Somewhere over the Atlantic, he left part of his heart, reminding himself that fire was overrated. He hadn’t needed it for almost forty years, and he didn’t need it now.
Everything he’d needed had always been at home, and a few weeks in Ireland hadn’t changed that.
He’d forget. He’d move on.
He’d be alone, but maybe that was better.
It had to be.
Chapter Eight
Present…
“Happy Birthday to me again!” Wes laughed good-naturedly when Little Sean threw foam peanuts over his head as if it were confetti. Several of the presents for Penny and Wes that had come in the mail had been packed with the stuff, and Sean had been throwing it around for close to an hour with no sign of waning interest.
Seamus glanced at the trash all over the floor, as well as the suspicious pink lumps floating in the punch, and sighed. The stuff was everywhere.
Never a dull moment.
“Hey buddy.” He grabbed Little Sean and tickled him until he screamed in delight. “You and I have cleanup duty! Isn’t that great?”
His four-year-old stopped laughing and looked dubious. Seamus couldn’t really blame him, but it had to be done. “You know the rule. This isn’t our house so we have to leave it as clean as we found it. I bet Gram would be so happy with us that she’d get out the special blanket for you.”
That did it. In an instant, he was wriggling out of his father’s arms, ready to clean.
Seamus’s mother had a soft blue blanket with silky edges in her linen closet, and for some reason every time she mentioned letting Sean hold it, he turned into an angel. Seamus didn’t know the entire story behind it, and he didn’t really need to. Sometimes a grandmother’s magic just needed to be accepted and appreciated.
And that blanket needed to be protected at all costs, because Little Sean was a big handful.
Seamus grabbed a garbage bag and guided his son to every damn packing peanut he could find, even the ones in the punch, and tossed them safely out of reach.
Most of the family had descended on his parents’ house for the party, and the twins couldn’t have been happier. Penny was showing her new wand and tiara to Tasha and Jen and the little seven-month-old boys wriggling on the couch beside them. Huck and Ned—Patrick and Ned whenever their grandmother was around—got bigger every time he saw them.
Jake was deep in conversation with Wyatt, and Wes was running around like an overstimulated spinning top, making everyone laugh and hold their drinks a little tighter when he passed by. He’d sleep like the dead tonight.
“Need some help?” Noah asked quietly, holding out a handful of packing bits that he’d missed.
“Always.” Seamus smiled easily and tilted his head in the direction of the kitchen. “Join us. We’re the cleaning crew.”
As he gathered up all the paper plates smeared with red and blue icing, tossing them in the trash, he met Noah’s troubled gaze. He knew exactly what his cousin needed to talk about, and frankly it was just what he needed to take his mind off his own troubles, so he didn’t beat around the bush. “When is she due?”
“A few weeks. Well, her lawyer said it would be a few weeks. Since I agreed to take care of the baby, she’s decided we should make sure everything is official and less emotional.”
Seamus shook his head. How did you make bringing a new life into the world less emotional? He knew she was young, but this girl was educated, moderately successful and…well, she wasn’t sleeping in an alley with no other options. On the other hand, he supposed it was a good thing she’d given Noah a say at all. And hell, she was probably just as overwhelmed as he looked right now. “What are you doing in the meantime?”
Shell-shocked might be a better term for Noah’s expression. “In the meantime?”
“To prepare. Are you staying in the townhome with Wyatt after the baby comes? Have you been looking into pediatricians in the area, nanny services, that kind of thing? I have Little Sean’s old crib if you need it, and I’ve kept most of his baby clothes in the basement for Penny’s dolls. You should come over and we can pack up whatever you need.”
His cousin sat down heavily on a kitchen chair, his expression so lost Seamus stopped cleaning and sat beside him. “It’s okay, Noah. You’ve got family to help you. You aren’t alone.”
Bartender, heal thyself.
“Wyatt won’t.” Noah shook his head then shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “He’s moving in with one of our friends from the firehouse next week. He doesn’t think I’m making the right call.”
Noah and Wyatt weren’t twins, but you wouldn’t know it to spend time with them. Barely eleven months apart in age, they’d done everything together for as long as he could remember. They were closer than Stephen and Seamus had ever been. At least, they had been.