Mary remembered every inch of that journey. Trying to get to her feet, trying to breathe through the pain in her side. All the while wondering, what had she done? Who had she married? How could she not have seen what he really was?
You know why.
Mary blinked and suddenly the memory was gone. The coffee was done and she poured a cup and sat at the kitchen table, wondering if she was ever going to admit the truth. To herself at least.
She heard some noise from the front of the house, and a minute later she knew he was standing at the doorway of the kitchen. She always knew when it was Flynn. She couldn’t tell if it was his smell or his essence or something inside her that just knew him.
“Morning, Mary.”
“Flynn,” she said tightly.
They hadn’t been doing well, she realized. Not since he came with Dec to see her in the hospital. If it was possible, that moment had been even worse than the night of the attack. There had been no hiding anything from either of them. The bruises were fresh and raw. The cast on her arm hard white plaster. Her jaw didn’t have to be wired shut, but it hurt to talk.
Dec had gone ashen. Flynn had cursed for a solid half hour. In the end she told them she just wanted to go home.
Her home.
Since then, anytime Flynn was in her presence he was walking on eggshells. Like she was some little china doll that had been fractured and glued back together and he didn’t want to risk breaking it again.
“Okay to have some coffee?”
Like that. Like he needed her permission to pour himself a cup of coffee because he didn’t want to take any action that might upset her.
“Sure.”
He poured a mug full and topped it off with milk, then made his way to her.
“Okay to sit down?”
“For fuck’s sake will you stop doing that!”
He jerked back, surprised by her outburst. Why wouldn’t he be? Mary was sweet and kind and soft spoken. She didn’t curse or swear. She didn’t fight back. She didn’t stand up to bullies—she let the men in her life do that for her.
Suddenly she was overcome with self-loathing, and she wanted to take that out on someone. She wanted to take that out on Flynn.
“Mary…” he began softly even as he took a seat.
“And don’t do that. Don’t talk to me in that voice you’ve been using. It’s your Mary-is-fragile voice and I hate it. It makes me feel foolish, and quite frankly it makes me want to hit you. How about that?”
He sipped his coffee and then set it down carefully. “I’m sorry.”
Same tone, she thought. So she leaned over and pushed his mug off the table. The coffee spilling. The mug cracking into pieces on the wood floor.
“You’re angry,” he said calmly. “You’re acting out. It’s understandable under the circumstances.”
“No, you can’t have any coffee. And no, I don’t want you to sit at this table with me. Go away, Flynn.”
He stood then. Again slowly and carefully, as if any sudden movements would cause her pain.
He leaned over to pick up the broken mug.
“It’s my mess,” she told him. “I’ll clean it. Just go.”
Then she saw it. A tick in his jaw. A single sign that her atrocious behavior was getting to him.
“Mary, I’m trying to understand why it feels like you’re blaming me for what happened. It’s been weeks and you barely talk to me. You haven’t texted me at all. And now this. I want to… I want to be what you need to get through this. Tell me how to do that.”
“Why?” she asked him.
“Why what?”
“Why do you feel the need to help me get through anything?”
He looked astounded and again hurt by the question. “I’m your friend.”
“No, you’re Dec’s friend. I’m just his little sister, remember?”
It was as if she sucker-punched him. He physically jerked back at her words, and it was if there was a sudden understanding about what was actually happening between them.
“You do blame me,” he said softly.
She flinched. It was petty and it was wrong. She knew it. The worst part though was that it was also true.
“Go away, Flynn.”
He turned and started to leave the kitchen, but stopped. His back still to her. “Your Irish comes out when you curse.”
“And what of it?” she asked, as if that had been the stupidest thing he could say.
“I like it.”
Then he left, and she was left with that and broken mug and coffee to clean up.
Chapter 18
Sinead came down the stairs and started searching room to room for Declan. He’d left her with the promise of fetching some coffee, but he’d failed to deliver on that promise. She made her way back to the kitchen, which was empty, found a fresh pot and helped herself.