Lachlan wouldn’t let me pay. He’d scoff at the very idea. I can see him raising an eyebrow at me as if I dared to even think of such a thing, the old-fashioned bastard.
Stop thinking about him.
“Let’s go down by the pier,” he says, frowning as his eyes dart about. “I want to finish this fucking joint. Paid good money for it.”
I’m going to literally strangle Aisling for ditching me and leaving me with this guy.
I shrug. “Right, then.”
He chuckles. “Bloody cute,” he says with a snort, making the slang sound clumsy and awkward.
I realize the pier isn’t solitary at all, like I suspected, but filled with more college students. Hell, I think there’s a bloody party of sorts. Drinks are flowing, joints are being passed around, and a throng of students dances by the beach.
“So, tell me, Fiona,” Matt says. He shoves food in his mouth, not bothering to swallow before speaking. “What part of Ireland are you from?”
“Ballyhock.”
“Ah. Is it near the sea?”
I take a bite of my pizza, chew and swallow, and nod. “Aye, on the east coast, south of Dublin.”
“And why are you all the way here?”
Why am I here? And why all the questions?
I shrug. “Change of pace is all.”
He nods, chewing his pizza methodically before asking another question. “Were you born in Ballyhock?”
I shake my head. “No. I grew up outside of Ballyhock.”
It feels bittersweet talking about home. It’s exciting being here, but I don’t know if I could really do it. If I could really, truly pull up the roots that ground me to the earth in Ballyhock.
With food in my belly and the party at my back, I’m feeling a bit lighter than I have in days. I finish my pizza and he asks me more questions. How big is Ballyhock? Is it farmland or a city? I answer everything he asks me, pleased to talk of home, but when he finishes his joint, his eyes are a bit glassy.
“What makes it different there?” he says, his words slurred. “Is the ocean different?”
I smile out at the sea. “Suppose it’s the same ocean, isn’t it?” I tell him. “All flows together and all. Father Finn says we’re all one.”
“Who’s that?”
“Parish priest, friend of the family.” I don’t know why I’m talking so much, like I can’t stop myself. As if talking of home keeps me connected.
“Ah.”
I tell him how close everything is in Ballyhock, how I can walk from the McCarthy home to the sea, or take the winding pathway to Holy Family church. I tell him about the shops and the restaurants, and as I do, I long to be home again.
“Sounds nice,” he says. “Do you want me to walk you back now?”
I look over my shoulder and look for my guard. They’re good at staying discreet, I’ll give them that.
“I’m good, thanks.”
“You sure?” he asks.
“Aye,” I say without thinking, and when he laughs out loud, I clench my fist to prevent myself from decking him.
“See you later.” I leave without giving him a backward glance.
I’m feeling sentimental tonight. Maybe I’m hormonal. But just being around a guy who doesn’t interest me makes me long for the one who owns my heart, even if I hate him.
I glance at my phone and realize I haven’t replied to the text he sent me hours ago.
I’m here, I begin to type, then I erase it. My fingers hover over the screen.
I miss you.
Before I can change my mind, I send the text.
The second I do, I second guess myself. My heart hammers, and my mouth’s all dry. I look, realizing I don’t know where the bloody hell I am.
I look to my left and right and realize I still don’t see my guard.
My heart begins to pound even harder. They should be where I can see them.
Am I alone?
For a place that moments ago looked teeming with people, it feels oddly vacant now.
My phone buzzes, as someone ambles toward me. I look at the screen to see Lachlan’s name. My hands shake.
I miss you, too, sweet girl.
I close my eyes at the rush of emotion. No, Lachlan, no, don’t do this to me.
I can’t take it anymore. I pick up the phone and touch his name on the screen. I hit the phone icon, and it rings. He picks up on the first ring.
“Fiona?”
I open my mouth to speak, but I’m too overcome with emotion. I swallow, then swallow again, and nod.
“Fiona?” he repeats.
“Aye,” I whisper. “I’m here.”
“Y’alright, lass?” His tone is warm and kind, and I love him so.
“Aye,” I say, and I hate that when I blink, tears splash my cheeks. “I’m sorry, Lachlan.”
“Sweet girl,” he says. “I’m sorry, too.”
I lean against the brick wall of the building I’m standing next to, when I realize it isn’t just Ballyhock I miss, it isn’t just my home, but it feels wrong to be so far away from Lachlan.