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Once we’re seated, I take a deep breath.
“Before I tell you any of this, I need you to know that it can never be repeated.”
“You can trust me. Hell, I’m your father in every way that counts, boy.” And by the look on his face, he’s offended that I even have to question his integrity.
“I know.” I swallow hard. “I know it. But I still have to say it because I’m not supposed to say what I’m about to. But, damn it, I need to talk to you. Five years ago, I was brought in on a case at work. One that involved your former son-in-law and the woman I’m in love with. A money laundering case.”
I can’t tell him everything, but I skim through the story.
“Eventually, I had to take myself off the case because it became a conflict of interest for me. How could I do that? How could I investigate people I love more than anything? I couldn’t, so I pulled back. But not before I knew just about everything there was to know. And, of course, because of the nature of my job, I couldn’t talk to Maggie about it. Not back then, not when Joey died, and not now.”
“You told me,” he points out.
“I’ve only barely scratched the surface. I can’t tell you anything else, and I’m sure you have questions, but I can’t answer them.”
“Okay, then.”
Two words, so easily given that it almost takes my breath away.
“Well, the morning we were supposed to go to Ireland, Maggie saw an email on my computer from my former boss, telling me that they need me for more on the Lemon case. It didn’t give any specific information, but she saw enough.”
“And she was angry,” Tom correctly guesses.
“Oh, yeah,” I agree. “And, honestly, I got mad, too. We’d just had this great conversation the night before, and she’d assured me that she understood about my job and that she wouldn’t be mad or pressure me to talk about it. And then she saw the damn email, and everything she promised went right out the window.”
“Of course, it did,” Tom says. “It was about her husband, not a stranger.”
“I get that.” I rub my hands over my face. I’m fucking exhausted. I haven’t slept in days. “She went to Ireland without me after I said we needed a break. We both said things that we’ll likely regret later. Hell, I regret it now. But at the root of it all, despite having the best of intentions and wanting to be supportive, I’m not convinced that Maggie will ever be able to truly accept my job and the secrets I have to keep from her.”
The other man sits back in the booth and studies me for a long moment. And then, to my utter surprise, he says, “Bollocks.”
“I know, I shouldn’t have talked to you about this. She’s your daughter, and I messed up. I’ll apologize to her and wish her the best—”
“Is it a punch in the bloody face you’re looking for, then?”
I frown at him. “Uh, no.”
“Then shut up and listen. I haven’t heard you say anything that tells me that what’s happened can’t be fixed. Yes, you need to apologize, but from the sound of it, my daughter has an apology to make, as well. You don’t go through any relationship without some rough patches, and that’s the truth of it. Why, my Fiona is a saint and an angel, but there has been many a day that I wanted to wring her pretty little neck.”
“But you two get along so well. You never fight.”
He busts up into laughter. “Of course, we fight. We’ve had some big rows over the years, and there might have been a night or two that I slept on the couch. But that didn’t mean we politely went our separate ways. You might as well tear my beating heart out of my chest by simply suggesting it. You don’t throw away the love of your life over a misunderstanding.”
I sip my beer, considering him.
“You’ll fight. You’ll be angry and hurt and so frustrated you can hardly see straight. And then you’ll make up and love each other, and the bad times will pass you by—just like the good ones do.”
“It’s not that I’m throwing our relationship away,” I say slowly. “I can’t see my life without her. But I also can’t get the image of the look on her face out of my mind. That moment after she saw the email. That look of betrayal has haunted me for days, and I feel like my hands are tied because I can’t confide in her about what happens at the job, even if it pertains to her family. And that tells me that I’ll never have her trust. Not fully.”
“I think you’re doing a lot of assuming,” Tom replies. “If I were you, I’d get my arse on a plane to Ireland and have it out with her until you see eye to eye and can work past it. Staying here and pouting isn’t going to solve anything.”
