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“Can we go in before they start doing this again?” Victoria groaned at me.
“Doing what?”
She huffed. “Inessa thinks she might be pregnant and Eoghan is treating her like she needs to be wrapped in cotton and both of them think they’re hiding this from me when they’re totally not.”
Eoghan’s and Inessa’s expressions would have been hilarious if it weren’t for the meltdown that was taking place in my brain.
As they gaped at her, I blurted out a laugh and started dragging Victoria with me up the stairs to the house.
The door opened before we could knock and Aoife was there.
Finn had been a wise man marrying her.
She was a haven, not a…
Fuck, whatever Star was.
And that definitely wasn’t a haven.
A headache, yes. A heart attack in the making,sure.
“Aoife,” I pleaded. “I need a whiskey.”
She arched a brow at me. “Fighting fire with fire?”
“No. I’m not drunk.” I would be soon, though, if I had my way.
Recognizing that I was being scanned again, I almost turned on my heel and got the hell out of there. I’d expected Aoife to be alone, the house empty apart from Jake as Finn should have been at the office. Instead, my whole fucking family was about to convene at the brownstone.
Ordinarily, it’d be a hoot.
Today, it was a nightmare.
Aoife grabbed my arm as if she knew I was on the brink of running off, and she dragged me over the threshold. “Head into the kitchen, girls. Eoghan, Finn’s in his man cave.” To me, she ordered, “Come with me.”
I didn’t argue because she was taking me away from the mass of humanity that was the O’Donnelly clan in full force. The only people missing were my mother and Uncle Paddy, for fuck’s sake. I couldn’t have gone anywhere worse for some quiet time.
When she guided me into a living room I hadn’t been in before, I frowned. “Where are we?”
“Existentially or within the house?” was her droll retort.
“Within the house,” I groused.
“It’s a guest suite.”
“A guest what?”
“For guests to stay in.” She studied me. “You’re not looking well, Con. I think you should get some rest.”
“I’m not hungover,” I repeated.
“No, you don’t stink of booze. But you look like you’re coming off a bender all the same. When was the last time you caught some sleep?” she queried, turning to me. Then, her nose crinkled. “When did you last shower?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered.
And I didn’t.
I just remembered the open space of a field, a shipping container, and a man screaming for his life as he was shoved into the container and then locked inside with packs of MREs and stacks of bottled water.
