Page 50 of Dirty Padraig: Dirty Dusters

CHAPTERSIXTEEN

JAINE

The O’Connell Home, Darling, New York

Most days,I come home to find Irish with Fin and JJ. I know it’s just Fin today. Duke has taken JJ out.

My youngest adores Irish almost as much as his older brother does, but when he’s tired or unwell, it’s Eoin he seeks comfort from. Their bond is so strong.

At times, I feel guilty that JJ won’t have any relationship with his real daddy, but I know Ace would appreciate how Eoin has stepped up to be there for our little boy.

Irish and I have fallen into our own routine over the last few weeks. When he’s here, we talk at length about the past and our shared memories. Recently, we’ve progressed to safe topics.

There are several areas we don’t discuss. Subconsciously, we both seem to have created identical boundaries constructed to cordon off certain subject matters.

We don’t talk about how Eoin and I came to be. We don’t talk about Irish and Sophia’s relationship either. Those conversations can take place if and when we ever decide to open Pandora’s box.

There’s one bridge we’ll have no choice but to cross imminently—that of Finian’s parentage. If Irish has any axes to grind, he can do so once he’s in possession of all the facts. Everything I’ve ever done was for him. Whether he views it that way or not remains to be seen.

I’m as honest with him as I can be for now. It’s my guess that he’s being exactly the same. That there’s stuff he’s holding back too.

I hear the voices as soon as I enter the house. Fin. Irish. Roisin. My blood runs cold at the sound of the fourth. Sophia.

What’s she doing here?

Usually, I’d hover outside the room and laugh at Irish and Roisin’s entertaining back-and-forth conversation over his and the kids’ daily antics, but today, I walk straight in.

The conversation stops.

His past. His future. Colliding in the same room.

It’s been a year since they married, and the memories of that day have decided that now’s the right time for them to slideshow through my brain in minute fucking detail. Sophia knows where my thoughts have gone, as she’s staring at me smugly. Because she won.

“It’s good to see you again, Jaine.” It’s a blatant lie.

“It’s good to see you too, Sophia.” Ditto.

“I hear congratulations are in order. That you and Eoin are to marry for a second time and that you are to become the next Ma Duster.” She smooths down her red fitted skirt that compliments her tight black shirt. As usual, she looks immaculate.

“That’s the current plan.” I remain standing.

“Current?” She looks pointedly at Roisin, who’s sitting to her left, then arches one sleek eyebrow.

“Yes, current, Sophia. It all depends on whether I survive long enough. My husband was murdered, and we believe my son was the target of a recent drive-by shooting, which is why we have no choice but to live here. Given that my immediate family is being targeted, I can only assume that I’m at the top of the marksman’s hit list too.”

We stare at each other. I was hoping my blunt admission might see a reaction from her, something to indicate that she was involved in some way, but there’s nothing. Her face is completely impassive.

“And can I ask, did you enjoy our wedding, Jaine?” With a smirk, she flicks her long dark hair over her shoulder.

Perfect silence.

An attempt to humiliate me by outing me as some pathetic loser who would show up to their ex-boyfriend’s wedding without an invitation. Unfortunately for her, aside from Fin, the other parties present know precisely why I was there that day.

“I survived.” As did they.

She knows what I’m saying. That the cozy tete-a-tete she arranged between me and Fergal, the one that saw me dance an Irish jig with Da Duster himself, backfired.

I lived to tell the tale.

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