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19
SUMMER
Glad to get home, I felt I was being watched all day at work. Gary probably feels the same. I just didn’t have the guts to go up to him and have a conversation about what happened. Seeing as he didn’t bother coming over to me either, I guess that’s the way it’s going to be.
Entering my home and slumping against the door after I close it, I drop my bag and sigh.
Hearing the crunch of gravel outside my bay window, I frown and stand up straighter. The sound of a car driving off follows, and I stand stock still.
Jumping a mile when there is a firm knock on the window, I lick my lips. The knocking continues, starting to irritate the shit out of me.
Who the hell is it?
Walking over slowly, I peer through the side curtain and see Ciarán swaying slightly with the unmistakable stance of a drunk man. My pulse quickens as I brace myself for the confrontation.
“Summer,” he slurs, his voice heavy with regret. “I... I need to talk to you.”
Pressing my back against the wall, my fear battling with the anger that surges through me, barely holding on as desire practically crushes them both to reach the finish line.
“Go away, Ciarán,” I snap. “I’m not ready for this.”
I mean, I am, but only in the sense of if he’d called first and made a plan to meet up. Not him showing up drunk and unannounced on my doorstep.
“Please, Tinks... I’m sorry. Just let me in so we can talk.”
“That’s not going to happen,” I say loudly so he can hear me through the double-glazed window. His voice is loud on the outside, and I cringe as I think of the neighbors. Not that I even know who they are. We keep to ourselves on this street, and that’s how I like it.
Unless some crazy stalker is trying to break in.Yeah, great system you have in place here,Tinks.
“Tinks...Summer...I...” Ciarán trails off. It’s clear that he’s struggling to find the words to make everything right, but nothing can right now. He has got some serious nerve showing up here pissed and trying to do it. Well, actually, no. That’s not it at all. He’s a coward hiding behind the booze.
“Go away, Ciarán! I don’t want to hear your pathetic, drunken apologies.”
“Please, Summer, just... just give me a chance,” he begs, his voice cracking with desperation. “I know I messed up, and I can’t change the past. But please, let me try to make it right.”
The sincerity in his voice nearly breaks me. Almost. But I can’t let him in.
Never trust a drunk man.
Another one of Aunt Margaret’s sage pieces of advice echo in my mind, but in this case, she’s right. I can’t trust Ciarán sober, let alone drunk. Who knows how volatile he is, or angry?
“I don’t want you here. Not now. Just leave me alone and come back when you’re sober enough to stand up straight.”
“Summer, please... I’m begging you. Let me in.”
My resolve wavers, and I grit my teeth. Turning to pull the curtain aside, I glare at him. His forehead is leaning on the glass, his hand splayed out next to his face.
Standing on tiptoe to crack the top-opening window before I quickly latch it, pulling the handle down to lock it in place with a small gap for ventilation and, hopefully, so we don’t have to shout so loud. Clearly, the police are useless or in his back pocket — probably the latter, so what’s even the point in calling them.
The wind howls around him, chilling me to the bone as I stand my ground in the window. Ciarán slowly looks up. His eyes, usually so intense and focused, now look glassy and directionless.
“Tinks, please,” he pleads again, the desperation evident in his voice. “I need to talk to you.”
“We’re talking.”
“Inside, baby.”
“Don’t call me that, and you are dreaming if you think I’m letting you in.”
