Page 53 of Accidental Irish Daddy

The front door opens and closes. Grant went to work early this morning even though it’s the weekend. I’ve noticed that he’s been trying to make a concentrated effort to stay busy since his mother’s passing.

I worry about him, though. So far, he hasn’t come home smelling of alcohol or with heavy-lidded eyes…but I can tell he’s struggling with his sobriety. Losing his mother broke something inside of him, I think.

When we do speak, his moods seem to swing from one end of the spectrum to the other. Sometimes, he’s kind, sometimes cold. All the time, I feel like I’m stuck in the storm that’s driving him right now. It’s hard to think of him as caring about me…especially since I know he is only doing this because it was his mother’s last wish.

I leave the kitchen and step out into the hallway just in time to see him going up the stairs.

“How was work?” I ask, and he stops to look down at me. He looks tired, but his eyes are clear and there’s no lingering scent of alcohol coming off him.

“Same as it was yesterday and the day before,” he says dryly. He turns without another word and walks the rest of the way up the stairs. I listen to his footfalls until the door of his bedroom closes.

I know he’s in mourning…but I don’t like this. I’ve seen this kind of thing before. Uncle Liam went this same way when my parents died. He spent a lot of hours locked in his room…and those hours turned into days in a very short period of time andspiraled him into the monster he became after. Before Bridget and I knew it, he was drinking and…

I don’t want to see Grant go down the same road. I can’t watch him spiral like this. I go up the stairs after him.

The door to his room is locked. I don’t hear anything on the other side, either.

I knock. “M-Mr. Duncan?” I bite my lip, still feeling weird about using his first name, I guess. “Are you all right?”

No response. I knock again. “You shouldn’t be alone so much. I’m here if you want to talk.”

Still no response. I sigh and step away from the door. Maybe I just need to leave him be for a while—

Behind me, the door unlocks and opens slightly. I push it the rest of the way just in time to see him walk back to his bed and sit down. He’s taken off his tie and the first few buttons of his shirt are undone. He’s got something in his hands that he’s turning around and around. It looks like a crystal ball or a paperweight – large and round with something red and blue in the center.

“You don’t seem to be having a good day today,” I say to him.

He smirks a little, and a small semblance of the normal him shines through for a second.

“Very astute,” he replies. “In your expert assessment, would you say that this is a good day or a bad day for me?”

He looks up at me questioningly as if this is a good faith question. I guess it might be, but if I’m being honest, I’m not sure that it is.

He looks back down at the orb in his hands and says, “Ma said that you would say that a lot about her. That she was having a good day or a bad day. She said she used it to gauge how close to death she was…when the bad days started outweighing the good.”

I get a chill hearing him talk like this. I walk over to him and sit down next to him. “She was dying, Mr. Duncan. That wasn’t asecret to her. She knew what was in store for her. Whereas you, on the other hand, are still alive. You’re still here.”

“So I am,” he says softly. He goes silent for a long moment, turning the orb over and over. I can see now that it’s a paperweight. Crystal with a rose suspended in the center.

“You know,” he says. “You should get used to calling me Grant. I am your husband and all.”

He says that lightly, and I find myself smiling. “It’s hard to get used to. Saying your name.”

He nods, still looking at the paperweight. “Aisling…I want to stop feeling like this. Ever since Ma died, I feel like I’ve lost a piece of myself. Like I’m walking around without an arm or a foot. It’s like she took a part of me with her.” His eyes start to tear up. “I don’t want to hurt like this anymore. If…if I could just stop it for an hour or two…just stop the constant barrage.”

My heart hurts for him. Seeing him like this is starting to break me as well.

I want to take his pain for myself.

I lean in, taking him by the chin and turning his lips to mine. I kiss him softly. He responds to me, kissing me back as his tears reach my lips. I feel a warmth bloom in my chest as we kiss, that longing for him reigniting.

Suddenly, he pulls away from me and gets up, setting the paperweight on his dresser and closing the door. He comes back to the bed, unbuttoning his shirt and revealing his muscular body underneath. He takes my head in his hands and kisses me again, this time a little rougher. He bites my lip, the sting sending pain and pleasure signals through me.

He leans into me, and I lie back on the bed, wrapping my legs around his. He presses against the fabric of my shirt and panties, hard and eager for me.

He’s only ever been inside me once and every night since I’ve dreamt of the day that we would connect again.

He rubs against me, and I wonder if he can feel through the fabric of our clothes how wet this is making me.

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