Page 105 of Dirty Padraig: Dirty Dusters

“There’s no one else I’d rather die with.”

He kisses my tattoo, and then we lie there, each of us lost in our own thoughts once more.

“I love you.” I’m not sure why tears prick my eyes as I say it this time.

Maybe it’s because I may not get the opportunity to for much longer, or maybe it’s because, even though we’re in dire straits, I still wouldn’t change this moment for anything in the world because I’m with him.

“I know.”

He doesn’t say it back because it’s no longer reciprocated.

* * *

We sleep mostof the time as one day rolls into the next.

I’m not sure how long we’ve been here, but we ran out of water around twenty-four hours ago, or was it forty-eight?

Will we die in here? Who knows. There’s no one else I would rather die with either.

My Irish.

We’ve yelled. We’ve cried. We’ve stopped speaking. We’ve said sorry. We’ve put the world to rights and then undid it all again. We’ve avoided anything that could potentially lead to intimacy even though the temptation is there.

I guess we’re still clinging to the hope that we’ll be found in time. That if we kissed or fucked, then it would feel more like a betrayal. Yet another hurdle to get over when we’ve already completed a full fucking course.

He won’t want to betray Sophia, and even though we’re not officially together, I wouldn’t want to betray Eoin. Nor would he. If Irish and I were ever to be together, I would have to ask Eoin for his blessing, the same as Irish had to give me his blessing to be with his brother.

My conscience would never rest otherwise.

I realize Irish blames me for everything, and that’s fine for now. Maybe we’ll take that with us to the grave. If we do make it out of here alive, then the truth must be told.

No more lies. No more secrets.

I refuse to live the rest of my life trying to remember who I’ve told what to. No deception means there’s no chance of slipping up.

Fin’s parentage is now known. Mine will be made known. My alter-ego will also be revealed to the rest of the Duster family.

To Eoin.

And the O’Connells must own up to the part they played in the wrongdoings when it came to Irish. That I didn’t abandon him without a backward glance. That I didn’t let him go willingly. That they used my love for him against me, knowing I would always put his needs and well-being ahead of my own.

I understand why he’s pissed off. That we made decisions on his behalf like he wasn’t capable of making them for himself. That we made them because we assumed he’d behave in a certain way.

They had no right to do that. I realize now that I had no right to do that either. He’s right. I’m just as bad as they are, but what’s done is done. We can’t change the past. All we can do is come clean and start a new future if the option is still available to us.

I hope it is.

No one did what they did to deliberately hurt him or cause him pain. There will be no re-do over the time that’s been lost, so all we can do is let bygones be bygones and make the most of what’s left.

I’m standing at the window, staring at the same daylight view I’ve been looking at for I don’t know how long. I turn my head to look at Irish as he lies on the sectional with one arm behind his head. He hasn’t changed physically. A few more lines and a few grey hairs, but he’s still the same boy I fell in love with when I was nineteen years old. He’s lost his exuberance, though, or at least he’s buried it away.

He looks tired. I want to ask him about his life with Sophia, but I know it’s not something he wants to discuss. Is it because we have a past or for another reason?

“I can feel your eyes admiring me, Jaine.”

“You’re so vain.” I snort at his smugness.

“I’m so handsome, is what you were really trying to say.”

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