Wren set the food container on the table and leaned forward. “Did your dad say I told you so?”
“Nah—at that point, I’d been winning and he was sitting pretty. All the way back in Scotland, bragging. So he didn’t give a feck what I did.”
“Sorry, that was rude of me,” she said, reaching out and touching my arm. “I shouldn’t act that way. Our parents are older…”
“Hey, come on. You have every right to say anything you want about my dad. You witnessed him at his worst.”
“It was a long time ago,” she said with a shrug.
“But it hurt you. I hate that.”
“Parents are complicated. I get that.” She let my dad off the hook.
“How about me? I wasn’t much better, giving in to everything he wanted. Do you think you’ll find it in your heart to say my actions were a long time ago?”
Her eyelids dipped and she took a breath. “I fixed your knee up, didn’t I?”
“Because you wanted to please Ryan Strauss, America’s sweetheart.”
She leapt across the couch and sucker-punched my arm. “Don’t you dare suggest I’d ever perform a surgery to please a movie star. My colleagues would have my ass on a platter.” Rourke finished off her sentence with a yip as if he agreed.
Sadly, Wren then retreated to her spot on the couch and my arm felt barren.
“Hey, I’m okay being second fiddle. Shite, I’d take third.”
“Daniel, enough,” she growled.
Changing gears, I spoke from the heart. “No, I know you wouldn’t do it just for Ryan, and I appreciate you taking care of me. But aside from that, I need you to want to forgive me. I should’ve chased after you years ago, decades. But I’m here now. Tore my ACL so this could happen.”
A soft laugh fell from her lips. “Daniel…Danny…we were kids. Young people who thought they knew everything. We didn’t know much, but whatever we did, our parents tried to control. We were more alike than I think we understood.”
I set my food down and slid over next to Wren. Her calling me by my nickname had to be a positive sign; I’d done something right this evening. “It takes me an extra minute to move anywhere these days,” I joked.
Wren raised an eyebrow and spoke. “I think your surgeon was top-rated and you have had more physical therapy than any other patient.”
“True, true. By the way, the food is really good. Thank you,” I said, trying to normalize the awkward moment. There was something in my chest—a combination of fireworks or sparks and a rush of emotions—as our outer thighs brushed against one another. “I think you’re right, but I owe you an apology, although it’s too late. I should have been stronger and stood up to my dad.”
“Let’s leave all that where it belongs. In the past. And thank you for the compliments on the food. I don’t cook so that’s about all you will get here—takeout.”
“Happy New Year, Birdie. You’re perfect, whether you cook or not,” was my reply. I didn’t know why, but it felt like Wren wasgranting me a wish or a gift, and my voice came out raspy and sentimental.
“Oh, we are the nuttiest pair, acting like we are not approaching our forties.”
“I’m already there,” I teased.
“Whatever. We are not stupid kids. We are adults, behaving like lovelorn teens.”
“Speak for yourself,” I taunted. My hand brushed her leg and she turned to look at me, smiling. “I wish we would have reconnected sooner,” I admitted, changing gears again.
“Me too. But we’ve lived our best lives, accomplished a lot. To be honest, I didn’t need any distractions.” She ran a hand through her hair and took a long sigh.
“What about now? Are you up for one?”
For a flash, I thought a tear welled in her eye. “I can’t say.” She put a hand on Rourke’s back—at some point he’d crawled next to her other leg and snuggled up close, making me insanely jealous of a dog. “It’s been just me and this mangy dog for a long time…” Rourke looked up with drowsy eyes.
“He heard you call him mangy,” I stated.
“He can take my sardonic sense of humor.”
