Page 46 of Dirty Dylan: Dirty Dusters

“Nope. And my concern is he’ll be even less so if he finds out his big brother wants you for himself.”

“Well, the asshole can’t have me. I’m already taken.”

“I figure I’ll keep watching my back all the same. I hear the eldest O’Connell stops at nothing to get what he wants.” He laughs, but I think he’s being serious.

“Eoin’s been entered into an arranged marriage now anyway. And he sounds accepting of it. Hopefully, they’ll wed sooner rather than later.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath, sweetheart. Eoin O’Connell isn’t a man who likes to be told what to do. Not even by his own folks. He won’t be rushed into anything. This girl will be on trial for sure. There’s no way it’s a done deal. Not considering the importance of the position that needs fill….”

“Enough about him, Ace.” I interject. The asshole’s not worth the oxygen. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you.” Tears prick my eyes again, and this time they are ones of self-pity.

Fucking hormones.

“I love you too, PJ. I’ll show you just how much the minute I get home.”

“Promises, promises.”

“You know I always deliver on them, sweetheart.”

* * *

With the phonestill clutched in my hand, I make my way into the bedroom, thinking about what Ace said about Irish.

Does he miss me? Does he think about me? Is it wrong of me to want that? Selfish? To want him to love me still, even after all this time?

I lie back on the bed and stare across the room, taking in its tones of greys and creams. It’s Pop’s old room—a grown-up space. It’s nothing like my pink childhood bedroom with all its sparkly, feathery, and glittery things going on.

From time to time, I still lie on my white metal princess-style four-poster bed in that little pink room. It’s when I want to recapitulate on certain parts of my past. The parts from ages seven to eighteen and from ages twenty-eight to now almost thirty.

When I want to think about Pop. About Ace. About my life here in Rising.

In a way, I’ve lived two lives. In two separate places. And as two different people. One life here in Rising with Ace as plain Jaine Jones. And one in Manhattan as Jaine Jones the businesswoman.

Ace has never been part of my New York life. Irish has never been part of my life in California. I’ve spent almost equal amounts of my past in each. Is that the reason I need Ace and Irish? Why I feel so incomplete without them both? Same as I feel incomplete without Rising and Manhattan?

My gaze drifts to the crib at the side of the bed, my eyes now fixed on the pale chubby cheeks of my baby boy. He’s nine months old now, and he’s his daddy’s double in every way. Fin would have a great childhood growing up in Rising, but I know he’ll never get to experience that because of his parentage.

Could I continue to live a lie? Of course I could. I’m thousands of miles away. No one would ever know. And I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.

But if I did, it would be for selfish reasons. Not wanting to face reality. Not wanting to deal with the consequences of the secret I’ve carried since Fin was born.

I could never do that to Irish. I could never do that to Finian. And Ace would never allow me to do that even if I wanted to, same as he won’t allow me to give up my career.

As if he knows he’s in my thoughts, Fin stretches his chubby little arms in the air and my eyes are instantly drawn to the horseshoe on his wrist. The birthmark that all the O’Connell males carry.

Will Irish love him as much as I do?

I hope so.

Wiping the tears from my eyes, tears I didn’t even realize had started falling, I scroll through my phone and stare at his number. The one that used to light up the little screen on my phone at least a million times a day, maybe even more. Not that I need to search for it to remember the digits as they’ll forever be imprinted on my heart.

Would he answer if I called? Would I answer if he did?

I guess we’ll never know.

CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE

DYLAN

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