“What look?”
“Like you’ve got a wee secret.” Her Irish accent was way thicker than mine, and even after living in the States for twenty-two years, it was barely watered down. She always said it was because you couldn’t water down a true Irishman, and in the North—of the Republic, she always clarified, the “true” north—they were as true as they came.
She tapped the wooden spoon againstthe pot and turned to face me fully. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Ava Dumontier.”
It wasn’t a question.
“How do you know that?” I hadn’t lied to my mom, but I hadn’t told her who I was spending time with this summer. I’d just said I was going out. I had plenty of other high school friends I could’ve been seeing. How could she possibly know I was spending all that time with Ava?
“Liam Michael Farrell.” My mom crossed her arms, and even though I had a good eight inches on her, she still managed to make me feel like I was twelve years old and caught sneaking cookies before dinner. “Do not insult my intelligence.”
I sighed, leaning against the counter. There was no point in lying to her—she’d always been able to see right through me. “Fine. I’ve been with Ava, but seriously, how’d you know?”
“Lovey, this is Meadowbrook.” She laughed softly. “Even if you think you’ve been discreet, everyone knows everyone’s business around here.” She raised an eyebrow. “In a town this small, everyone talks. It’s a miracle the rumor hasn’t gotten to her parents yet.”
I scrubbed a hand over my face. We’d been so careful—or at least, I’d thought we had. But my mom was right. Meadowbrook was the kind of place where you couldn’t sneeze without someone asking if you were coming down with something.
“Does anyone else know?” I asked. “Besides the town gossips?”
“Not that I’ve heard. People are being respectful, keeping it to whispers. For now.” She studied my face for a long moment. “But that’s not going to last forever. You know that, right?”
“Yeah.” I took another drink of water, wishing it was something far stronger. “I know.”
She was quiet for a moment, turning back to stir her sauce. The silence stretched between us, filled only by the soft bubble of the pot and the hum of our old refrigerator.
“Liam.” Her voice was gentler now. More serious. “Just…be careful with her, okay?”
The words hit me like a bucket of ice water.
Be careful with her.
I knew what that meant. I knew what she was really saying, even if she was too kind to spell it out.
Be careful because you’re your father’s son. Be careful because you’ve got his face and his charm and maybe his inability to stay faithful. Be careful because the last thing the Dumontiers need is you breaking their daughter’s heart the way your father broke mine.
“I know, Ma.” My voice came out hoarse with defeat. “I know what I am.”
She turned, her brow furrowing. “What you… Liam, that’s not what I?—”
“It’s fine.” I threw the now empty water bottle in the trash. “I should get some sleep. Early day tomorrow.”
“Liam—”
“Night, Ma. Whatever you’re making smells great. Save me some.”
I was out of the kitchen before she could say anything else, taking the stairs two at a time to my room. The door clicked shut behind me and I stood there in the dark, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Be careful.
I sank onto the edge of my bed, elbows on my knees, head in my hands.
My mom had watched my father destroy her. She’dtaken him back again and again, hoping he’d change, believing his promises. And every single time, he’d proven that men like him—men likeus—weren’t built for faithfulness. Weren’t built for commitment. Weren’t built for the kind of love that lasted.
Men as handsome as us have responsibilities to never settle down.
His voice echoed in my head, a demon I couldn’t exorcise no matter how hard I tried.
I thought about Ava—the way she looked at me, the way she’d smile at me like I was her hero. I thought about the softness in her eyes and the way my chest ached every time I had to leave her.
