Page 36 of Blindsided
“Yeah, well.” He shifts his weight, looking almost sheepish. “It just so happened I was in the area.”
“In the area? What for?”
He leans against the door frame and says, “I was on my way to see you. Can I come in?”
I should say no. I should tell him it’s late, that I barely know him, that I came to Ireland to escape drama, not invite more in. But something in his expression—a rawness, a vulnerability that mirrors my own—has me stepping aside.
“Only if that bottle stays sealed on the porch,” I say, nodding toward the whiskey.
He looks down at it like he’d forgotten he was holding it. “Deal,” he agrees, setting it down as he steps past me into the cottage.
Chapter 13
Kane
I step into the house, scanning the cozy space with its stone fireplace and overstuffed furniture. It’s the kind of place that belongs in a rom-com about finding yourself in the Irish countryside—exactly what Airplane Girl needs after her husband’s betrayal. Not whatever chaos I’m about to bring into her life.
“Nice place,” I say, running my hand along the back of an armchair. “Very... quaint.”
“It belongs to my friend’s family,” she explains, tucking a strand of that choppy hair behind her ear. “So, what brings you to my doorstep at this hour? Besides my extremely compelling text message.”
I drop into the armchair, suddenly exhausted. “Would you believe I’m in hiding?”
Her eyebrows shoot up.
“From whom? The police?”
“My family,” I say with a humorless laugh. “Or whatever the hell I’m supposed to call them now.They’re all fired up about solving that riddle, tracking down Tomas, and my long-lost sister.”
“And you’re not?”
“I just found out my entire identity is a lie, Kori. I want a fucking minute to process that before running off on some scavenger hunt across Ireland.” I rub my hands over my face, feeling the stubble that’s grown since this morning. “Declan wants to head to the Hill of Tara tomorrow—that’s the ‘ancient throne’ in the riddle. I told him I needed some air and bolted.”
“So you came here? How did you even know where to find me?”
“Wren told me. She’s terrifying but surprisingly helpful when she wants to be.” I glance around the room again. “Plus, you’re literally the only person in Ireland I know who isn’t related to me. Well, supposedly related. Christ, I don’t even know what to call them anymore.”
She settles onto the sofa across from me, gracefully tucking her legs beneath her. “That’s... a lot to process.”
“Tell me about it. One minute I’m the family fuck-up, the next I’m Tomas MacGallan’s secret son with a mysterious Russian half sister. It’s like I walked into a bad spy novel.”
“At least your life isn’t boring,” she offers with a small smile.
“Says the woman who fled across an ocean after finding her husband in bed with her sister.”
“It wasn’t in bed,” she corrects. “It was photos. On my phone. In my kitchen.”
“Sorry,” I wince. “That was a dick move.”
“It’s fine,” she sighs. “We’re both having spectacularly shitty weeks.”
I study her for a moment—wet hair curling around her face, no makeup, dark shadows under her eyes from lack of sleep. She looks real in a way women rarely do around me. Usually, they’re all polished surfaces and calculated gestures, wanting something from the Murphy name or my supposed connection to the MacGallans.
But Kori’s just... here. Raw and unfiltered.
“Can I ask you something weird?” I say suddenly.
She gives me a wary look. “Depends on how weird.”
