“But she slept with you. For months.”
“And?” He sat up then, noticing Mollie’s surprise, how the girl seemed utterly astonished that Layla would sleep with Donovan and not feel anything. He’d tried it. Tried and failed to ignore what Layla had done to him and vaguely he wondered if Mollie’s surprise was some sort of indication that Layla had possibly lied to him, even to herself about not wanting more from him. “You telling me you never got with anyone you had zero plans of ever seeing again?”
“That is totally different.”
“Is it?”
“Donovan, you aren’t some stranger in a club. Whether we like it or not,” Mollie rolled her eyes as though the thought annoyed her, “you’re in the tribe. You’re like Declan’s brother. Layla wouldn’t sleep with you knowing the shit it would cause if she didn’t like you at least a little. Jesus, you aren’t that hot. Besides, all the shit you two have been doing to each other for years was just…”
“Spare me the ‘long bout of foreplay’ bullshit.” He rubbed his face, not really interested in hearing the same insult yet again. “Please. I hear it enough from McKnow-It-All over there.”
“Okay. Fine. So what are you going to do?”
“What can I do? She won’t come to me.” Her stare was heavy, like she expected some sort of grand gesture from Donovan and part of him knew that’s what Layla deserved. But he wouldn’t make an ass out of himself for a girl who still thought he was unworthy. He hated how soft his voice got and had to look down at his fingers, fiddle with that crumpled napkin just to avoid the hard, hopeful stare Mollie gave him. “Not anymore. She said she was done. I got too close. I was too nice. That last time was…” He waved his hand, not really eager to fill Mollie in on the details. “Anyway, it’s done.”
“You want it to be done?”
Could he do without that smile? The way she laughed when he teased her, the slow, warm sensation that always settled in his chest any time he saw her across the room? No. He couldn’t. She was so damn stubborn, so proud, and right then Donovan decided he didn’t care that Layla likely thought she was better than him. He didn’t care what anyone thought about them together. He really didn’t care about those snobby noses in the air. He stopped pretending that it didn’t matter, all the things he’d done to her, how much distance he claimed he wanted between them. He wanted to prove to her that he could make her happy. He wanted more than anything to be someone she deserved.
“No. I don’t want it done, Mollie. I really don’t.”
In the years that he’d known Mollie Malone, that gruff, defensive badass girl who’d come to Cavanagh at thirteen with an attitude and a smart mouth, he’d never seen her smile, not like she did just then. In an instant, with the prospect of Donovan trying to win over her best friend, Mollie became nothing more than an emotional girly girl. The smile was wide, and he actually saw a flicker dance in her eyes. “Then maybe you should…”
“Daddy wait! NO!”
The yell was piercing, desperate and both Donovan and Mollie turned toward it as it echoed from the front of the pub.
Mollie stood before Donovan could even turn around completely and was on her feet jogging forward, calling over her shoulder, “I know that scream. Shit!”
Somehow he managed to bypass Mollie, charging past her toward the bar to find Coach Mullens holding Quinn up against the brick wall, looking like he was just seconds from killing him.
“You fucked my daughter, you asshole?” Mullens shook Quinn once, popping his head back against the brick.
“That what you call it, mate?” The smug bastard looked over Coach’s shoulder, right at a petrified, shaking Layla who Declan was holding back. Donovan had no idea what the hell was going on, but he felt his stomach burn at the sight of Layla’s pale face, her hands covering her mouth as Quinn glared at her. The asshole’s sneer was amused, but his eyes shown bright with a fierce and dangerous gleam. “You tell your da I gave you a ride?” Quinn asked Layla.
That fear Donovan felt quickly transformed and a small flicker of something resentful, something that hurt too damn much crawled up his chest when Layla cringed, then yelped as Mullens slammed his fist into Quinn’s face. Donovan could hear the sick crunch of bone cracking but he couldn’t make his feet move or keep his eyes from Layla. The accusation cut too deep, felt like a betrayal worse than the one his father had delivered to him at eighteen.
Quinn and Layla? No. It can’t be… no.