Like the day they’d arrived outside the bar. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
‘Sorry, yes.’ Fin cleared his throat and the fog from his brain as he returned his attention to the phone. ‘I’m here. Um… yes, sure. I’ll take a look at them before I go.’
‘You really don’t have to if you want more time,’ she reiterated softly. ‘They’re not going anywhere.’
Didhe want more time?
How much time did he need? How long was long enough? How long would that last argument with his dad keep replaying in his mind like it was yesterday, not two years ago?
His mother had done the hard part, dealing with all his father’s stuff, while he’d been in Ireland trying to reconcile that the last words he’d spoken to his father had been in anger. As if somehow getting back to the Murphy family roots would help.
It hadn’t. Maybe two boxes in the garage would.
‘No, it’s fine.’ He shook his head, knowing that it was time to not just dip his toe in the shallows of his guilt but take a deep dive. ‘I want to.’ Needed to. ‘I’ll get to them.’
Maybe not today, but he made a pledge to himself that he would open those boxes before he left Ballyshannon. It was time.
Sixteen
As it turned out, todaywasthe day. After hours of faffing around with nothing distinctly superstar—catching up on emails, doing a load of laundry, watching some coaching videos on YouTube, alphabetising the books on his mother’s shelves in the living room, making cups of tea for Sweeney and several rounds of grilled cheese toasties (because grilled cheese toasties)—he found himself standing on the back patio staring at the garage.
Contemplating what those boxes might hold. Memories, definitely. Sentimental knick-knacks, probably. Absolution?
Maybe…
But it wasn’t until four in the afternoon and his third showdown with the double doors of the garage—this time with a beer in his hand—that he actually considered just ripping the Band-Aid off and getting it done. He was considering so hard, he didn’t hear Sweeney approach until she spoke.
‘I can do it with you,’ she said quietly. ‘If you want?’
She was standing close as their gazes met, and he was surprised by the urge to draw her even closer. And once upon a time he would have, without hesitation. Sadly, time and absence in each other’s lives and the more recent weirdness between them—body wash, anyone?—had neutered that instinct and made him second-guess everything.
‘Thanks,’ he murmured, giving her a small smile. ‘You don’t have to do that.’
She shrugged, her body lightly brushing his at the movement. ‘I don’t mind. I know how tough this bit is.’
Fin knew she knew. At twelve, Sweeney had helped her mother pack up her father’s stuff. She hadn’t said much about it at the time, which was how he’d known how tough it was. In fact, those few years after her dad’s sudden death, Sweeney had kept a lot to herself, which had heralded a change in their relationship.
Where previously they’d shared everything, Sweeney had become more circumspect with some things. Ostensibly things seemed the same, but he’d been aware that there was a part of her life that she wasn’t letting him in to anymore. As a teenager, he’d been ill equipped to handle the change or to deal with her deep, deep sadness, and he’d just hoped that if he gave her time and space and didn’t push, she’d feel comfortable opening up.
That hadn’t happened but she had eventually returned to the old Sweeney—mostly, anyway—and Fin had been as relieved for himself as he had been for her.
She did lean all the way in then, the side of her body touching his, her cheek pressed against his sleeve, and everything felt okay for a moment. Like he could handle whatever the hell was in those boxes.
Fin filled his lungs with a deep, appreciative breath as they both stared at the garage.
‘I know I need to do this.’
‘You don’tneedto do anything,’ she assured huskily.
‘Yeah. I do,’ he said grimly. ‘I think it’ll… help. I’ve been hiding away over in Ireland for too long. I thought I’d feel close to him there, forge a deeper connection to him than I ever had, but I think I’ve just been avoiding this. Him, all around me.’
Fin sensed her gaze boring into his profile but didn’t turn to acknowledge it, just waited for her to speak.
‘Okay, well, in that case, why not just do it now?’
It was exactly the kick up the ass his dithering needed and he admired her for saying the hard stuff. He should have done the same when they’d been teenagers—prodded her, pushed her to talk, dragged her out of her comfort zone. But, he supposed, that was the beauty of growing up—life equipped you to deal with situations much better.
Glancing at her, he asked, ‘Areyou okay to do it with me?’
