Page 72 of Wild Irish

I shake my head and put my hand up, then walk to the other side of the store.

“…this is the last time you’ll hear from me. Maybe I shouldn’t even have called. But I wanted to make sure that you never try and contact me again.”

Dread washes through me. I have no idea what’s happened in her mind since last night, but from the tremor in her breath, the tightness of her voice, I know she’s fighting back tears.

There’s a long stretch of silence. Then she sighs, and says with a finality that’s unmistakable. “Goodbye, Cillian.”

“Fuck.”

“What’s wrong?” Emer is beside me, worry wrinkling her forehead.

My call goes to voicemail when I try to call Delaney back. “Shit.”

I try again.

“I can’t answer your call right now, leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

“Goddamn it, Delaney, answer yer phone. I don’t know what the hell that message was about, but I need to see ye. Now.”

I hang up.

Emer is frowning at me. “What’d ye do now?”

Dragging my hand through my hair, I exhale an agitated breath. “I have no fucking clue, but I’m going to find out.”

Chapter 35

Delaney

“You okay?” Kiersten asks when I come out of my room. She’s lying on the couch, a wet washcloth on her forehead, face pale, dark circles under her eyes. She’s looks how I feel – terrible.

I nod, not trusting my voice.

The need to move, to walk, to run is overwhelming.

Pulling my hoodie over my head, I leave the apartment and walk. I don’t know where I’m going. I just know I can’t be in my apartment. My room still smells like him. Shit, I still smell like him. Like he’s imprinted on my very soul.

Get a grip, Delaney. That’s the same bullshit thinking that got me in trouble in the first place.

I’m supposed to start work in an hour, but I can’t go in. There’s no way I’ll be able to force a smile on my face and serve cappuccinos today. I don’t even like the damn job. It was just something I picked up to pay the bills. Let them fire me. It’s not like my life isn’t a complete shit show anyway.

I don’t know what direction I’m walking until I’m standing in front of the boarded-up pizzeria where Maeve and I used to come every Tuesday night when she was sick.

When had it closed down?

A different kind of sadness fills me.

Maeve. I can almost see her sitting at the small little iron table, head tilted back in a full belly laugh. God, she loved to laugh. And it was infectious.

“You’re really going to marry Matt?” She’d asked, shaking her head.

“He’s a nice guy. I don’t know why you don’t like him.”

“Sure, he’s nice. But he’s…stuffy and…safe.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being safe.” I’d laughed then, not seeing then what she did. It wasn’t that Matt was safe. He was stifling, controlling.

Sure, I was content with him. But she’d been right, I never would have been happy.

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