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He lifts the cup to his lips, taking a scalding sip without even blowing on it first. “What do you mean?” His dark brows narrow at me. “You haven’t got any family?”
“You want a splash of milk?” I hold out the tiny matching blue pitcher I filled with milk. “That’s how Fiona cools it down. She puts too much in though. Makes it all white.”
“No thanks.” He shakes his head. “And don’t change the subject.”
The raise of a stern dark eyebrow makes me talk. “It was just me and Mom growing up. Dad took off when I was young. Mom wasn’t too thrilled about that. I think she thought he would have stayed if?—”
“If what?” he says.
“She hadn’t gotten pregnant with me.”
I’ve never said the words aloud before and now that I’ve released them into the world, tears spring up in my eyes. I dab them away with a napkin.
“That’s disturbing,” he says. “The day a man’s baby is born is the best of his life. Next to his wedding day, of course.”
I’ve never heard a man talk so openly about marriage and family. The boys in LA seem to be living the Peter Pan lifestyle, perpetually dating then moving on to the next, prettier thing.
I eye him cautiously. “Are you hoping to get married one day?”
“Aye.”
“Why hasn’t it happened?” I want to follow up my question with my own answer—because you killed the love of your life with your bare hands—but my self-preservation instinct finally kicks in and I hold my tongue, waiting for his answer.
He chews his bread slowly, thinking. He swallows his bite down with more tea. “It’s not a story I share very often.”
Disappointment prickles my nerves. I want to know the truth. I’m living with this man, after all.
“But I have to say. Your baking has a way of loosening my tongue.”
Hope abounds. “There’s plenty more where that came from. Just tell me what you like. I’ll make it for you.” I pop up, grabbing him a cookie from where I’ve hidden them in the cupboard. I plop it down on his plate and curl back up in my chair.
“And you shared something personal with me, so I owe ya.”
I lean in, listening, feeling a bit of nervous energy over what I’m about to hear. He takes his time, enjoying his cookie, washing it down with the rest of his tea. When he’s done, he brushes the crumbs from his fingers onto his empty plate. He pushes his chair back, patting his flat stomach.
“I just ate at the cookout. Don’t know why I was hungry.”
“All that running,” I tease with a giggle, still kinda happy with my game. He cuts an eye at me that’s so stern my laughter chokes off in the back of my throat. “Back to your story.”
“It’s not a story most choose to believe, but it’s the truth.”
He says it with so much authority, and he’s never lied to me before. He’s always been a straight shooter. Maybe it’s my poor self-preservation kicking in again?—
I say, “I’ll believe you. If you tell me that what you’re saying is true, I’ll believe you.”
At my words, a softness come over the angles of his face as he eyes me for a moment. The way he’s staring at me makes me shy. I have to look away.
“I got off early from work one day. Eamon and I were still living at my dad’s house at the time. Went home. My girl’s car was in the drive. I was excited, thinking she must have called the auto shop I was working at, found out I’d left early. Was even foolish enough to think she maybe was cooking for me or something.” He gives a snort. “Would have been the first time.”
I wait on the edge of my seat as he continues, his voice slow and steady.
“Was funny—I should have known something was up when I saw my dad’s truck was there too. He’d said he was up in Glasgow for the day, doing some business. I didn’t think anything of it, just went straight into the house.”
An uneasy feeling rests in the pit of my stomach.
“There they were. The two of them. Laid out over the couch. Going at it so hard they didn’t even hear me come in.” His hands come together at the memory, one a fist, the other rubbing his skin. One of his rings catches the light. It would hurt, to be beaten by him. I can imagine that ring cutting a man’s face. “I wanted to kill her. I wanted to kill them both.”
“What did you do?”
