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I studied the frustrated set
of her features for a few moments before I shrugged and leaned away. “I’ve spent my life loving him and planning a future with him away from here. But the last few years I’ve been clinging to a fraying rope, hoping he’ll change. And no matter how I try to repair it, it’s like he’s doing everything to make that rope snap. Doesn’t mean I’m not holding on until it does.”
Teagan nodded after a second then gestured to our plates. “The way you look at him doesn’t seem like you’re trying to hold on very hard.”
I ground my teeth so I wouldn’t lash out at her.
Growing up as one of my closest friends meant Teagan had been friendly with Kieran—and I use the word friendly loosely because Kieran didn’t let many people into his life. And although she now hated the mob, I think some part of her still saw Kieran and me as the future of what she’d always considered her home—of Holloway.
For me to be shattering that vision in any way, when all of Holloway thought that was what the future held, would be difficult for her—I knew that. But Teagan didn’t understand what had happened to our relationship, how resentment had formed and wedged itself between our love.
She knew he was always gone. She knew he’d broken promises. She didn’t know about the work he was doing or what loving a man like Kieran really entailed because I didn’t think it would be fair to tell her of our problems. Not when she was determined to stay with an abusive husband just so she could have a hand in his demise, to be present the day he was lowered into the ground so she could spit on his grave.
So she couldn’t understand this . . .
Hell, I didn’t.
There was no understanding or explaining this electricity that rushed over my skin whenever he was near—whenever I found those dark eyes fixed on me. There was no understanding or explaining the way he could weaken every defense I’d ever built with one look, begging me to expose my soul to him . . . and those looks felt more real and intimate than anything I’d ever had with Kieran.
And I didn’t even know his name.
“If that’s how you see it,” I finally mumbled.
That too familiar shiver raced down my spine. I automatically reached for the back of my neck to feel the lingering effects, and I couldn’t stop myself from looking toward him from beneath my lashes.
His brow was pulled tight as if he was trying to figure something out—trying to figure me out. But I forced myself to ignore that current dancing along my skin . . . forced myself to ignore him. Because a part of me was still clinging to that rope, and he was here with a girl.
That energy that always surrounded us buzzed. Awareness prodded, begging to search out those dark, knowing eyes.
But I never looked toward him again.
And I ignored the slip of paper peeking out from underneath my plate.
That girl.
Something about those eyes promised every truth wrapped in the sweetest deceit. Flames ignited in my veins every time I was near her, my blood roaring with the need to uncover every one of those hidden truths. She felt familiar in an inexplicable way—something about her tugging at my memory, haunting me.
And, Christ, if I didn’t want her to haunt my every thought.
Libby suddenly hit my arm and hissed, “Are you even listening to me?”
“No.”
She scoffed. “Dare, I need you to talk to—”
“Libby, look at this girl,” I said quickly, keeping my voice low. “A couple booths back and to the side. Who is she?”
My sister finally stopped talking and turned in the booth to look. She took a long sip from her drink as she eyed the girl, not bothering to be subtle.
“Am I supposed to know the answer?” she asked before looking over her shoulder at me.
“She comes in here on Mondays. I thought she looked familiar.”
“Well, she doesn’t,” Libby huffed as she sat back in the booth. “But I’ll ask her who she is if you’ll talk to Mom.”
“Why are you even here if you and Mom are fighting? I can’t remember the last time you actually came to Brooks with me to check on things.”
She looked around guiltily for a few seconds before taking another long drink. “Einstein and I forgot to get groceries. Needed breakfast. I hate the store. It’s free here. Feed me,” she said on a rush, each sentence getting softer and faster until it was too hard to hear her.
