He cracked one eye open, a lazy grin tugging at his mouth. “And let your old man think I can’t handle him? No chance.”
“You sure you’re ready for all three Sheehan boys?” I asked, arching a brow.
“Born ready.” He still hadn’t lifted his head, his voice still drowsy but smug. “Your dad loves me. Danny…well, depends what mood he’s in, which seems to be one setting only. And Malachy? He’d better appreciate the lengths I’ve gone to just to pronounce his name right.”
That made me laugh and the tension sitting tight in my chest loosened. Trust Tyler to make it sound easy, even when I knew it wasn’t.
Then came the knock at the door.
We both glanced at the door before Tyler finally swung his legs off the sofa with a groan. “Showtime,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair as I hurried ahead to answer.
I pulled the door open, and there he was—Dad, all broad shoulders and weathered smile, that twinkle in his eye softening everything. “There’s my girl,” he said, pulling me straight into a hug that smelt of turf and aftershave.
When he let go, his gaze flicked past me to Tyler. For a beat, my stomach clenched but then Dad’s face broke into a grin. “And there’s the lad himself. Tyler Reed, in the flesh.”
Tyler straightened from his lazy lean, suddenly alert. “Sir,” he said, offering his hand, but Dad batted it away and pulled him into a bear hug that left him blinking in surprise.
I raised an eyebrow, quietly impressed. So was Tyler, judging by his expression.
Next came Danny. He leaned against the frame, smirk tugging at his mouth, eyes locked on Tyler.
“Well, look who it is,” he drawled. “Wimbledon runner-up, right here in Cork. Should I ask for an autograph now or wait ‘til after the wedding?”
Tyler crossed his arms and leaned lazily against the wall with a grin. “Depends, bro. You gonna frame it or throw darts at it?”
Danny’s smirk twitched. For a second, I couldn’t tell which way it would swing. His gaze lingered on Tyler’s like he was weighing whether to bite.
“Definitely darts.”
The air held tight for a second then both of them cracked grins, the tension dissolving as fast as it had sparked. Even Dad gave a dry chuckle, like maybe, just maybe, things were thawing at last.
Before I could exhale, Malachy’s voice boomed through the cottage. “Oh, the Reeds do exist, do they?”
Tyler’s head whipped toward the door, grin still tugging at his mouth. He hadn’t met Mal yet. Travel and bad timing had kept them apart but I could already see the ease flicker across his face. Mal had that effect on everyone. His presence always loosened the room.
Out of the four of us, Malachy was the most easygoing. I wasn’t worried about him.
“Where are Erin and the boys?” I asked.
“Oh, they’ve gone up to the guest house to get settled in. The sods bickered the whole way here, so she’s probably losing her shit with them by now.” Mal laughed, broad and warm, and I couldn’t help smiling.
“Tyler, great to finally meet you,” he said, extending a hand.
“Likewise,” Tyler answered, clasping it firmly, giving him a smile that was genuine and fond. I could feel the relief washing over me but so help me, I wished Erin was here to help balance out the testosterone already thickening the air in this cottage.
“So, what’s the plan this evening?” Dad asked, settling into the armchair he’d no doubt claim as his throne for the rest of the night. He looked good, leaner, sharper, healthier than I’d seen him in months.
“Dinner’s being sent down from the main estate at eight,” I said. “A few bottles of wine, nothing too strenuous. Everyone’s probably wrecked from the trip.”
Dinner arrived not long after, the smell of roast lamb and rosemary filling the little cottage as we pulled chairs around the oak table. Plates were passed, glasses poured, and for a while the chatter stayed simple, Mal cursing the state of Irish roads, Danny sliding in the odd jab about Tyler’s so-called backhand, earning himself a smirk and a muttered,“We’ll see about that.”
It was Dad who shifted the mood. He reached for the bottle of red, topping up his glass before fixing his eyes on Tyler. “Will your mother be coming, Tyler?”
The scrape of Tyler’s fork against his plate was too sharp. I felt the tension roll through him before he even opened his mouth.
I kept my expression neutral, though my chest tightened. We’d sent her to an exclusive rehab a few months back, and by all accounts she was still sober, had been for months. The invitation had gone out. The flight was booked. Now all we could do was wait and see if she’d been steady enough to board it.
Tyler’s gaze flicked to me for a fraction of a second before turning back to Dad. His voice was even, but edged with that raw honesty he carried like a scar.
