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“I can connect the dots.”
“The party got out of control, and someone must have called the cops. I don’t even know what happened to the guy, but he must have gotten away.”
“And you didn’t.”
She gave him a look. “No. I didn’t. And you can guess who was waiting for me when his underage, drunk daughter was dragged into the police station.”
Irish gave a low whistle. “I bet that was a good time.”
She scowled. “It sucked. It was humiliating. I would rather have been thrown in jail. I sure as hell didn’t give my dad all the details of what had happened. And what sucked more was that I didn’t give the guy another thought until I peed on a stick six weeks later and came up with two pink lines. By that point, I didn’t even remember his name. My friend’s brother didn’t know who he was. It was this one-time random hookup.”
“So you think your dad has been blaming you for all this time.”
“Yeah!”
He spun his coffee mug on the table again. “You don’t think maybe you’ve been blaming yourself?”
“Okay, Dr. Freud—”
“I’m serious, Blondie.” He smiled. “Hannah.” He glanced up at her. “I didn’t even know you had a kid until I showed up at your house. It’s not like you tell everyone about him.”
She had good reason for that. She was sick of being judged by everyone. “You have no idea what it’s like, Irish.”
“You’re right. I don’t. I’m sure it was hard as hell being a mother at seventeen.” He hesitated. “But you’re not seventeen anymore.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you telling me to grow up?”
“No. I’m telling you that you already have grown up.” He paused. “It’s okay to act like it. You don’t need anyone’s approval.”
Wow.
She blushed. “Thanks, Irish.”
He nodded. “You’re welcome.”
“I’m glad you joined the station.”
He made a frustrated noise. “You’re one of the only ones.”
She remembered the comments she’d overheard. “Are you still getting crap from the other guys?”
“We’re south of the Mason-Dixon line. I’m sure I’ll still be getting crap in twenty years.” He paused. “It’s not bad. I’ve heard worse. It just makes it hard to cover some guy’s ass when you know what he thinks of you.”
“Are you going to say something?”
“I’m going to keep doing my job as well as I can.”
“But that’s not right, Irish.”
“I spend a lot of time thinking about right and wrong,” he said. His eyes were very serious. “Sometimes it’s worth losing a few battles to win the war.”
“Maybe,” she said.
“Not maybe. I—” He stopped short and frowned, looking past her. “Look. Is that local?”
She looked at the television, which was still muted. The reporter was in a box at the upper left, but the majority of the screen showed an aerial shot of a large home on an even larger plot of land.
Or what used to be a large home. Because the building on the screen had been destroyed. Fires blazed in four areas that she could see. Smoke streamed from the structure, which was surrounded by fire trucks and ambulances.
