Page 84 of Since We're Here
“No.” I sigh. “It’s mine.”
“You can’t expect her to take over O’Brien’s completely yet also call her a temporary manager. Go talk to her.”
“I don’t have time.”
She gives me a withering glare. “It’s your life to ruin.”
“I’m not ruining my life.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Just because I’m spending so much time with her... just because I can’t stop thinking of her no matter what I’m doing... just because I’m dying over here with her mad at me... all of that doesn’t mean anything.”
I open my eyes to Saoirse’s shocked expression. Oops. Didn’t mean to say all that out loud.
“Jaysus, Patrick,” she huffs. “You have it even worse than I thought.”
“I do not. Pretend I didn’t say any of those things.”
“But you did.”
“Mam!” Erin yells from the backseat of the car. “Can we go?”
“One sec!” she calls to her daughters.
“I don’t have time to make Maddie even more of a part of my life. I can’t do it, Saoirse.” I follow Saoirse to her car, and she slides into the driver’s seat.
My sister does a shite job of suppressing a grin.
“What?” I throw my hands in the air.
“I should’ve known. I see the way you’ve been looking at her.”
I roll my eyes so hard, I hope it offends my only sibling. It does not.
“There’s nothing to know. Goodbye, Saoirse.” I lean my head into the car. “Bye, girls.”
Saoirse slams the door shut and backs out of my driveway, shaking her head as she goes.
Everything is a disaster.
The quiet of the cottage pushes against my eardrums. How am I going to get this all done?
My mobile buzzes, and I whip it out of my back pocket, hoping it’s Maddie.
But it’s Ian, and he’s calling, not texting.
“Morning, Ian. Alright?” I head back to the kitchen, clicking the oven off and swiping a finger full of icing from the half-empty dish of cinnamon rolls.
“Patrick. It’s Maddie.”
I freeze in place and icy dread wraps itself around my heart.
“She was in a bike accident.”
The air disappears from the room, leaving an eerie ringing sound in my ears.
“Is she okay?” My voice sounds distant, all garbled and muted like I’m underwater. I rake my hand into my hair and pull.
“They’re on their way to the hospital. My ex called. She was one of the paramedics on the scene and made the connection because I’d told her about the American tourist last time I dropped off the kids.”
“Ian. Is. She. Okay?” I repeat the question, noting that he didn’t answer the first time.
