She had to move forward because babies could only grow so long in their mother, but her emotions were in stasis. She was exhausted from pretending.
Every day, she pretended, and her family knew it.
Lochlann sauntered in without a care in the world, smirking at his older sister. Gray didn’t say a word, even though her teeth were so clenched, she had to be taking years off their life.
In his ever-deepening voice, gravelly like their father’s, he passed the sink holding his late-night snack dishes and casually mentioned, “My God, you blew up overnight.”
She felt her jaw unhinge and drop. Her cheeks flushed, too, because he wasn’t wrong. She had gotten impossibly huge, and it did seem like it had happened overnight.Still.“You…you,” she stuttered. “I pray someday you say that same thing to your wife when she’s expecting and witness the wrath of a woman wronged.”
“At least I’d be there to watch the mother of my child become a beached whale,” he snapped back.
And then, as if the siblings had choreographed expressions of horror, time froze. Loch’s eyes rounded, his hands were thrown high, whether to grasp her in apology or hold back her rage was anyone’s guess.
“Gray,” Lochlann gasped. Her name was a plea for forgiveness and regret.
Gray blinked rapidly to hold the tears that wanted to come at bay. Should her brother have brought up her relationship, or lack thereof? No. Was he within his rights to bring up the relationship elephant in the room? Yes.
She didn’t want to cry—mainly because she was damn tired of crying—since tears from any woman, young, old, family, or friend distressed the men in her family.
As if the hint of her tears filtered into her dad’s study, thunderous footsteps pounded down the hallway, coming their way fast. Lochlann and Gray looked at each other with renewed dread, especially when they heard their mom’s lighter steps and exasperated, “Thomas.”
“Start washing the dishes,” she hissed, shoving him into the farmhouse sink while simultaneously picking up her cup of tea and scrolling through her emails.
When their parents rounded the corner, Gray hoped they saw their children relaxing and enjoying one another’s company.
Her father filled the doorway, his chest pumping with who knows what overprotective things that fathers’ chests pumped with. Wrath? Fury? Love.
Their dad stood still and looked between his daughter and son as he placed his giant paws on the kitchen counter. Gray smiled and sipped her tea, avoiding eye contact.
“Son.”
That one word had Lochlann’s shoulders tensing as he vigorously scrubbed a frying pan. “Why does your sister look like she’s been crying?”
Defense. Defense. Defense.
“Way to make things weird, Dad. I’m always crying.”
“Lochlann.” Bone meet dog.
Her brother slowly turned and met their father’s scowl. Thomas MacGregor didn’t raise a wuss.
“I purposefully said something to hurt her feelings about the prick that got her pregnant,” her brother admitted.
Gray sighed and closed her eyes briefly, wondering how she’d found herself in such a ridiculous situation. She was about toopen her mouth to diffuse the tension when her dad asked, “Why?”
Lochlann’s fists clenched at his sides, and his fair complexion reddened. “I shouldn’t have. I know that. Christ,” he swore, “but I’m pissed because my sister, whom I love more than anything, is hurting, and she’s forbidden us to find the prick who’s left her alone and pregnant, and I’m furious,” he roared the last, shocking herself and their parents alike.
“I’m here now. Have at me.”
Oh God.Ciar.
fifty
SIX WEEKS AFTER GRAY LEFT
CIAR
Ciar stood unmovingin his kitchen, leaning against a counter, a bottle of unopened vodka, a sentinel to his despair.
