Page 10 of Trying Sophie

And yet when I looked at him again—really took the time to see beyond his enticing attractiveness—it was so obvious I was surprised that I’d missed it. If I’d paid attention when I first noticed him, the color of his hair and the twinkling of those cobalt eyes might have given it away. Then again, I’d had no reason to think this man and the boy I’d loathed were one and the same, especially since my grandma, the person who’d sent him, knew exactly how I’d felt about Declan.

He certainly wasn’t a ten-year-old little shit head anymore; that was a man’s body under all those clothes.

Ah hell.

I’d been standing there lusting after the one man in all of Ireland I hated above all others. That he could reduce me to a stammering, confused mess made me feel that much worse.

Taking a deep gulp of air, I nodded in acknowledgment. “Declan.”

His name was ice on my lips, cold and implacable.

He had the good grace to look chagrined. “Ah, you remember me then.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Of course I remember, you stupid jackass!” I shot back. “You made my life a living hell the two years I lived here. You don’t easily forget the boy who ruined your life.”

He winced. “I hoped you wouldn’t feel that way.”

It was ridiculous to hold a grudge after all these years, but I’d spent countless hours going over in my head what I would say to Declan if I ever saw him again. Now that he was standing directly in front of me, I wasn’t about to let that seething contemplation go to waste.

Fisting my hands on my hips and shifting my weight toward him, I whisper screamed, “You were nothing more than a big old bully who delighted in torturing me.”

He grimaced and looked away, but I kept speaking, the words tumbling from my mouth. “You tormented me, Declan O’Shaughnessy, and I’ve waited a long time to tell you to go fuck yourself.”

I settled my arms across my chest and let out a satisfied huff. While I hadn’t said anything close to resembling the eloquent speeches I’d spent long hours composing in my head, I was gratified the core of my message had been delivered.

Succinctly.

* * *

Declan

Following her outburst, our eyes met and held for a few silent heartbeats. What I saw staring back chilled me: Sophie hated me.

But of course she did. I’d been a right prick to her when we were kids. It was almost as if I hadn’t been able to help myself. The only way I’d ever been able to get her to interact with me was to tease her.

When she’d first shown up at St. Anthony’s, I’d tried talking to her but each time I spoke she stared at me, mutely, for several seconds before responding, those big green eyes of hers drilling straight into my eight-year-old soul. In retrospect, I probably hadn’t said anything worthy of her acknowledgement.

At the back of my head, something about a scavenger hunt niggled at my memory. I couldn’t recall specifically what had happened, but I remembered making that day difficult for her. If memory served, she’d ended up having to partner with the teacher’s assistant and all the kids had laughed at her for it.

Yeah, I’d been a little prick for sure.

Now, objectively, I could admit to myself it was only because she’d knocked me for a loop, made me question everything I’d ever known about myself and my place in the schoolyard. The first time Sophie had said my name, I’d experienced a weird, complicated, wholly unwelcome churning of my belly and had wanted to throw up. The next time she’d spoken to me, I’d gone lightheaded and felt as if I was going to pass out. From that point on, I’d been an obnoxious little shit because it was the only way I could think of to interact with her and not lose my lunch at the same time.

As the days had turned to months, and then months had stretched into two years, outside of rugby practice the brightest moment of my day had been when I’d made Sophie Newport blush and stutter because those had been the times when her attention had been wholly fixed on me.

I shook my head to displace the memories. That had been a long, long time ago, and while it was clear she harbored some seriously unpleasant thoughts about me right now, I didn’t want to dwell on what had been.

Uncomfortable with her continued glare, I broke eye contact. Until now I hadn’t realized just how badly I’d hurt the little girl I’d quietly adored. I was also surprised that in the years since her grandparents had taken me under their wing, neither of the Fitzgeralds had given me insight into Sophie’s lingering pain.

I didn’t know if after all this time it would matter one way or the other, but I needed to make it up to her somehow. The problem was I didn’t know how to do that. Oh, I knew all about getting women to fall to their knees in front of me—quite literally—but I recognized earning Sophie’s forgiveness would require a level of honesty I wasn’t used to.

Squashing my instinct to offer up disingenuous platitudes or a pithy one-liner, I said simply, “I’m sorry Sophie. Truly.”

I didn’t ask for forgiveness from the women in my life. Hell, I’d never really needed to. And as for being heartfelt? Well, that was a new one for me too. Females had always come easy to me and none, save Sophie, had ever stayed mad for long.

I watched for indication she believed what I’d said and when the steel glint of her eyes softened and her shoulders relaxed, I was hopeful I could earn her forgiveness. If not now, then eventually.

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