Page 5 of Irish

Irish: They are militant about it. I’d park and go inside but I have Clover with me and it’s snowing.

Sean: I don’t miss April snow in Colorado.

Irish: It’ll be seventy tomorrow.

Sean: I really appreciate you doing this.

Irish: What’s she running from?

Sean: I’ll let her tell you.

Irish: Any criminal activity I need to be aware of.

Sean: You made me choke soda out my nose, asshole. Kenzie and criminal do not fit in the same sentence.

Irish: You never know. She could have been mixed up with the wrong crowd.

Sean: Less criminal, more relationship.

Irish: Did a boyfriend hit her? Because if a man hit her, I’ll…

Sean: You don’t think if someone hit my sister, I wouldn’t be calling you from jail?

Irish: True.

Sean: Family situation. Gtg. I’ll have her text you when she lands.

Irish turned the music up in his truck and leaned back in the seat while waiting for Makenzie’s text. He closed his eyes, remembering the last time he’d seen her. It must have been Christmas the year before he married Darian.

Darian.

He didn’t think about his ex-wife too often these days. Talked to her only when she needed something for their kids. Kids, she was hellbent on alienating him from. Thinking of his children, he sent a quick text to his sixteen-year-old son. They had a great texting relationship. Unfortunately, his kids had to sneak around to call him. When Darian found out they were communicating, she would yell at them and make them feel guilty. If she had her way, he’d be a paycheck every month and nothing else.

After receiving Makenzie’s text, he drove around to a spot near the sliding doors and parked. He got out of the truck and stood next to the passenger side door, shooting a warning look at the officer, who started to approach him. He knew exactly what the officer would say, “You can’t park here, drive around again.” His scowl worked. The police officer kept on walking.

As he leaned against the truck, he scanned the crowds for a familiar face. The airport buzzed around him, people swarminglike bees in a hive, each engrossed in their own reunions and farewells. The scent of overpriced coffee hung heavy in the air, mixing with the noise of rolling suitcases and distant terminal and package claim announcements.

Clover’s head hung out the window, as if she was looking for Makenzie too.

He noticed children running, their faces lit up with the sheer joy of adventure, their parents trailing close behind. A group of teenagers came out together, wearing matching t-shirts from some trip they’d been on. It reminded him of the kids he mentored, the ones who saw the wilderness for the first time under his watch. It was about offering them control over something when their lives were often dictated by chaos.

“Any second now, Clover,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the hustle of the place. Clover let out a soft woof as if in agreement.

The doors slid open again with a hiss, spilling out weary travelers from the terminal. Among them, a figure in white, like some misplaced bride on the run from her own wedding. Irish tried to take it all in stride, which was harder than it should be. The urge to rush to her, swing her up into his arms, and carry her off overcame him. The pain and uncertainty in her eyes cut deep. His visceral reaction took him by surprise. He wanted to protect her and wipe away the sadness he saw plastered on her features.

Gone was the child of his youth. In her place stood a woman with curves in all the right places. A woman with pain etched across her features. She looked up and their eyes met.

In that second, Irish knew two things. One, Makenzie was a grown woman and two, she was his. He felt it in his chest and radiating in his soul.

Fuck.

His mother always told him, “When you know, you know.” He hadn’t known with Darian. No, he’d married Darian out ofsome false sense of responsibility. As he held Makenzie’s gaze, he knew. Knew as certain as he knew his own name.

He couldn’t know.Not her.Sean’s sister.

MakenziefuckingSullivan.

He pushed off the truck and headed toward her. “Mak, baby. Over here.”

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