Page 19 of Dirty Padraig: Dirty Dusters

“I would suspect so. He and Fletch were best friends back then. It’s not like he’ll be able to attend, though, as he’s currently living in Sicily, so it’s not like I’ll run the risk of bumping into him.”

“Do you think Eoin will want to tag along?”

I roll my eyes, even though she can’t see me. “I’ve checked his calendar, and he’s out of town that day looking at several real estate properties in Chicago.”

There’s a pause. I know what she’s going to say before she says it, and it’s already fucking me off.

“After what’s just happened, you really should check in with him first. You don’t need him going off on one again, Jaine. None of us do.”

I exhale in frustration. “I can’t live my life if I’m wrapped in cotton wool, Jessie.”

“I understand that, but you won’t be able to live your life if you’re dead either.”

“So, do you think I should go?” I change the subject away from Eoin.

“I don’t see why not? Surely it would be nice to see these people and find out what they’ve been doing with their lives after all this time?”

“I’ll think about it.” I’m still not sure I want to drag up that part of my past. There are some memories I’d much sooner forget.

“If you do decide to go, just be sure to mention it to big bad Eoin beforehand. Even if he is out of town, he’ll still want to know if you’re going to be anywhere other than in your office or the safe space, Jaine.”

“I will.” Another eye roll.

“Anyway, is it soon yet?”

I chuckle. “No, but as soon as soon arrives, you’ll be the first to know.”

I disconnect the call, then stare at the email attachment.

To open it or not? That really is the question. Trepidation butterflies flit through my stomach at what I may find if I do.

My traitorous fingers ignore the doubts crossing my mind as they move to open it. Neither do they pay me any mind when I ask them to stop clicking through the plethora of images. I’m not sure my heart will be able to take it if there’s one of me and Irish among them.

I see Cherry. I see Sasha. I see Irish. And he’s with me.

A painful sob escapes me. It shouldn’t after all this time, more so after he messaged me those twenty generic words letting me go once and for all, but when you’re looking at the carbon copy of your little boy, it’s hard not to feel emotional.

I love him. I miss him. I wish things could have been different for us.

I gaze at the photo. At my arms snaked around his neck, and his hands circling my waist. I’m wearing my usual tank and combats combo and staring up at him with all the love in the world shining from my eyes.

Nineteen-year-old me. Back when I was plain Jaine Jones. My hair’s piled on top of my head, and I’m wearing braces and glasses, but Irish didn’t care what I looked like.

And if I ever doubted that he loved me at any point back then, I was wrong to because, in this image, he’s staring at me like I’m the sun, the moon, and the stars.

Two teenagers madly in love. And then he cheated on me.

I click on further, and that’s when I see her. The girl he cheated on me with.

Brittany Mason.

If Emilia had a doppelganger, then I’m looking straight at her.

Hey, Fletch

It’s good to hear from you. Thanks so much for reaching out. I’d love to attend and catch up with everyone. I’ll see you there.

Take care,

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