"Courtney, can I talk to you?" I asked softly. Her eyes met mine and she nodded. I saw Fionn and Eileen exchange a look before they both left the room, Eileen scolding Fionn for dripping blood on her carpet. I picked up a cocktail napkin off the table next to the couch and pressed it against my lip. I thought it was the only place I was actually bleeding from although I didn't take the time to glance in a mirror.
"I-"
Courtney held up a hand. "It would be the same."
I tilted my head, not understanding. "The same?"
"Bennett. Being with you would be the same as being with Bennett, wouldn't it? If I ever did succeed in actually getting you to make some kind of commitment to me." She rubbed her temples. "Which, God, I've put a whole lot of effort into." She sighed. "But it wouldn't work anyway. Oh, you wouldn't be unkind to me, not outright, anyway, and you'd certainly never hit me, but you'd never love me. You'd end up ignoring me, and I'd go looking for someone else to make you jealous, to fulfill what you weren't capable of providing." She laughed, but it had no humor in it. "I'd be right back where I started."
I couldn't help the sympathy I felt. I had never truly wanted her in any way, especially not in marriage. I realized now that it wasn't only the guilt that had inspired me not to tell her to feck off these last few months, but also the idea that it was exactly what I deserved: being tied to a woman I didn't love, and ensuring Lydia could never forgive me, even if she tried. But that hadn't been fair to anyone. God, Fionn was right. Sometimes my conclusions were . . . flawed.
I sighed. "Yes. I'm sorry."
She pressed her lips together and nodded. "These last couple months, you've never touched me, not once. And the two times I kissed you, the look on your face . . . it was as if I was . . ."
"Not her," I supplied, grimacing slightly. It felt cruel and yet, I owed her the truth. I owed myself the truth.
She flinched, but nodded again. "She's branded on your heart."
"Yes," I said softly. She is my heart. Mo Chroí. And like my heart, to rid myself of her would kill me in the process. The truth of that thought hit me in the gut. All these months, that's how I'd felt . . . half alive, as if I were very slowly dying.
Courtney stared at me for a moment, exhaling a deep breath. "I lied to her," she finally said. "The day you shot her brother. I went to your apartment and she was there. I . . ." she let out another breath, "I told her I'd had a pregnancy scare. I made it sound as if we'd slept together recently and-"
"Jaysus, Courtney," I gritted out, shock and horror sliding down my spine.
"Some other terrible things, too." She paused. "She looked like I'd just killed her best friend. I was happy at the time," she said, looking off behind me. "I thought I'd won."
I exhaled a large breath, running my fingers through my hair. It's why she had left. That's. Why. She. Left. Feck! She'd thought I'd been lying to her about Courtney. Cheating on her.
I spun away from Courtney, my mind reeling with the truths slowly dawning on me, what Lydia must have gone through that day . . . the doubt, the pain.
I'd found the printed proof that I owned her old family estate sitting on my counter, too. I'd known it had come from Stuart by the doodles at the bottom of the page.
So that day, so many doubts had been planted in her mind . . . she'd left, needing space and who could blame her? And then she'd gotten the call that I'd killed her brother. And suddenly, I knew beyond any doubt, that Lydia hadn't taken my folder. Stuart had. How had he known? Because I had written all over the front in Gaelic. He'd seen it and he'd taken it. Oh my God. I'd already forgiven Lydia for giving the folder to Stuart, had understood the position she'd been in, and yet realizing that she hadn't taken it, that she hadn't betrayed me, still made me want to weep with relief. And somehow . . . somehow it helped me forgive myself. Lydia hadn't believed I deserved to be betrayed. I had been the one who thought that. Not her, me. And it was the reason I had been so unwilling to allow her to forgive me.
It doesn't matter if you allow it or not. I still forgive you all the same. I still . . . I still love you all the same.
Oh Lydia. Mo Chroí.
Despite all she'd dealt with that day, despite everything that had happened, she had still found it in her heart to forgive me. She'd still found the courage to come here tonight. She'd sat across from me and the woman she thought I was involved with, in at least some capacity, and she'd told me she forgave me, that she loved me. Oh God. The bravery that had taken, the goodness that had taken. And the faith-the faith in me. The realizations spun through me so powerfully, I almost felt dizzy. I turned back to Courtney.
"Go," she said, resignation in her voice, sorrow clouding her expression. "I'm thinking Fionn will be very pleased to drive me home."
I paused. "Security detail-"
"Bennett's no threat, Brogan." She waved her hand and shook her head. "Yes, it's true he's paroled, but I lied about everything else. He wrote to me many times from prison asking for my forgiveness. Apparently he's found God. He's a changed man. And he's married to a woman he became pen pals with while he was locked up. It's very romantic. A book should be written."
Jaysus! I stared at her, releasing a pent-up breath, but suddenly feeling only pity for all her lies, suddenly seeing her not through the cloud of my own guilt, but as the lonely, troubled woman she was. I was more than angry with her. What a bitch. "Courtney-"
"Go," she said, harsher this time, waving her hand in the air again. "I need to hate you for a little while."
I nodded. "Aye," I said. I really wanted to hate her for more than a little while. I had yet to fully process all the implications of her revelations, but . . . she had been a large part of the reason Lydia left me that day. The reason why I'd been at the office that night. Fecking hell. I flung the door open and ran outside, headed for my car. The snow was already dwindling, the wind in the trees seeming to sing one word over and over again: Lydia, Lydia, Lydia.
God, I hoped she was still waiting for me.
Please be waiting for me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Lydia
Why had I come here? I wasn't exactly sure. It even seemed somewhat illogical and self-torturous to return to this specific place after being rejected by Brogan.
I sighed, leaning back against the wall of the small room in my stable, where I was sitting, blowing into my gloved hands for added warmth. This room. I kept returning, somehow hoping for a different outcome than the one that had first occurred. Somehow hoping to make it right. Only we couldn't get it right. I'd tried. I'd bared my heart, offered my soul, and Brogan had told me I should leave. I'd driven around aimlessly for a while and somehow ended up here without really planning to. So here I was-alone-and I certainly couldn't make it right all by myself. So again, why had I come here of all places while Brogan was across town with . . .? Pain made my stomach tighten as if bracing for a blow. I closed my eyes, wrapping my arms around myself.
I stayed that way for several more minutes. Then the squeaking of door hinges replaced the silence of the snow-filled night. Creasing my brow, I stood quickly.
I saw a shadow cross the wall in the main room where a single bulb lit the large space. The room where I now stood, my heart beating quickly, was only dimly lit by what little light spilled in through the open door. I flattened my back against the wall, too afraid to call out.
When a shape appeared in the backlit doorway, I exhaled a breath I'd been holding. I'd know his shape anywhere-his height, the broad outline of his shoulders. Brogan. As always, my heart leaped toward him, joyous at his presence. I put my hand over the place where it lay under my skin, as if I could contain it in such a way. But it insisted in soaring with hope.
"He arrives in shadow," I said softly.
I heard him release a breath. "Just like a villain?"
My smile felt brittle, my heart rate picking up in speed. "No, sometimes heroes arrive in shadow, too. I . . . I suppose we keep trading the titles back and forth, don't we?" I'd been the villain once, too, here in this very room. I brought my hands in front of my body, gripping them together in anxiousness.
He took a step into the room, out of the direct light, allowing me to see him, allowing me to take in his bruised face.