Page 78 of The Bossy One

I waited.

“I thought I was sober enough to drive that night. I wasn’t. I…” She took a deep breath. “I was too drunk, Declan. Too drunk to know I was driving in the wrong lane. I had to swerve to avoid hitting another car… In in the end, I just cut through a garden and hit a mailbox, but… God, I could’ve hit a kid. I could’ve crashed, died, and...”

She paused and, even though she didn’t say the words, I knew exactly what she meant.

“Jesus Christ, Sinead.” I sat down in my chair, my knees giving out on me. I thought of the wreckage from our da’s accident. I thought of going to the morgue with Mum to officially identify the body and claim his belongings. At the last second she’d flinched away from looking at Da like that, so I’d done it instead. “You could’ve…”

“I know,” she said, her voice gutted. “I could have done the same thing to some other family that O’Rourke did to ours.”

I was probably a selfish bastard, because at the moment I didn’t care about that. “Youcould have been hurt.”

“I know,” Sinead repeated. “I know.”

We sat in the silence together.

“Anyway,” Sinead said. “There you have it. Rock bottom and a wake-up call, all in one. I called a cab, and then I googled rehab facilities, and then I called you. I didn’t tell you because I was ashamed,” she explained. “But apparently, shame can be a trigger for relapsing. So. There you have it. Don’t hate me.”

“I could never hate you,” I said instantly, meaning it with every fiber of my being. “I love you Sinead. I love you so fucking much.”

“I know,” she said, and this time I could hear she was crying.

We stayed on the phone together until she sounded good again, and she hung up to go play checkers with her roommate.

I sat alone in my office, somehow raw and numb at the same time.

If I were a praying man, I’d thank God for that mailbox. I didn’t want to think about how close I’d almost come to losing someone else I loved.

I sat there, staring blankly at the wall, until my phone buzzed with a notification from @1000words.

I checked the screen.

I can’t believe I’m saying this, but this woman at Snug contacted me, and apparently there’s a publishing company that wants to sponsor my blog???!!!

I smiled. When I’d mentioned Olivia’s blog to an employee who worked in our corporate partnerships division, I had no idea she’d find an interested company that quickly. I knew @1000words—Olivia—was good, but I was glad someone else was finally noticing.

That’s fantastic. You deserve it.I wrote back.

Do you think I should take it?she asked.It’s not set in stone yet. They want me to do a video, where I’m reading one of their books. And if they like it, I’ll post it, and they’ll pay me.

You should definitely take it,I said, confident my employee wouldn’t have sent her a bad deal.It’s the next professional step. Who knows? If it goes well and you decide you want to pursue more sponsorships, you may even be able to quit your day job.

I hit send, feeling optimistic for the first time all day.

* * *

Maybe it was the news about how close I’d come to losing Sinead, but at dinner that night with Catie and Olivia, I found myself noticing all the little details. Catie’s mile-a-minute talking. The taste of the fresh brown bread Maeve had made for dinner. The flash of laughter in Olivia’s eyes when I made a dirty joke that went over Catie’s head.

I was so damn lucky, I realized, to get to have this summer with Olivia and Catie. That would be true even if Olivia left Ireland when her contract was up. Of course, that was the last thing I needed, but…right now, I was happy, which was more than a lot of people got.

After dinner, Olivia sent Catie upstairs to change into her pajamas. When Olivia hung back, saying she had something important she wanted to talk to me about, I couldn’t help the greedy hope that flared to life in me.

Maybe her picture book sold. Maybe she wants to focus on her blog full time. Maybe she’s quitting nannying,I thought.

Maybe she’s staying in Ireland.

Does that even matter?The thought came unbidden into my mind. Ireland, States…hell, Antarctica. Wherever this woman goes, I’ll follow.

“So.” I looked at her across the dinner table, keeping my face neutral and utterly free of the hope that was clawing at my insides. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

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