Page 66 of An Irish Hope

It was funny how that flash of heat from when she placed her hand on his chest still throbbed away. Even with the equivalent of an ice bath dumped over him, as her scorn had proved. Even with the cold seeping around him, the mist holding droplets that felt like tears.

He swallowed, refusing to let the burn of emotion begging for release have a moment’s sway.

He deserved her scorn. He knew that. Maybe not quite to that degree, but he could understand her anger.

And yet so much of what she’d said demanded unpicking. Like, had she really said talking to him made everything harder? What did she really mean by that?

And had she really been waiting for a guy called Drew? Surely she must’ve known that was his name. Well, not one she’d ever used, but he had some friends of the family who called him that. She was moving on—without him? His heart wrenched.

“Lord, I don’t know what to do.”

From her perspective it was only fair that she moved on. He’d thought they’d barely been anything to move on from, but clearly she had thought differently. And the fact she was upset had to mean she still liked him, even despite her protests. Why else would she say that thing about having a relationship with a mentor teacher?

He winced. It could have been so different if he’d figured out a way to talk things through rather than letting things slide into this cesspool of regrets.

“What do I do, God?”

The whole evening had felt like a mess. First, Greta. Then Grady’s no-show. Then the biggest regret of all, making Aisling cry. He drew in a deep breath, then exhaled, hoping it would push out the emotions that hovered too near. He wasn’t an emotional guy. But she’d tugged at a cord within that made him feel like he was on a tightrope of avoiding tears. Would she ever forgive him? Would she ever believe he was sorry?

He walked home, peering wistfully at lit houses where he could see families gathered around the TV or the dinner table. He wanted that. And not just in a shoebox of a granny flat, where his family could burst in at any time. He wanted his own space, his own life, his own wife. And try as he might to keep his vow to God it seemed like this feeling would never go away.

“God, I want to do things Your way, but this is hard.”

When he drew close to his home he paused for a moment and watched his family inside. He wanted that. Parents who loved each other. Siblings who cared. Regrets grew at the memory of how close the Fairall siblings were. They might bicker, but they were living proof that blood was thicker than water.

His heart panged. He bet if Aisling hated him, then her siblings would hate him now too.

His phone buzzed, and he drew it out. Then his heart fell.

Grady had sent a message. Did you have fun?

Huh? he typed back.

Grady replied: On your date.

He went inside. This conversation needed a phone call.

As soon as Grady answered Andy spoke. “What do you mean? We were supposed to meet. Where were you?”

“And good evening to you too.”

“It wasn’t a good evening. Did you know that Greta showed up?”

“Really?”

He toed off his shoes, sank onto the couch. “Why do you not sound surprised by this?”

“Look, I might’ve mentioned that we had plans, and—”

“You told her where I’d be?” He fought the urge to say a word Jesus might not like.

“It was an accident.”

“That’s bull.”

“Okay, yes, it’s bull. But I wanted you to see—”

“See what? How possessive and stalker-like she is?”