Page 65 of An Irish Hope

“It’s too late for that,” she mumbled, before saying in a louder voice, “Go away.”

“Please Ash, I just want to talk.”

“Now you do? After ignoring me for weeks?”

His shoulders slumped. “I don’t know how many times I can apologise for that until you hear me.”

She pressed her lips together, hard. Bit down on her bottom lip until she might draw blood. She didn’t know the answer to that, either. How many times should a person apologise before someone believed them? Once? Twice? Twenty? Or should they only really believe them when their actions proved their words?

Not that Andy was completely to blame. Part of her wanted to keep arguing with him, to keep pointing out his faults, but she didn’t feel like that was something she should do. Blessed were the peacemakers, and right now she only wanted war. Put it down to her red hair or her passionate personality.

She drew in a shaky breath, looked away, wiped her face. The rain might’ve passed but there was a strong mist.

“I’m really sorry, Ash. I don’t want you to cry.”

“I’m not crying,” she muttered, wiping at her eyes. Stupid mist.

He took a step closer, but she held her hand up to keep him away. “Don’t.”

“Aisling, I’m so—”

“If you say you’re sorry one more time, I won’t ever speak to you again.”

He pressed his lips together.

There. Now she might have a moment to sort through the clutter of her mind and figure out what needed to be said. And what shouldn’t.

But while the peacemakers might be blessed, she couldn’t get enough coherent thoughts for any of this to make sense. She felt exposed, vulnerable. Like the fact she’d resorted to a blind date meant he’d seen her shame and taken advantage of it again.

It was hard enough that she would have to see him next week at school, to pretend everything between them was normal. To pretend he hadn’t hurt her months ago. And yet, she had a sense she could keep trying to play pretend, or take advantage of this moment in the dark and actually tell him what she was really feeling. Lord? I need Your strength to be brave.

“Ash?” he said softly, using her nickname like he thought they were still friends.

Fine, then. Friends told the truth. Even if it was hard. “I thought we were friends, then you kissed me and I thought you wanted more. So when you left I felt used. I really wish you had been man enough to tell me goodbye properly,” she finally said.

He nodded. “Me too.”

“And now it feels like too late.”

“It’s not—”

“It is. Even if I wanted to, I can’t be seen having a relationship with a mentor teacher.”

His face fell. “Oh.”

“So there is no point in you talking to me, because it just makes everything harder.”

“But—”

“But nothing.” She drew in a deep breath. “Now it’s been a long, disappointing day and I need to get home.” She lifted her chin. “I’ll see you around. Or maybe not, seeing you always do such a great job at avoiding me.”

He blinked, and she pivoted and walked away. Okay, so that last truth bomb hadn’t exactly been filled with grace and peace. But it had felt good to say.

“Sorry God,” she muttered, getting into her car.

She reversed, refusing to look at where he remained standing. Until she glanced in the rear-view mirror, and saw him, shoulders slumped, hands in his jacket’s pockets, studying her as she drove away.

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