience tells me there’s no end in sight to the old man’s rambling, so I slide my untouched beer across the table, and Padraig takes the now-lukewarm beverage with a resigned sigh.

“Let me get this straight,” he says, then swallows a swig of amber liquid. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand before continuing. “You’re mad at her for flaking on a promise she made at what, nineteen years old?”

I wince, realizing how ridiculous it sounds when spoken aloud, without any of the nuance accompanying it. “Twenty,” I mumble under my breath.

A guffaw escapes his lips, returning our neighboring patrons’ attention to us once more. I wave a hand in apology, urging them to go on about their business. When they finally look away, I level a glare on my friend.

“You wouldn’t understand. We were young, but our feelings were real.” At least for me, they were. The possibility that she never truly reciprocated them has haunted me for years.

“I’m not saying they weren’t, man. But can you imagine someone hating you for the stupid shit you did at twenty?”

Dermot finally notices the state of our drinks, bringing over two sloshing pints. “I still hate you for the shit you did at twenty,” he grumbles, his voice sounding like he’s been gargling gravel for the last fifty years. A lifetime of smoking will do that to you. He slaps Padraig on the shoulder affectionately before turning to me, an arthritis-riddled finger pointed at my friend. “Bastard stole a fifth from behind my bar.”

“And you made me clean the jacks for the next six months straight,” Padraig replies, rolling his eyes. “I think I’ve well made up for it, don’t you?”

Dermot makes a sound like he’s coughing something up before waving his hand to dismiss us and returning to the counter.

Padraig chuckles, and I find myself joining in. Surprise flashes in his eyes. “There’s a laugh! Jesus, never thought I’d hear it again.”

I steal one of the fresh glasses Dermot delivered, and finally take a swig, but it can’t hide the amused smile playing on my lips.

A nagging thought tugs at my attention. What if I am wrong to still be angry at her? She showed up after all this time and was met with nothing but hostility. No wonder she hasn’t explained her reasons for coming. I haven’t exactly given her the impression that they’ll be met with anything other than anger.

Just as I feel myself softening to the idea ever so slightly, the front door opens, and my hackles raise instinctively.

So much for that.

Leo scans the room before her gaze lands on Padraig. For a moment the corners of her eyes crinkle and I see her truly smile for the first time since she returned. But the expression, which hits me like a blow to the chest, fades instantly when she realizes I’m the one sitting next to him.

Her smile falters and her hand finds that oval-shaped amulet hanging from a delicate gold chain around her neck. It’s a nervous tick she’s developed in the time since I knew her, and I can’t explain the pang of sadness it fills me with every time she does it. Perhaps it’s because the woman I knew was so fearless, so carefree that the sight of her faltering betrays every memory I have of her.

Or perhaps it’s the fact that I’m the one she’s afraid of.

She starts walking toward us, and I force myself to study the grain of the wooden table rather than watch her approach. Hurt and anger and sorrow are swirling in my gut, filling me with the worst kind of nausea. It’s a sensation I’ve been hit with more times since she arrived than ever before in my life, and I can’t help but resent her for it.

“Um, hello.” Her voice wavers, and I can’t help it. My gaze travels up to meet hers, and suddenly I’m certain I’m going to be sick or punch something. Possibly both. Anything to suppress the urge to hold her and take away her anxiety.

The anxiety I’m causing.

“Hello there, Leona,” Podge says cheerily. “Nice to see you stuck around for the week!”

A grin tries to form on her face but falters. “I’m actually helping Siobhan out with cleaning for a bit, just until she can find more permanent help.”

“Well why can’t you be the permanent help?” He props one ankle on his other knee, settling in for the conversation. Meanwhile my spine has turned to steel.

Her gaze flickers from him to me and then back, before she murmurs a noncommittal, “Oh, you know.”

Padraig follows her gaze, scowling at me in disapproval. Oh, he knows.

A scalding surge of resentment causes my good sense to exit the premises. How can she show up after all this time and have everyone instantly on her side? Doesn’t she understand how deeply she hurt me? Don’t they understand, after being abandoned by both her and Catherine, why I’m not keen to open up old wounds once more?

“This isn’t exactly keeping your distance,” I snap, wincing at the sound of my own harsh words. Too late. I can see the lashing hit her, but the regret her expression fills me with does nothing to rewind time and stop me from saying the words in the first place.

“I—well, your mother—I mean, Siobhan,” she stutters. She presses her lips together and inhales deeply, her breasts rising with the motion. Not that I’m staring at her breasts. Damn it, Callum. Focus. “I needed to get groceries, and Siobhan said you’d be here, Podge.”

Of course my meddling mother sent her. She knows Padraig and I meet every Friday afternoon. She and Niamh usually have a movie night to celebrate the occasion.

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