Ramsay (31 page)

I couldn't do this.
I put my hands on my thighs, ready to stand up. This had been a hideous idea. Or it might not have been if Brogan had shown up alone.
Why was she here?
But he hadn't, and I might have been able to plow ahead despite the chill of Brogan's silence, but I couldn't do this in front of Courtney. I felt shaky and sick. Eileen put her hand on top of mine before I could move.

"So, Lydia, what have ya been up to recently?" she asked, looking at me pointedly. I glanced at Brogan who was looking off behind me somewhere, that same muscle working in his jaw.

"Um, well, I . . . I re-enrolled in school. I'm getting my teaching degree. I hope to work at a college, teaching history when I graduate. And I'm working at a small clothing boutique."

Brogan's eyes snapped to mine. "Your teaching degree? A boutique? You own a company. Why wouldn't you work there?" He closed his mouth and grimaced as if asking me a question resulted in physical pain.

Courtney picked imaginary lint off Brogan's shoulder. "A teacher. I think it's sweet," she said, syrup lacing her tone.

I ignored her. "I actually don't want the company, Brogan. I contacted your lawyers and told them as much. You have the ability to run it far better than I can. From what I can tell, it's doing wonderfully." I paused. "Thank you for that. My father would have been very happy. I think . . . well, I think my father would have wanted it that way," I finished softly.

His hands clenched in his lap, and he ran his tongue over that front tooth as he stared off behind me again, the wheels in his head obviously working overtime—on what, I couldn't be sure. My pulse raced.
Unbalance him.

When he looked back to me, his expression was raw, tortured. "This isn't a game, Lydia." I shook my head. "I gave ya the company because it's rightfully yours. Always should have been."

"No, Brogan, I'm not playing games. I don't want to play games with you. Not ever again." I took a deep, trembling breath. "I only want—"

"What about the house then?" He looked slightly desperate for some reason I didn't quite understand.

I shrugged. "I can't accept it outright, but I would like to work out terms we can agree upon. I won't be able to pay a lot on a teacher's salary, but maybe I could do some volunteer work for your company or—"

"No."
My eyes widened at the emotion in his tone, the way his jaw clenched again, the despair that crossed his features.

Courtney's eyes looked slightly wild as her gaze moved between Brogan and me. "No, Brogan is correct. You really should focus on your little teaching job if that's your goal. He doesn't have time to pander to volunteers who—" She let out a loud squeal as Fionn made a strange tripping movement from behind her, spilling his drink all over her left shoulder. She stood suddenly as it dripped down her shirt.

"Oops," Fionn said, shrugging innocently.

Courtney's face turned red with rage. "You did that on purpose, you . . . you
clown!
"

Eileen sprang up, taking Courtney by the arm. "Let's not get upset over a wee spill," she said. "We'll get that right out. No problem at all. I have the best stain remover in me bathroom. Come with me." She practically dragged Courtney with her, Fionn disappearing into the kitchen. It was suddenly only Brogan and me sitting across from each other.

"Ya shouldn't have come tonight, Lydia."

Hurt speared through me. "I wanted to see you," I said. "I thought—"

"Ya need to get on with your life. I have no place in it anymore."

Grief clogged my throat. I stared at Brogan. The look on his face was hard, unyielding and yet . . . his tongue moved continuously over that front tooth, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles were white.

Brogan. Why are you doing this?

"I forgive you," I breathed. His face broke, raw emotion contorting his features. "God, Brogan, I'm sorry it took me so long to get here. I'm so sorry I didn't give you the chance to explain."

"No," he hissed, visibly swallowing.

I nodded. "Yes. It wasn't your fault. My brother caused his own death. You had no other choice but to defend yourself. And I'm sorry you had to, but I'm glad you did."

"No,"
he gritted again, letting out a small, strange choking sound. He uttered something in Gaelic, clearly a curse. "I won't allow it."

I stared at him. He didn't
allow
it? My forgiveness? Sadness moved through me in painful waves. "But that's the thing," I gripped my hands in my lap, "it doesn't matter if you allow it or not. I still forgive you all the same. I still . . . I still love you all the same. And God, I don't want to waste another seven years not letting you know it."

"Lydia," he said, the word filled with torment, breaking on the last syllable. He sat up straight, seeming to gather himself, his expression going hard again. Blank. He took a deep, shaky breath. "I'm not sure what ya thought comin' here tonight would accomplish, but I think ya should leave."

My heart squeezed so tightly I felt as if I couldn't breathe. He couldn't accept my forgiveness, or perhaps he didn't want it. Or maybe he wasn't ready to extend me his. All right then. He wasn't ready for any of this. It had taken me a while to get here, too. But I had said my piece. That would have to be enough. I had done all I could do. Now it was up to Brogan.

I stood on shaky legs just as Courtney's loud voice and clicking heels came toward the living room. She burst in, still rubbing at her shirt with a towel, Eileen behind her, Fionn coming out of the kitchen. I offered them what felt like a wobbly smile.

"Eileen, thank you for your kind invitation to dinner. I think, however, it's best that I decline."

Eileen moved toward me, her hand outstretched, glancing at Brogan. "Lydia, please stay, I—"

"No," I said, gathering my coat and purse. "Thank you, really, but I," I took a deep breath, "it's for the best that I go." Everything inside me hurt, as if I was a walking bruise.

"Well, I'd have to agree," Courtney interjected. Eileen shot her a look so nasty, she withered just a bit beneath it.

I looked once more at Brogan who was sitting as still as a statue, staring at the floor and then my eyes moved to Fionn who was glaring daggers at Brogan. I turned to the door and opened it, looking back over my shoulder once more at Eileen.

"Thank you," I said before I slipped out. Fat snowflakes were drifting from the sky as I walked quickly to my car, not allowing the tears to fall until I had pulled out of the driveway and was halfway down the street.

Brogan

"That's it," I heard behind me right before I was dragged up by my collar. Fionn's fist connected with my jaw in a sucker punch to end all sucker punches. I heard Courtney scream as I reeled backward, falling into Eileen's coffee table.

"What the
feck?
" I yelled, pulling myself to my feet.

"Yeah, that's right, get up, I'm about to hand your arse to ya on a plate, ya feckin' twat." Fionn danced around me, his fists raised, his head down.

I took a deep breath, putting my hands on my hips and glaring at him, ignoring his theatrics. "I'm not gona fight ya, Fionn." His hand shot out, connecting to my jaw again as I tripped backward over the coffee table, landing on my arse.

Shock and anger exploded through me. "Ya feckin' prick!" I yelled. "I'm gona feckin' beat the shite outta ya, ya mother feckin' dickhead!" I jumped to my feet.

"That's it," Fionn said. "Come on, ya wanker. What a silly cunt ya are. I'm done watchin' ya act like a bloody
muppet."

That
was it. I was going to kick his arse straight into next week. "I'm bloody sick of ya interferin' in me life," I said as I lunged for him, tackling him onto the couch. I raised my hand to slam it into his manky pretty-boy face when Eileen screamed.

"Wait!" I paused, my fist in the air. Fionn looked over at her, too. "Not in here. Beat his arse outside," she said to Fionn.

"Beat
my
arse," I said in disbelief. "I'm your
brother
."

Eileen crossed her arms. "Aye, and you're a bleedin' eejit."

Anger engulfed me. I had lived in utter misery for the past three months, limping through life as if every part of me was broken beyond repair. Worse,
I felt sick and wrecked with grief over seeing Lydia tonight. Watching her walk out the door because I'd told her to . . . gutted me.
And now I needed my arse beaten? By the people who were supposed to care for me?
Suddenly a fight seemed like the best bloody idea I'd ever heard.
"Fine," I growled, heading for the door, "let's do this."

Courtney was talking shrilly about something, but I didn't give a feck what it was. I ignored her, flinging the door open and stepping outside into a world of softly whirling white, fat snowflakes falling from the sky.
More snow?
I thought the few flakes from earlier would have stopped by now. It wouldn't stick I'd guess, but something about it felt magical for just a moment and gave me pause. But then I heard Fionn stomping behind me, and my anger bubbled up again.

I stopped in the open area in front of Eileen's house and turned. Fionn was already advancing on me and when he got within a few feet, he stopped. We stared each other down for a moment. "I gave ya a few months, but ya came to the wrong conclusions, ya stubborn gobshite. I didn't want to have to beat some sense into ya, but enough is a feckin' nough," he said. "I'm a bloody monkey's uncle if I'm gona watch ya self-destruct."

"This isn't your business, Fionn," I gritted, stepping closer.

"You're me business, Brogan Ramsay, whether ya wanna be or not. And I'm your business. I'm your
family.
" He
was
my family. I loved him like a brother. His fist slammed into my stomach, and I doubled over. I grunted as I caught my breath, surprise and red rage spreading like wildfire through my veins. I was going to bloody kill my
brother
now. My fist connected to his jaw, and he stumbled backward.

"She forgives ya," he sputtered, spitting out a mouthful of blood, the red a bright splotch on the pristine white carpet of snow.

"I don't bloody
want
her forgiveness," I growled.
Goddamn it!
I'd
suffered
every day since she'd been gone, every
hour
an effort to get through. And I would be damned if I was going to go backward now.
Not that I'd moved forward very far.

Seeing Lydia tonight had highlighted that fact and tormented me. I had already forgiven her. Her betrayal hurt, but I
had
put her in an impossible position. I could hardly blame her for trying to help her brother. But when she'd said those three words,
I forgive you
,
I'd wanted to grab her and hold her so tightly we'd meld together and no one could ever separate us again. But I
wouldn't.
I wouldn't give in to my own selfish wants and take anything from her ever again. Even if she wanted to give me a second chance, I wouldn't let her. I didn't deserve any more chances, and she should have far better than me. Someday she'd fall in love with a man who deserved her, with a man who hadn't killed her brother, who hadn't set out to ruin her life and succeeded by every definition. I would do one thing right by Lydia—the
only
thing I'd ever done right by Lydia—I would let her go.

It doesn't matter if you allow it or not. I still forgive you all the same. I still . . . I still love you all the same.

Lydia.
Mo Chroí.

Fionn came charging for me and I braced as his head connected to my shoulder and we went down hard, my back connecting to the ground in a jarring smack, the air releasing from my lungs in a loud whoosh.

I groaned as Fionn scrambled up until he was kneeling over me, his arm rising to hit me again. "She doesn't really forgive me, Fionn," I wheezed out. His arm halted in midair. I took a few deep breaths, my lungs expanding. "She thinks she does because she . . . she's generous and kind. But . . . she'll always remember what I did, who I am, and eventually . . . she'll leave me again, or betray me again," I gasped. "It'll just be a matter of time. I can't . . . I can't . . ." Fionn's fist slammed into my jaw.

"
Feck!
" I yelled. "What the
feck?
" My face felt like it was on fire.

"Jaysus. Still wrong, ya dopey dick," Fionn muttered, raising his arm again. I dodged his fist, rolling to the side.

We wrestled for a few minutes, a stick poking into my back so violently, I thought it might have broken through my skin. I yelled out and Fionn paused. I took the opportunity to nail him in the gut. He let out a loud whoosh of air, falling over. He groaned, clutching his stomach and I paused, which gave him just enough time to roll toward me again and attack. I went slamming to my back again and groaned.

"Okay, okay. Jaysus, what do ya want, Fionn?"

He fell to his back beside me with a small moan. For a few seconds, we lay looking up into the gently falling snow. The fat flakes melted as they hit my skin, feeling good against my hot, injured face.

"She forgives ya, mo chara. She loves ya. She's not gona withdraw it to hurt ya later. If ya want the games to be over, you're gona have to trust her. If ya want her love, you're gona have to give her your love in return and for the love of Jaysus, you're gona have to try to see the good in yourself. End your own torment, mo chara, forgive her and forgive yourself."

"I do forgive her," I muttered. And I really did. She hadn't meant any harm to me seven years ago, and in fact, had suffered painfully because of what happened that day. It was because of
me
she'd been put in a position to have to choose between her brother and me. It was because of
me
she'd taken my folder—the folder I'd ultimately burned. And for all of that, it was
myself
I couldn't figure out how to let off the hook. There was no question.
I
was the villain.

As if reading my thoughts, Fionn said, "If ya can't figure a way to forgive yourself, you're never gona trust
her
forgiveness." I sighed. I felt drained completely. "Ya made mistakes, Brogan, but you're a good man. Stop punishin' yourself and the rest of us along with ya. This is no atonement."

"I just need to think," I said. Fionn leaned up, his fist connecting to my face once again in a punch that made it feel like my eye had exploded.

I brought my hands to my face, rolling away and sitting up, facing him. "What the
feck?
" I yelled again for what felt like the tenth time.

"For the love of Jaysus, please stop your bloody
thinkin'
," he said, sounding as drained as I was.

I stared at him, his face as bruised and battered as mine felt, our shirts wet and ripped and bloody. And I started laughing. He stared at me for a heartbeat and then he started laughing, too, until we were both howling and clutching our bruised ribs in pain. I stood, groaning, my laughter fading as every muscle in my body screamed. I reached for his hand and he gripped mine, as I helped him to his feet. I pulled him into a hug, clapping him as gently as possible on the back.

"Ya got two women waitin' on ya, mo chara," he said when we'd pulled apart. "Make the right choice."

I exhaled, my breath coming out in a white puff. I looked toward the house where Courtney waited. She had shown up at my apartment tonight, crying in fear about her ex-husband, and so I'd brought her with me even though I'd known neither Eileen nor Fionn would be happy about it. Hell, I wasn't happy about it. So what the
feck
was I doing?

Fionn seemed to follow my thoughts. "Yeah, ya really are an eejit."

I let out a surprised burst of laughter. "I'm the eejit who employs you."

Fionn put his hand on my shoulder. "Listen, mo chara, next time ya get to thinkin' on some subject or another, a good rule of thumb is to ask yourself, what would Fionn do?" He attempted to smirk, or so I thought anyway, but it was all twisted and grotesque, his bottom lip swollen to twice its size, and the movement only made me laugh harder.
What would Fionn do?
Okay, then.

"Maybe I'll have a T-shirt made." I laughed, but it died quickly. I put my hand on Fionn's shoulder, filled with gratitude. Fionn would be the best damned friend a man ever had.
I ever had.
That's
what Fionn would do. “Thank you, mo chara. Thank you," I rasped.

"You're feckin' welcome, ya wanker," Fionn said, smiling another hideous smile. I smiled back, only feeling a small measure of guilt for the state of him. I figured my face looked pretty bad too. I chuckled as we started for Eileen's door.

**********

"Oh for Christ's sake," Eileen said when she took in the sight of Fionn and me. I looked at Courtney who was sitting on the couch, still, her hands on her knees, looking straight ahead.

"Courtney, can I talk to you?" I asked softly. Her eyes met mine and she nodded. I saw Fionn and Eileen exchange a look before they both left the room, Eileen scolding Fionn for dripping blood on her carpet. I picked up a cocktail napkin off the table next to the couch and pressed it against my lip. I thought it was the only place I was actually bleeding from although I didn't take the time to glance in a mirror.

"I—"

Courtney held up a hand. "It would be the same."

I tilted my head, not understanding. "The same?"

"Bennett. Being with you would be the same as being with Bennett, wouldn't it? If I ever did succeed in actually getting you to make some kind of commitment to me." She rubbed her temples. "Which, God, I've put a whole lot of effort into." She sighed. "But it wouldn't work anyway. Oh, you wouldn't be unkind to me, not outright, anyway, and you'd certainly never hit me, but you'd never love me. You'd end up ignoring me, and I'd go looking for someone else to make you jealous, to fulfill what you weren't capable of providing." She laughed, but it had no humor in it. "I'd be right back where I started."

I couldn't help the sympathy I felt. I had never truly wanted her in
any
way, especially not in marriage. I realized now that it wasn't only the guilt that had inspired me not to tell her to feck off these last few months, but also the idea that it was exactly what I deserved: being tied to a woman I didn't love, and ensuring Lydia could
never
forgive me, even if she tried. But that hadn't been fair to anyone. God, Fionn was right. Sometimes my conclusions were . . . flawed.

I sighed. "Yes. I'm sorry."

She pressed her lips together and nodded. "These last couple months, you've never touched me, not once. And the two times I kissed you, the look on your face . . . it was as if I was . . ."

"Not her," I supplied, grimacing slightly. It felt cruel and yet, I owed her the truth. I owed myself the truth.

She flinched, but nodded again. "She's branded on your heart."

"Yes," I said softly.
She is my heart.
Mo Chroí
. And like my heart, to rid myself of her would kill me in the process. The truth of that thought hit me in the gut. All these months, that's how I'd felt . . . half alive, as if I were very slowly dying.

Courtney stared at me for a moment, exhaling a deep breath. "I lied to her," she finally said. "The day you shot her brother. I went to your apartment and she was there. I . . ." she let out another breath, "I told her I'd had a pregnancy scare. I made it sound as if we'd slept together recently and—"