Page 92 of When the Sky Breaks

“Happy?” she snarled then shoved the gun back in my direction and stalked out of the yard, slamming the gate behind her.

“So how long are you waiting before you start damage control?” Ansel asked.

I assumed, incorrectly, that Sorcha would come back for dinner. I also realized that physically chasing her down after what I’d just done was likely to perpetuate an argument rather than stop it.

But as dusk started to fall she still wasn’t home. So I grabbed a lantern and my coat and promised we’d both be back by ten.

“And she didn’t even take the damn gun,” I muttered as I slammed the shop-front door and started walking.

It took me more than an hour to find her. After growing desperate, I eventually realized my best approach was following stray cats. And finally I found Sorcha sitting across from the Capitol building, a half dozen cats and several dozen pigeons clustered at her feet.

“Why didn’t you come when I asked?” she said to one of the cats, holding it up under the front legs. It was big, tough, missing half an ear.

I broke into a run when I caught sight of her. My chest finally relaxed for the first time since she’d stormed out that afternoon.

“Sorcha!” I called. She stiffened, putting the cat down and turning to glare at me.

“You going to tackle me again?” Sorcha muttered as I shooed the animals away and sat down next to her.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “that was poorly handled.”

“That is an understatement,” Sorcha snapped, getting to her feet and starting to walk again.

“I was worried about you,” I insisted, following after. “And you were being unreasonable. You clearly weren’t putting any effort in.”

Sorcha stopped short, turned to face me. She grabbed my lapels, hard.

“And that justified what you did?” she snapped. “Look me in the eye and tell me that was okay.”

“I can’t.”

“I listen to you,” Sorcha said, “I always listen to you if you explain what you’re asking. But you and Ansel? You went behind my back. Forced this on me. And didn’t explain. Then when I wasn’t being compliant? You used wrestling to make your point. Neal, why? Help me understand.”

“I can’t,” I repeated. “There’s nothing to understand. I should have just talked to you. Sorcha, I’m sorry.”

“You better be.”

“You’re supposed to be resting,” I said. She was softening, just a bit. I could feel it.

“And you’re supposed to be protecting me,” Sorcha countered. “So what? Apparently wandering a strange city for hours alone was okay?”

I sighed. “I should have come sooner.”

A long moment stretched in uncomfortable silence, the pigeons dispersing as Sorcha dropped her grip on my coat and stared at the cobblestones between her feet.

“I learned how to shoot when I was ten or twelve,” Sorcha said, not looking at me. “Glen taught me. I just don’t like it.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and fell silent.

“Sorcha, why not?” I asked. “Why in particular?”

“The noise,” she said softly. “Same as why I don’t like storms.”

“It just . . . startles you?” I pressed.

She shook her head.

“Sorcha, tell me,” I said. “Please.”