“You’re laughing,” he chides, shaking his head at me, threatening punishment with those eyes of his.
“I’m not laughing, Tate,” I clarify. “I’m… utterly fucking thrilled.”
His chuckle’s all manly and deep, and I swear he makes me wet all over again.
“Good, then,” he says, squeezing my hand. “That makes bloody two of us then.”
I don’t even bother to staunch that grin, just as his phone rings, the sound a blaring trumpet in the quiet.
“I have to take that,” he says with a sigh. “That’s Leith’s ringtone.”
Reaching in his pocket, he takes out his phone.
“Aye?”
He’s stock still, not moving a muscle as he listens.
“Are you sure?”
More silence while he listens.
“I’ll go.”
Another pause while he listens some more.
“Aye. Of course. And I will. And before I go, I need to talk to Mac.”
He hangs up the phone. “We’ll pay a visit to your publisher sooner than we planned. They’re outside of Dublin, aren’t they?”
He’s already pushing himself off the sofa, tugging on clothes. I’d feel sorry about our quiet moment being interrupted, if not for my concern about my friends.
I nod. “Aye, why?”
“Maybe we’ll be able to kill two birds with one stone. I’ve got to pay a visit to our friends the McCarthys. Our Clan’s in danger, and you’re going to help.”
Packing’s an easy affair, since I’ve got the clothes already folded and he’s clearly a light packer. Duffel bag with clothes, our toothbrushes, and the little bag of toiletries. When he isn’t looking, I shove the bag of condoms in the bag just in case and think Nan would be bloody proud.
“And while we’re heading there, we’ll have to do something about the situation with Islan and the Welsh,” he mutters, some of the familiar anger-laced concern returning.
“Islan will never speak to me again, Tate, I know she won’t.” I can’t help but feel I’ve betrayed my closest friend. I feel like a bloody arsehole.
“She’ll get over it,” he mutters, closing and locking each window, one by one.
Tate’s on the phone with Mac as I close the last window in the bathroom and quickly check my phone. I’ve a text from Islan.
Islan:Are you okay?
Me:Aye.
Islan:I hear you’re going to Ireland??
Me:We are, yes. We have some errands to do.
Islan:I wish I could go. I’ve never been.
I feel guilty chatting with her when I haven’t told her that her brothers are going to have questions. That I’ve betrayed her. I don’t know what they’ll do, but a tower with a lock and key doesn’t seem outside the realm of possibility.
She doesn’t exactly have a relationship with the guy from Wales, but I know she follows him on Instagram, and I know she’s exchanged messages with him. I remind myself he doesn’t know she’s a Cowen.
