Page 69 of Surrender
“More sense my ass! You’ve got the brains of a bloody turnip.”
She let out a bark of laughter. “I’d rather be a turnip than dumb as the dirt it grew in like you!”
“Christ, you’re impossible!” Keefe threw his hands in the air then raked them down his face. He was losing his patience.
“Oh, don’t you throw a tantrum just because you’ve lost what little common sense you were born with.”
Keefe’s voice dropped and slowed as he spoke very carefully. “Sophie. I love you, but you’re making this worse. You’re not helping anyone right now.”
“Aunt Nan, could you examine my brother’s head? There’s been something wrong with him since birth!” she spat.
“There must be, I went into business with you, didn’t I?” he fired back. That had come out louder than intended. He took a moment to breathe. They had both said things but he was over this. He would take one last try to get her to see reason. Surely, this would do it. “Soph, Darcie forgave her,” he said evenly, which was no small effort. He let that hang in the air for a moment.
Sophie couldn’t believe it. Her mouth fell open. She looked from her brother to their aunt who nodded her head confirming what Keefe said. She blinked a few times trying to wrap her head around all this but she just couldn’t. The O’Brian family had all lost their damn minds! “That’s Darcie’s business. She’s not my brother. It doesn’t change the fact that Gwen’s so evil if you threw her in the river, she’d float upstream!”
That was it! Keefe clenched his fists at his side. Now Nan intervened before this turned into a brawl. “Keefe,” she said in a warning voice, “you’ve never hit a girl.”
“That’s not a girl! That’s my sister!” He shook his head then stormed away punching the kitchen door open.
Nan stepped into Sophie’s view saying nothing for a long minute hoping that Sophie would apologize. Instead, Sophie yelled at the door, “You can fold it in five corners and shove it where the sun don’t shine, Keefe O’Brian! And don’t you dare even think about crying to me when it falls apart!”
Nan couldn’t believe what she had just witnessed. Never in all their years and all their arguments had one of the twins ever walked out. They had always stayed until it was over and they made up. She didn’t know what to say. Nan stood looking at Sophie with an astounded expression.
“Sophie, you need to apologize.”
“I’d rather feed my foot to a hungry dog,” she said, staring at the swinging door. Sophie looked her aunt square in the eye and said, “Keefe can do whatever he wants. I’m done.” And with that, she turned and stormed out, slamming the pub door hard behind her.
Chapter 20
Keefe stood in the pub kitchen, the silence pressing in like a vice. Every breath felt too loud, like it didn’t belong in the room. The overhead light buzzed faintly—just enough to grate on his nerves.
His knuckles were raw, scraped and swelling, the skin split open where he’d punched the wall outside—after the fight with Sophie. Or maybe it was the back door. He couldn’t remember. Everything after her final words had blurred into white-hot rage and disbelief.
As much as he wanted to, he hadn’t walked out of the pub. He wouldn’t. They hadn’t even opened yet. Customers would be in soon, and the staff depended on him to show up, so he had. Still, every smile he gave was tight. Every word he said felt forced, automatic. The only thing holding him together was the clock ticking down until he could leave. At least Sophie had left him the hell alone. That is, once Her Majesty decided to come back and do her fucking job.
Gwen picked him up that night. She was waiting out back in her car, eyes scanning the doorway until she saw him. When he stepped outside, she got out, grinning, and met him halfway with a kiss—quick at first, then slower, deeper.
She pulled back, still smiling. “Hey, stranger.” Then she looked into his eyes. He was angry, more than angry. “I’m sorry. I should have stayed inside the car. Only, I saw Sophie leave before I pulled in so she won’t see us.”
Then her gaze dropped to his hand.
Her smile fell. “Keefe, what happened?”
He exhaled sharply and looked down at the angry red skin across his knuckles. He hadn’t even bandaged it. Didn’t bother.
“We’ll talk once we’re home,” he said, voice rough.
Her expression shifted instantly—no longer playful, just worried. But she didn’t push. She just gave a small nod and got into the car.
Now, back in the stillness of home, Gwen sat on the edge of the couch, watching him. Waiting for him to be ready to speak.
Finally, he did.
She didn’t say much. Just listened as he told her what happened while pacing the kitchen floor.
“I told her I love you,” he said now, voice rough, barely above a whisper. “That she doesn’t get a say. That she’s wrong about you.”
Keefe turned toward her. Gwen was now standing barefoot at the threshold between the kitchen and the living room, her arms wrapped around herself, eyes glassy but dry.
