Page 54 of Taming Irish

Chapter 15

Makena

After a long,hot shower and a nap, I do the one thing Quinn told me not to – I goonline.

At the Shamrock, I’d only had the chance to read a few lines of the article. I probably should have left it alone. There’s nothing I can do about what people say about me. Or the fact that Hollywood’s new Golden Boy just happens to be my sociopathic ex-husband, who for some reason, wants to ruin mylife.

“Tell your story,” Quinn had begged. “Let the world know what an asshole he reallyis.”

“Then I’d be no better than him,” I’d said, knowing I could never hurt someone the way he’d hurt me. “And I don’t want the world knowing my secrets. Knowing I couldn’t…I can’t…” I’d swallowed hard on the confession that had broken me more than finding out Chad had beenunfaithful.

But reading through the article now, seeing the way my bitter truth had been twisted into an altered reality fueled a rage inside of me that had my entire body shaking. The majority of the article was about his recent shotgun wedding. But what was written about me was cruel anduntrue.

It was Chad’s quote, “I just hope she’s finally getting the help she needs,” that made me nearly toss my laptop across theroom.

Ihadsuffered fromdepression.

After three years of trying to have a baby, and two false positives, I’d received the devastating news that I’d probably never have a child of my own. I’d taken it hard. Growing up as an only child to a single mom, and watching my cousins in their big, dysfunctional - but loving - family, being a mom had always been something I’d dreamedabout.

And when that dream was taken from me, I felt like I’d lost a part of myself. It was Quinn who helped me through the depression. She’d pushed me to start designing, to create something. My shop, and the outfits I poured my heart and soul into, became mybaby.

Chad had fought me on it. Called it a reckless pursuit. Until it started making money. Then, he’d pushed me to workharder.

And I had. Until I’d nearly burned out, and I was too tired to see that my husband had lost interest inme.

With a sigh, I start to shut my laptop, then stop, my fingers hovering over the keyboard, ready to type Shane Hayes into the Google searchbar.

Don’t do it,my brain warns. But why not? I’m sure he went home and did a search on me. Or worse, read the most recent article inStarz.

I type out, then delete, his name twice, before finally pressingEnter.

A groan bubbles in my throat when the first thing that pops up is his Wikipedia page. Of course the man has his own page. He’sfamous.

Most of the posts are about the band. A few fan-girl pages pop up. Clicking on images, I sigh when a pair of sage eyes sparkle with mischief at me from my laptop. It’s a professional picture, one that was probably part of a magazine shoot. And the photographer captured his personalityperfectly.

With a half grin that pulled at one dimple, he glances slightly sideways at the camera like he’s about ready to fuck whoever is on the other side of it, giving the impression to the viewer that he’s looking straight atyou.

God, the man isgorgeous.

“What am I doing?” I shut my laptop on the photo and toss it on the opposite side of thecouch.

This is not going to end well. Not forme.

“Just friends,” I mutter the words he’d used to get me to go see him again, then say on a sarcastic sigh, “Right.”

I pace the cottage for most of the afternoon, fighting with my demons and typing out a dozen messages to Shane, cancelling dinner tonight. I never send them. I should, but Idon’t.

Finally, I call Quinn back, needing to hear a familiarvoice.

“Are you okay?” she asks when she answers. “I can’t stop thinking about what that assholesaid-”

“I’m fine. I’m not calling aboutthat.”

There’s a few seconds of silence before Quinn chuckles and says, “Only one way you could be fine, and that’s if you finally had a goodfuc-”

“Quinn.”

More laughter. “Youdid.”

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