“Yeah,” he replies wearily. “I’ve tried to shield her but . . . you know how kids are. They’ve heard it and are using it to taunt her.” His eyes meet mine, simmering with anger and disappointment. “You’ve gotta think about Teagan when you pull this shit, Connor.”
Shame slashes through me, sharper than any blade. After everything that’s happened—the senator, the ravenous tabloids, the doctor visits—this cuts deepest.
“Jesus Christ. I’m so sorry,” I mutter, my head sinking into my hands.
My niece shouldn’t suffer because of my bullshit. What kind of uncle am I? My depraved actions have now spilled over to hurt Teagan, who’s more precious to me than anyone.
Killian’s always been paranoid about screwing up this dad thing. No wonder he’s pissed at me over this.
I stare at the granite countertop, unable to meet his eyes. “I really messed up. Teagan doesn’t deserve this.”
Killian’s quiet for a long moment before Clodagh slides a glass of wine over to me.
“It’ll blow over soon, Connor,” she says in her lovely Irish lilt. “Kids’ll find something new to talk about next week.”
Killian just grunts. “Think first next time.”
My jaw tightens. “There won’t be a next time.” Not if it means Teagan dealing with the fallout because of me. From now on I’ll be a celibate monk. I have to be a better man for her.
“You don’t want me around her anymore?” I ask, throat tightening.
He sighs. “I might’ve sounded harsh before. I want you around, but just hang here for a while. No more big outings until this blows over.”
I nod, relief flooding through me. “Is she in her room? I want to apologize to her.”
Clodagh gives me a sympathetic look. “She already left to catch the new Tarantino flick with friends. She’ll be back soon.”
My shoulders slump. Not only am I the world’s biggest fuckup of an uncle, now I’m the disconnected old guy completely clueless about her life too. Of course she bailed to hang with actual peers instead of her embarrassing uncle.
“You know, if Willow were just some celeb,” Clodagh muses, “this would play so differently rather than blowing up. You’ve done waaay worse than this.”
“Thanks, Clodagh.” I roll my eyes. “The press always dramatizes stuff—I’m hardly the first guy to hook up.”
Killian shoots me an irritated look. “Maybe not, but the senator’s daughter?”
Fair point.
“All right, I really screwed up. But some of those headlines are just abusive.”
Clodagh tilts her head pensively. “I think it’s jealousy. Men hate you because they ain’t you. And women hate you because they want you but can’t have you.”
I blink in surprise. “Damn, Clodagh, that’s dark for you.”
She just shrugs. “I’ve been around your world a while now. It’s not all glam. I hate the tabloids—feels like they’re waiting to snap me falling on my ass if I go out.”
Killian’s expression sours. “I’ll kill any of them that do that.” His eyes meet mine grimly. “Heads-up . . . Mom listened to the recording too.”
“What?” I choke on my wine, balls shriveling. “Why the hell would Mom listen to that?”
“Her friends were all talking about it. Guess curiosity got the best of her,” he says, leafing through a cookbook nonchalantly while dropping this bombshell on me.
“What the hell,” I mutter. “I’m going to need a shrink after this. It’s like Mom catching me with Kirsty Davies post-graduation.”
I thunk my head into my hands. “I had Mom fooled into thinking I was some sort of gentleman. That ship’s sailed now.”
“Pretty sure that ship sank with Kirsty Davies,” he retorts.
I lift my head to glare at him. “Not helping, man. Just the thought of Mom hearing . . . stuff . . .” I shudder.
