Page 63 of Accidental Irish Daddy

Without another word, she rushes off, bag in her hands. I frown. “Hey, Bridget?”

“Yes?” comes her voice from downstairs.

I walk to the landing and see her halfway out of the door. “What’s in the bag?”

“Just some rubbish from the bathroom. I’m taking it out for Aisling.”

I nod and watch her go. Strange…

I head out to the garden and start exercising. Taking deep breaths, I go through the movements, letting the cool afternoon air chill my skin.

I feel better out here. More centered.

The monster has been put back in its cage.

***

A few days have gone by since Aisling’s uncle came around, and I’ve managed to stay out of Aisling’s way almost entirely now. I’ve stopped spending my nights in her room. That situation was just making things worse. We’re better as acquaintances. Friends, perhaps. Anything more is just too dangerous. I’ll hurt her if I let things go the way they have.

Part of the way I’ve been staying out of her way has been by spending time exercising. Besides meditating in the garden, I’ve been making use of the gym in my basement as well. The seasons are starting to change and the old rainy weather we’re all used to is returning. That suits me fine. The unseasonably hot sun has been taking its toll on me. The Irish aren’t supposed to be cooked well done, after all.

I come down here after work now instead of going to Aisling’s room. Going a few rounds on the punching bag isn’t the same as being in her arms, but it’s better than nothing.

I get in the rhythm of the bag, as I hit it over and over again. It’s almost hypnotic, sending me into a kind of meditative state.

“Hey!”

I stop, startled, and the bag almost swings into my face. I grab hold of it in time, though.

Bridget is standing on the stairs, the line of her eyebrows furrowed, and her mouth twisted into a frown.

“Hey,” I say back to her. She stomps down the rest of the stairs, her fists balled up.

“Why are you down here and not with my sister?”

I blink, unsure of how to answer that. “Bridget, I’m working out right now. Go on back upstairs—”

“You’re supposed to be with Aisling! In her room! Why are you here? Don’t you like her anymore?”

Oh, boy… I thought the walls were thicker than that.

I walk over to her and kneel down. “What goes on between your sister and me…it’s grown-up business, Bridget. You’re too young to understand—”

“I’m old enough to know that my sister likes you. She likes you so much that you ignoring her makes her cry.”

It’s like ice water has been splashed in my face. I’m struck dumb for a second.

“When was she crying?”

“She cries all the time now. You said you would keep us safe, but this is just like when we were with Uncle Liam. Only this time, she doesn’t talk to me about why she’s sad or why she’s got some colored sticks in her garbage—”

Her eyes get large all of a sudden, and she covers her mouth with her hands.

“What do you mean by that?” I ask her. She takes a step back.

“Nothing.” Then she switches up and goes, “You just have to talk to her and let her know you like her, too. That’s all.”

“Bridget,” I say with a sigh. “I like Aisling. She knows that. We’re just very good friends and that’s all we’re supposed to be.”

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