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And there it was. The reason for my jealousy. I had suspected it the first time I’d met Faye but hadn’t wanted to believe it. The way she spoke about my boyfriend, there was an intimacy behind her words. And it enraged me.
“You two slept together,” I confirmed.
Faye just smiled.
“Aren’t you a little old for him?”
She chuckled at my snub, but her eyes narrowed. “It was a long time ago.”
“Oh, so statutory?”
Faye took a step in my direction. She was taller than me by a few inches, the height difference worsened by her killer heels. She made me feel small and vulnerable—something I disliked very much.
“Connor’s body is already in the ground.” Faye’s grin turned malicious. “So, why is Jack still in Ireland? Why hasn’t he returned if you’re so special to him?”
Her words hit close to home. I fought to maintain my self-assurance, although I’d been wondering the same thing. “He’s busy.”
“Yeah.” She scoffed. “Busy shoving his dick down someone’s throat.”
I flinched at her vulgarity.
“Jack is too much of a man for just one woman. Even I know that. And the O’Connells are as good as kings in their hometown. Women will be throwing themselves at his feet.”
“It must be difficult, being hung up on someone over a decade younger than you.”
She reeled back a fraction. “Better than kidding myself into thinking he’s in love with me. Jack doesn’t love anyone. He hates, and he’s good at it.”
I was done—with her, with this conversation, with everything. I needed to get the hell out of this hospital before I did something to Faye that would have me committed to the psychiatric ward.
“Go take care of your niece,” I advised. “And if you feel the need to bail on her again, have her call me.”
With that, I spun on a heel and left to find my father. I needed pizza.
And a stiff drink.
* * * *
Jack
Crouching, I swiped at the set of keys on the stone floor, my hand missing them by a good few inches. Blood pounded in my head, making my brain feel twice its normal size. My body pitched forward precariously. I straightened, striking my temple on the brass doorknob.
“Fucking hell!” I cursed, glaring at the keys on the ground. Why were there three sets? I was positive I had just one.
Taking a deep breath, I tried again. The floor tilted and I lost my footing. Mumbling another swear, I caught myself on the inside of the massive front door.
Lord, help me.
I was obliterated. I had a vague recollection of Mick dropping me off at the manor’s doorstep—his shoulder supporting my half-dead weight—but I had no clue how long I’d been standing in the entrance hall, fumbling as I tried to lock the door.
Why lock the door? Our family’s farm was in the middle of nowhere. The closest neighbor was two miles away, and our grounds were gated and guarded. I’d been in America too long. I was accustomed to double checking that my cars and apartments were secured. Not that a thief would walk away from me with anything, their life included.
Huffing, I left the door unlocked and my keys on the ground. When I turned toward the sitting area, I bumped into something. No, not something.
Someone.
“Mother of—!” I broke off midsentence, not wanting to get slapped.
My grandmother was practically a ghost, but she still packed a punch. The short decrepit woman was eyeing me up and down, clicking her tongue in disapproval.
