I sink onto my side, curling into a ball. There’s no one here to see me, no reason to be ashamed, and so I let myself fall apart completely for the first time, shattering. All of it, the pain and hurt and fear and loss, come pouring out of me, until I’m nothing but a hollow empty shell on the carpet, eyes swollen with crying.
It’s there that, after what feels like hours, I fall into a restless, aching sleep.
7
NIALL
It doesn’t feel as good to be back home as I’d expected it to. I walk into my apartment, kicking off my boots and grabbing a beer from my fridge to take the edge off, trying to loosen the ever-present knot of tension that seems to reside somewhere deep in my gut permanently these days.
I didn’t want to leave Isabella in that apartment alone. Even now, I want to go back and see her, stay there with her for her first night in the new place. I saw the look on her face, clear as day, the fear and anxiety. I wanted to take her in my arms and comfort her. I wanted to promise to never leave. Our wedding vows echoed through my head as I’d left—to love, honor and cherish, better or worse,all of it, and I’d felt as if I were failing her somehow, though I’d never intended for any of this to be permanent.
But it feels, every time she looks at me, as if she wants it to be real.
I sink onto the couch, tipping the beer up to take a long draught, just as a knock comes at the door. I grit my teeth with irritation, wondering who the fuck could be here at this late hour.If it’s Liam, he better have brought some actual whiskey. And if it’s anyone else, well—
The last person I expect to see standing there when I open the door is Saoirse.
“Can I come in?” She brushes a strawberry lock of hair away from her face, and I stare at her, too shocked for a moment to respond. When I finally do, it’s hard to hide just how pissed I am to see her on my doorstep.
“What are you doing here?” I growl, not stepping aside. “You’re the last person I expected to see.”
“I’m sure.” She gives me a tiny smile, as if I should be happy about this development. “Connor filled me in on what’s going on. Niall, what were you thinking?” Her smile falls at that last, concern filling her eyes, but that just fucking pisses me off more. My love life is no longer any of her concern.
“You can’t just waltz into my apartment anymore,” I tell her flatly. “You should be home,” I add, gesturing to her very pregnant belly. It’s obvious in the yoga pants and tight t-shirt that she’s wearing, and I feel even more annoyed with her for being here like this, flaunting her marriage to Connor and their child in my face after everything that passed between us. “With yourhusband, not on my doormat talk to to me. You know bloody damn well Connor would be pissed if he knew you were here. And I don’t want to fucking hear about it the next time I see him, or have to defend myself from some other accusation coming from him!”
I make the mistake of stepping back a little bit as I say it, and Saoirse steps into my apartment. It puts us in a position far too close to that of our last fight for my comfort, her nearly standing in my kitchen as I stand there looking at her, wanting anything other than to be having this conversation.
“We’re still friends, aren’t we?” Saoirse looks hurt. “I’m worried about you, Niall. This whole thing with this girl—it seems to have gotten wildly out of control—”
I snort, interrupting her. “No, Saoirse. We’re not friends. We stopped being friends when you told me that the only way it would work between us is if I was fine waiting around to be your side piece once you finished making a little Irish prince for your actual husband. We stopped being friends when I realized I needed to put some distance between us, because I was breaking my own heart every time I saw you. I wish you well and all of that, but I bloodylovedyou, Saoirse. That’s not something that just goes away, and it’s certainly a damn good reason not to have you here in my apartment late at night. I said I neededspace.”
“And you got it.” She looks slightly miffed. “In Mexico. Where apparently you got into trouble with this Isabella girl—”
“Which is none of your concern,” I break in again. “Clearly, yes. I have an apparent weakness for mob princesses, but I’m cured of it now, aye? I’m over it. And I certainly didn’t come home looking to hash it over again in a conversation I didn’t even ask to have.”
Saoirse purses her lips. “You don’t look over it.”
“Who bloody asked you, anyway?”
“Is this my fault?” There’s a hint of sadness to her tone, regret even, her face softening as she looks at me. “Is this because of what happened between us? Did you get into this with Isabella trying to get over me?”
“Oh fucking hell.” I glare at her. “You’re so bloody perceptive, aren’t you? You could have used a fair bit of that when we were together, aye? Of course it was about us and what happened. OfcourseI was looking to get over it.”
“I’m just trying to help—”
“I didn’t bloody ask for it!”
We stand there for a moment, facing off, and I can see the hurt in Saoirse’s face. It cools me off a little, and I feel a stab of guilt. I’m still hurting from what happened between us, but that doesn’t mean I want to turn that hurt back on her—even if she did show up unannounced and unasked.
“I’m sorry,” I say finally, when a few beats have passed, rubbing a hand over my mouth and setting my beer aside on the countertop. “I didn’t mean to get angry and lose my temper. Look, yeah. Maybe I was trying to get over you in Mexico, and that’s how this whole bloody thing started. But you didn’t force me to do anything. It’s not your fault, aye? None of it is. But that also means it’s not your mess to clean up, Saoirse. Our lives—they’re on different paths now. You chose that for us. So I need you to leave, and let’s not have a repeat of tonight. There’s no place for us in each other’s lives anymore.”
“Niall—”
The sound of my name on her lips, pleading, is too much. “I don’t want to talk to you, lass,” I say as gently as I can, striding towards the front door and opening it. “We’re done, Saoirse. Finished. You have what you wanted—Connor and the babe, and your life as the wife of an Irish King. I’m not what you chose, and that’s fine. But it’s time we go our separate ways, for good. No more of this.”
I can tell she wants to argue. I can see it in her green eyes, the set of her mouth, the way I can see the wheels in her head turning. I gesture to the door, my own face set, and Saoirse lets out a sigh.
“Good luck then,” she mutters, striding out of the door and into the dark night. “I can’t help you with Connor if you won’t talk to me.”