“Can I get a minute with you?” I ask Clodagh, inclining my head toward the patio.
Despite her apprehension, she follows me outside.
“It’s fine, Killian,” she starts before I have a chance to speak. “If you don’t want me at dinner, I won’t come. I can tell Teagan I’m not feeling well, so she won’t be upset.”
“No, that’s not it. I want you to come. Look, I went to see Teagan’s ballet teacher, and I need to apologize to you.” I smile wryly. “It turns out I fired her husband. Things got nasty. She clearly has a chip on her shoulder and is taking it out on Teagan. I’ve moved Teagan to another class and filed a complaint against her teacher.”
“Oh.” She seems taken aback. “Cool. Glad I could help.” She pauses, chewing on one side of her lip. “Anyway, if you don’t mind…” She looks at me with caution. “So, uh… if it’s okay with you, can I give you some more advice?”
My brows lift. “Go ahead.”
“I get I’m no Nanny McPhee, but just hear me out, okay?”
My lips twitch.
“Maybe you should ditch the whole ‘princess’ thing if she doesn’t like it.” She looks up at me. “It’s like you’re dismissing her as her own person if you ignore what she wants. You want her to listen to you…” She gives a little shrug. “But it works both ways.”
“Come on,” I scoff. “I…” I rub the back of my neck, agitated. I what? I want to call her princess because I like it? Because I don’t want her to grow up and leave me?
I inhale, releasing the breath slowly. “You make a valid point.”
She barely disguises her surprise behind a guarded smile. “Is there anything else, Killian?”
Yes. I want to take you in my arms and never let you go. “No. You know, you don’t give yourself enough credit.”
“You don’t give me enough credit either.”
Her face tightens, and the guilt strangles me. I want to say so much, but nothing comes out.
“I’m sorry,” I say in a low tone, hoping to show how serious I am. “I’ll do better.”
She nods, and I watch her walk toward the patio door. “And I do want you to come to dinner,” I say to her back.
She turns, and I see a genuine smile, one I haven’t seen in days. Suddenly, I feel breathless, as if I’ve just been punched in the chest.
***
Three hours later.
“I thought you’d want to see this.” I stare at the smiling photo of Harlow on the tombstone. “It’s got Teagan’s name in Irish on it. You would get her something like this. You always bought more thoughtful presents than me.” I chuckle. “I just throw money at a problem.”
“It’s beautiful,” she answers me. “I love it.”
“Clodagh made it. She’s got talent. She could make a go of it if she had some business mentorship. I’ve been thinking about offering her help.”
Harlow remains silent.
I guess I shouldn’t tell her about someone I was intimate with.
I put Clodagh’s present under my coat as spits of rain come down.
“She’s thirteen, Harlow,” I whisper. “She’s growing up too quickly. Soon, she’ll want to leave me too.”
“You can’t keep babying her, Killian,” she scolds me. “You have to let her make her own mistakes. She needs more freedom now.”
Inhaling deeply, I close my eyes. Even the pretend voice of Harlow makes me feel guilty.
The fucking guilt never goes away.
The guilt of failing to protect Harlow.
The guilt of being a shit father.
Now I have the guilt of crossing the line with Clodagh.
The guilt of feeling something I shouldn’t.
I don’t believe in ghosts. The souls of the dead do not rise from the grave to take care of their loved ones.
Harlow lives only in Teagan’s and my imaginations. Harlow is now nothing more than my eternal guilt.
The humming of the lawnmower is the only thing that breaks the silence as I walk away.
Clodagh
Orla: What did you get?
I smile to myself as I meander through Central Park, typing a response to her.
Me: Everything. Underwear. Shoes. Black sexy dress.
I send her a picture of me in my fuck-you-Killian-Quinn outfit.
Fuck you, Killian Quinn.
Fuck you and your ridiculously blue eyes, stupid, handsome face, and big dick.
And fuck me.
Fuck me for obsessing over you and your ridiculously blue eyes and your stupid, handsome face and your big dick.
And for letting myself become a miserable emotional wreck because of a guy. Again.
This outfit reflects those thoughts perfectly.
It’s a slim black bodycon dress with a lace finish. I picture the woman he was with in the hotel wearing the same dress, the woman who strode out of the hotel with him like she owned it.
I’ll need to don my body-control underwear to keep all my bumps in the right place.
Orla: Nice. Is it a bit sexy to be meeting his mam in?
Maybe. But what does it matter? I’m not meeting his mum as a girlfriend. I’m being offered a seat because Teagan wants me there.
Killian’s expression this morning made that clear. He had a face like a constipated grump. Seriously, what was up with him? He was even weirder than he had been these past few days.
Me: I’ll wear a cardigan-
Ahhhh!
I collide full force into a solid body, eliciting a grunt from the person I’ve walked into. I look up in horror to see I’ve walked into a guy holding a fast-food drink. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a white T-shirt that molds nicely over muscle, now soaked in fizzy liquid.
My hands fly to my mouth. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”
“Forget it.” He sounds way more forgiving than I deserve.
His grin catches me off-guard more than the fact that I’ve doused him in his own drink.
Flustered, I fumble in my bag for a napkin. “I didn’t look where I was going.” I groan, feeling my cheeks heat. “Can I pay for your dry cleaning or something?”