Chapter Thirty-Six
CIARA
I keep waitingfor Ronan to do something dramatic like call in a bomb threat to evacuate the airport just to delay my flight. After all, it seems like something he would do. But no alarms go off, and no security guards swarm the gates, and I board the flight back to New York without any problems.
He let me go, just like that.
I don’t know what’s worse. The fact that he let me walk away, or that a small part of me wanted him to show up at the gate and carry me out of the airport kicking and screaming, because at least that would prove he still cared.
I don’t sleep at all during the six-hour flight back to New York, despite having been awake for over twenty-four hours. My mind is too full of what Ronan told me to allow me to drift off.
Could what he told me about my father really be true?
No.
I knew my father. He was a good and kind man who respected women. He wouldneverbe capable of the sort of things Ronan accused him of.
He would auction girls off to the highest bidder.
Suddenly, I’m grateful I never ate dinner, otherwise, it would come right back up again as Ronan’s words play on repeat. Even though it’s nothing but lies, the thought of my father even being accused of such things makes me physically sick.
I need to talk to Callum as soon as I get back to New York, not because I want to confirm what Ronan said because I can’t believe it to be true, but because Callum needs to make sure such rumors are locked down.
The McCarthy name is barely hanging on as it is, and the last thing my family needs is for my dead father to be painted as a sex trafficker.
By the time the pilot announces we’re beginning our descent into JFK, I blink and realize I didn’t grip the armrest once or hyperventilate into a bag through sheer panic. I somehow managed to get through the flight without any issues, and the irony is not lost on me that Ronan might have completely broken my heart, but at least he cured my fear of flying.
Only when I walk through arrivals and see Mila waiting for me, wearing a long duffle coat over her pajamas and carrying two cups of coffee, does the hollow ache in my chest return.
I wheel my bag behind me as I walk like a zombie, letting the tide of other passengers carry me over to my best friend, who wraps her arms around me in an instant.
She pulls back to look at me properly. “Jesus, Ciara. You look like you’ve been hit by a train.”
“I feel like I have.”
She hands me a cup of coffee. “Come on. I’m taking you back to my place, and you can stay as long as you want.”
“Mila—”
“I can stock the freezer with plenty of ice cream and pizza, and I can pick up some of that red wine you like.”
“Mila!”
My tone seems to get her attention, and she stops in the middle of the exit, causing a stream of sleep-deprived travelers to curse under their breath at her, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
“What is it?” Her dark brows pull together in a frown.
“I need to talk to Callum, immediately.”
“Ciara, maybe you should get some sleep firs?—”
“I need to know if it’s true.”
“If what’s true?”
The words get lodged in my throat, but the look on my face seems to be enough of an answer as Mila simply nods before linking her arm through mine and leading me out of the airport.
Callum lookslike hell when he opens the front door. From the dark purple bruises beneath his eyes, it seems he got even less sleep than I did last night. His hair is disheveled, and he’s wearing an old white t-shirt and gray sweatpants. A far cry from the man our father expected him to grow into.
