The opportunity was ruined, and he was too much of a piece of shit to salvage it.
“It’s not,” she took a deep breath before continuing, “important, after all. Have a merry Christmas. I’m flying to Scotland tonight for the holiday.”
She grabbed her coat and ran out the door before another word could be uttered. He sat down heavily, his breath catching on a swallowed sob.
What now? “What now?” he whispered in Imogen’s tiny ear.
thirty-seven
CIAR
Two monthsafter the night Gray ran out of what was meant to be their house, Ciar and Imogen were enjoying a quiet Sunday afternoon watching television and playing on the couch.
It was Tina’s afternoon off. He’d barely spoken to the woman after the stunt she pulled with Gray. She finally unbent a couple of weeks ago and apologized. Not a great apology, but it was something at least.
He was still furious, more so with himself. Had he taken control that night and told her everything he’d done, everything he hoped for, and all the things he was sorry for, it might have ended differently.
Instead, he froze, became tongue-tied, and gave Gray nothing. She had been the one to reach out first, and he crashed and burned.
As Imogen gnawed her soft bunny into a slobbery mess, he leaned his head back on the couch. Why couldn’t he just tell her how he was feeling?
For weeks, he’d gone over every word she’d said that night. It was possible that she had come hoping he’d fight for her, and when he didn’t, she asked for a clean slate between them.
For the most part, his friends avoided him. He didn’t blame them. When Daniel, Jonathan, and even Dagr spoke to him after that night and found out he hadn’t explained anything to her, Ciar was very aware of their disappointment.
His dad had come by last week to visit his granddaughter and stayed after Imogen went down for her nap.
His dad asked, “Why are you doing this, son? Your silence is hurting both you and Gray. Hell, it’s hurting all your friends.
“They rarely come into Murphy’s, and I haven’t seen Gray since our last meeting about Gray Eyes. It’s like everyone’s holding their breath, afraid to hope, but afraid to let the idea of you two go.
“Don’t you still love her?”
Ciar startled at the question. “Love her? I never, that is, she might have?—”
“Christ Almighty, boy. Did you never tell the girl that you loved her?”
“I didn’t,” he replied hotly. “I don’t. I care for her.”
Love was pain. His mother taught him that.
“Cut the shit,” his dad demanded, slapping his palm against the kitchen counter where they were seated. “You’ve mooned over that girl for years.”
Ciar gritted his teeth, swallowing the denial. “How did you know that?” he asked instead.
“I’m your father, and I watched you watch Gray. I knew why you didn’t pursue her initially. You were older, but once she was of age, I never understood why you didn’t.”
“She didn’t think of me that way, and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship over trying,” he admitted, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest defensively.
“Children,” his dad muttered under his breath. “Gray watched you every second you weren’t watching her. She always loved you. I imagine she still does, you idiot. What are you so afraid of? Why can’t you admit your feelings? If not to her, then at least to yourself.”
“I don’t know.” What a childish, lame excuse.
“Is this to do with,” he hesitated, and Ciar instantly felt his body flush with red-hot fury, “before you came to live with me?”
Ciar stood so quickly that the tall, heavy barstool flew back, crashing to the floor and probably waking Imogen. He rubbed his shaking hands over his buzzcut, feeling the prickly ends sting his fingertips.
“Go home.”
