Page 32 of Dirty Padraig: Dirty Dusters

I want to say no and run. Instead, I nod without speaking, my stomach instantly tying itself in knots. She’s going to tell me something I don’t want to hear. I know because I’ve been expecting it all day.

We’re watched by Fletch and Skylar as we make our way toward the restroom. From their silent perusal, it doesn’t take a genius to work out that they already know what news she’s going to break.

We make our way inside, allowing the restroom door to close quietly behind us.

Silence. Blinding. Unwelcoming.

We stand side by side at the restroom mirror, each staring at the other’s reflection. We’re of a similar height, but my build is much slighter, and her olive skin and dark hair contrast my tanned, blonde appearance.

“You look good, Jaine.”

“Thank you.”

What else is there to say? She can clearly see that I’m no longer the ugly duckling I once was. The braces have gone. The glasses have gone. I’ve lost weight recently, so I’m slimmer, but given the year I’ve had, right now, I just feel lucky to be alive.

“You look well, too,” I add. Manners cost nothing, and she does look good.

She smiles weakly. “Congratulations on all of your successes since leaving Yale. You’ve achieved a lot. Way more than the rest of us.”

I nod. She’s buying time, nothing more. These are delaying tactics for something she wants to say but doesn’t. I know she didn’t do anything with her qualification, so it’s not like we can compare legal resumes. She married a billionaire, became a full-time wife, and moved to Houston.

Is she happy? She doesn’t look particularly so, but maybe that’s got more to do with what she’s about to reveal.

“What is it you want to say, Brittany?” I cut to the chase.

“I’m sorry.”

Two words, followed by more silence. We both know what’s she apologizing for. She doesn’t have to spell it out. It’s twelve years overdue, but I guess it’s better late than never. I don’t respond because, going by the way she’s wringing her hands, she hasn’t finished getting whatever this is off her chest.

“I’d always liked Padraig, and I know he liked me too until you came along that is.” Her tone isn’t accusatory in any way. It’s just matter of fact. “I was jealous. All the girls were. That he turned all of us down and instead….”

“Settled for a plain Jaine like me,” I interject.

She nods sheepishly, then frowns. “Jaine, what I did… I’m not proud of it. I wasn’t then, and I’m not now, regardless of what you may think. I had no choice but to keep up the pretense.”

The warning bells are now ringing so loud they’re deafening.

I’m tempted to ask her to stop. That as much as this may be a salve for her guilt, her spilling her guts isn’t going to help me. Her clearing her conscience is just going to cause my life to implode once more.

“What pretense?” My mouth feels dry. Why the fuck am I asking when I know it’s going to be something I don’t want to hear?

Please, God, don’t let it be what I think it is.

“When Padraig and Fletch came to the party that night, Paddy began drinking heavily. He was upset. He didn’t drink often, but when he did, he just never knew when to stop. That night, he kept on going. In the end, I took him upstairs….to my bedroom. It wasn’t pre-meditated. I was just going to let him sleep it off. He was crying. He kept telling me how much he loved you, but that he thought you didn’t love him. That there was a boy from your past you were so hung up on you couldn’t or wouldn’t commit to him.”

She bites her lip nervously as we approach the crux of the admission.

“He passed out not long after. When the party ended and before I went to bed, I removed his clothes, then mine. Then I staged the condoms.”

My blood is pounding in my ears as my life since that moment flashes in front of my eyes. A life that could have been very different.

“What exactly are you saying, Brittany?”

“Padraig and I never had sex. I saw an opportunity. I thought if you didn’t want him and he thought we’d slept together, that we could become a couple. We didn’t. It was quite the opposite. When he looked at me afterward, all I did was remind him of what he’d lost. I couldn’t say anything back then. Not without making myself look like a loser.”

“But you didn’t mind making me look like one,” I bite.

“I’m sorry, Jaine. I wish I could take it all back. I’ve wanted to tell you so many times, but I needed to do it face-to-face so you’d know how truly sorry I am. I didn’t want to be cowardly about it.”

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