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“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“We’re fighting for our freedom, Con. I’d think somebody like you would understand—"
"My parents were killed in the University bombings.” That shut Teagan up quick. His steps missed a stride, but as we continued down the sidewalk, I could feel him watching me.
It was a well-publicized tragedy that had apparently even made the US papers—an ill-placed IRA bomb that had missed its intended target and instead detonated prematurely outside a cafe on campus. My father had been inside, meeting my mother for afternoon tea.
"That's why you came over."
I nodded. "It's nothing personal, Teag. I just can’t get behind any group who lets innocent people get hurt, no matter how noble they believe their cause to be." I felt like a hypocrite even as I said it. Wasn't this the exact argument Cassidy and I had gotten into? How did this make me any better than Teagan--because I felt duty-bound to this life, as opposed to Teag's obvious strength of his convictions?
The silence lasted all the way back to Lady D's, when Teag suddenly clapped me on the shoulder as he pulled up a barstool. "I'll buy the first round, what do you say?"
I didn't feel like having a drink with Teagan, and I certainly didn't feel like company with my best friend missing and my--albeit fake--marriage already on the rocks. I turned to the door. "Thanks, but I'll pass. I'm gonna go with Tommy and see if we can track down Alfie—"
“Where the fuck have you been?” Sloane snapped.
She was looking over my shoulder, her mouth pulled up in an angry slash, and she walked around the bar. I turned towards the doorway to Lady D’s, where none other than Alfie Doyle stood with a crooked smile on his face and looking none the worse for wear. There was a faint trace of lipstick just below his ear.
He grinned sheepishly and rubbed at the stain. “Sorry, I got caught up with something. Didn’t realize my phone was off. What did I miss?”
Sloane’s fist slammed into his jaw. It was a good hit. Alfie’s head snapped to the side, and he sputtered, his jawline already turning red. “What the hell was that for?”
Only I could see the mixture of anger and relief on Sloane’s face as she turned and walked back around the bar. She looked up at me. "Told you you'd have to get in line.”
14
Cassidy
Theearlymorningsunfiltered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, casting a warm glow over the sleek, modern furnishings. I didn't notice any of it, though, hip deep in half-emptied boxes as I pawed through their contents. "Shit. It's not in here."
I exhaled in frustration, standing amidst the scattered cardboard boxes. On a whim, I'd decided I wanted to listen to some of my mom's old records, but I couldn't find them anywhere. I'd been at it for two whole days, trying to organize my things in a chaotic frenzy--I knew it looked crazy, especially after my outburst when Connor had first brought me to the penthouse, but I didn't care. I couldn't handle one more person interfering with my life, tossing it around like it meant nothing. And I'd gotten exactly what I wanted, I guessed. I hadn't seen Connor in days. It was just me and my books...but no records.
I supposed I could've tuned my phone to Apple Music, but it just wasn't the same. I was feeling uncharacteristically nostalgic, and I really wanted those records.
They must have been left at my old apartment. I was pretty sure they'd been stashed in the hall closet, and it must've gotten missed when Tommy had gone through my apartment. Without thinking twice, I hastily grabbed my coat and rushed out the door, my feet echoing against the marble floors. I grew more excited with every step, yet I was overcome with unease, knowing Connor probably wouldn't want me venturing out on my own.
Whatever. I wanted those records.
I still had my Charlie Card for the T, and it only took me about thirty minutes to get across town to Shawmut. As I entered my apartment, memories swirled around me like ghosts. It was strange to be back there. My old apartment held so much of my history – both the joyous and the painful, starting out back in Boston once again. It was a stark contrast to the pristine penthouse, with its worn-in furniture and the faint scent of abandonment hanging in the air.
Of course, the hall closet was still packed. I sighed heavily and started the laborious process of sorting through everything. I was standing on my tiptoes, trying to reach a box on the top shelf, when my phone rang. It was Jerome.
"Hey lady, how’s married life treating you?” I didn’t miss the subtle bite in Jerome’s tone. He was still pissed at me about the shotgun wedding, half because he hadn’t been invited—although, to be fair, none of my friends had been invited—and half because he hadn’t had the chance to scrutinize my new husband. He was even more affronted that it had been a marriage of convenience instead of love. That alone earned me a twenty-minute lecture.
I carefully pinched the phone between my shoulder and ear, using both hands to pull down a large box. “Every girl’s dream,” I said sarcastically. “I can’t wait to come back to work.”
“Trouble in paradise already?”
“Shut up, Jerome.”
“Bite me. I told you this was a bad idea.”
“Like I said, it kind of just fell into my lap.” I waved away the plume of dust that rose from the box. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Jerome hummed. “I thought you had a couple more days of leave left.”
“I don’t want to waste it. We’re already back in the city, and I’m going stir crazy.”
