Wild Irish Envy (Copperline #2) (33 page)

Everything in me twisted and jumbled and gnashed together, freezing me in place. I couldn’t talk or move. I could barely breathe as my heart pounded in my chest.

Frank stepped toward Fliss as she burst into tears, getting her a Kleenex, which she pressed to her eyes.

“I have for years, ever since I first saw him,” she sobbed wretchedly, “and, when we were in Dublin, I thought there was enough between us. I thought we might be able to make it work.”

Larry didn’t seem convinced, but Frank put a hand on her shoulder and glared at his boss.

“I know it sounds corny and juvenile,” she sobbed, “but I really thought I loved him enough for both of us.”

“Mrs. Byrne—” Larry began, but she interrupted him.

“I was wrong,” she said, shaking her head, “but his
whole life
is here. Don’t take that away from him.”

She suddenly stopped short, catching a glimpse of me out of the corner of her eye. Even though she didn’t fully turn towards me, I could read her expression. She looked completely shattered. Dark streaks of eyeliner trailed down her cheeks as the tears washed her makeup away.

She took one last look at Frank and quietly whispered, “Please.”

Then, head down and avoiding any eye contact with me, she turned and slipped out the door.

Mechanically, I began to follow. I wanted to hold her and brush those dark tears from her beautiful blue eyes. I wanted to comfort her, to promise I’d stay, if for no other reason, than to be with her. To love her back. That was all I really wanted anymore.

“Mr. Byrne,” Larry said, stopping me in my tracks. “Let’s go have a seat in the interview room, shall we?”

My chest felt shredded and empty, lifeless and cold as I walked into the room and sat across from Larry. Frank followed us in and leaned against the closed door.

“You know she confessed,” Larry began. “Said she married you so you could get your green card.”

“There was a little more—” Frank began, but was cut off as Larry interrupted him.

“Frank, go get me a cup of coffee, will you?”

“Sir—”

“Now,” he grated, and Frank hesitated for a moment, looking over at me. He then turned and left the room.

“She admitted it,” Larry said, raising an eyebrow. “The rushed wedding was because she was coming back and was worried you wouldn’t be able to. Said it was her idea.”

Which was almost exactly what had happened. But I didn’t want her taking the fall for me.

“That’s true. I was there, so what you’re saying, what she said, is nothing I don’t already know,” I solemnly replied. “She’s telling the truth, but it’s not everything. There was a lot more to it than that.”

“So you’re still going with this story? Still pretending you had every intention of living happily ever after, even though she’s evidently moved out and gone back to daddy’s house.”

“We had a fight. It happens, and I don’t know what the future has in store for us, but she… I never wanted this marriage to be temporary.”

Telling the truth felt good. Even if it was a truth I hadn’t totally known in the days that surrounded our wedding.

“Fine… I’ll play along a little longer,” he said, circling the table to sit across from me again. “Let’s get back to these questions then, shall we?”

The door opened, and Frank came back in the room with coffee, setting a cup down in front of me, as well. Looking concerned, he gave me a wry, apologetic grimace.

It felt like I was in there for hours. Question after question after question. Some of them I knew the answers to.

“What is your wife’s full name?”

“Felicity Michelle Byrne. It was Williams before she became my
wife
.” The emphasis on that last word made Frank smile little, but Larry didn’t seem all that amused.

I tried so hard to stay cordial, to be polite and cooperative. Larry’s claim that Fliss had confessed reeled in my head. He made me more than a little paranoid, especially with the fight Fliss and I’d had. After I’d pushed her away yet again, she had every reason to be very upset with me. But, deep down, I didn’t believe it.

I couldn’t believe it.

Frank smiled a little every time the frustration boiled over. His supervisor did, too. But Frank smiled in an understanding way, like he could feel the emotion for Fliss radiating out from me. His boss smiled snidely, like he thought I was about to break.

With some of the questions, I hadn’t the faintest idea what the answers could be, like what the garbage pickup days were or the color of the kitchen curtains. This seemed kind of crazy, even to me, since I’d lived there for four years and I could never really be arsed enough to pay attention.

I sorta had vague answers for some, but knew no specifics.

“What kind of birth control do you two use?” Larry asked. He seemed to find some sick pleasure in asking about the really private things.

“Um, she gets shots or something.”

“And your wife’s favorite position?”

Frank blanched at that question.

We tend to knock knickers most up against the wall,
I thought to myself, which made me smile, even as it made me yearn.

And then there was one question that made my chest tighten. It made me miss her and wish I had done so many things different so many times.

“So, does she have any scars or tattoos?” Larry asked.

Always hungry,

Craving,

Desperate and fading,

A twisted, tortured memory

Of you

I nodded slowly. “Yeah, a couple tattoos.”

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “What are they and where are they located?”

“Well, she’s got one on her lower back, just kind of a swirly heart and flowers. Another small one on the back of her neck, just below her hairline, a Celtic knot in the shape of a shamrock.” My voice caught in my throat, choking the words back until I finally forced them out. “And some lyrics… on her ribs. Written to a friend of mine who OD’d.”

“So she knew this friend?”

“It was the friend of mine that she dated a few years ago. The words… they’re to Trent…” I trailed off for a minute, forming the words I’d never said aloud, to anyone. I’d never even told Brannon. “The song was written to Trent, but it was written about Fliss.”

Frank pushed away from the door and pulled up another chair, watching me intently. “Was she dating him at the time he died?”

My throat felt tight, closed and swollen, as I nodded.

“He couldn’t see what he had,” I whispered, my eyes burned with the tears I’d held back forever. “He was always looking for something better, but he had something truly magnificent there the whole time.”

Larry didn’t say anything for a bit. He simply stared at me for the longest time. Maybe he was trying to get me to break. To test the validity of what I was saying. But it seemed like he was trying to figure out just how to respond to this heartfelt confession.

In the end, it was Frank who spoke first.

“Have you ever told her that?”

For two days, I thought about Frank’s question.

Have you ever told her that?

I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. Even booze and weed didn’t take the edge off. All I could think about was how hopeless it all seemed.

Through it all, I ached to see her. To hold her and touch her.

To love her.

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. Even if nothing came of it, even if I’d fecked it all up beyond repair, she deserved to know what she had meant to me all this time. She deserved to be exonerated of blame, to know that it was my envy, my guilt, that had kept me from her. That it was never her.

Her car was gone when I pulled up in front of her dad’s house. I considered just sitting outside until she got home, but then I caught sight of her dad. He had clearly seen me as well as he stood in the large picture window, sipping from a coffee cup. All six feet and four inches of pure pissed-off father.

I considered driving away. Fast. Getting on a plane right then and there and heading back to Ireland. Trying to forget her.

To forget how much I ached for her.

Instead, I grabbed what balls I still had, got out of my truck, and walked up the front steps. By the time I reached the top, he was there, standing with the main door open and the screen door closed. He spoke before I could.

“She’s not here.”

His tone, his words, sorta told me this wasn’t going to be a helpful discussion. This guy hadn’t liked me before, and he had even less reason to like me now, getting his daughter in a position where she could end up in a federal prison. Married for only a couple months before she left me. Shite like that doesn’t really fly with overprotective fathers.

I nodded, clenching my jaw and closing my eyes as I tried to think of something to say. Some apology or plea. Something to take this putrid ache from my chest.

“Why don’t you come in for a minute, son,” he suggested, propping open the screen door to allow me to enter.

I looked up at him. I should have been terrified that he was going to beat me to a bloody pulp, but instead I thought,
Why not?

Maybe he’d put me out of my misery.

“I’m not sure what happened,” the sheriff began. “I’ve had my doubts all along about this marriage, but I thought there may be real feelings involved, regardless.”

I sat on the couch across from his chair and nodded, feeling like a child being reprimanded. It was sorta how this guy made me feel. He was kind of the epitome of every authority figure I had. A father figure, a father-in-law, and the law all rolled into one massive, angry grizzly bear of a package.

“I’ve never really met many of the guys Felicity has dated over the years,” he said. “I like to think I scared a lot of them away.” There was a hint of satisfaction in his voice, as though he felt pretty proud of this. I looked up at him, and he frowned. “But I do know she had a pretty rough run with one guy. I gather you know about the boyfriend of hers that died.”

“I do. I knew Trent.”

He looked at me cautiously, clenching his jaw in a stern, daunting motion.

“Things were… complicated towards the end, but he was a friend of mine,” I admitted.

He leaned back, staring down his nose at me in a way that made me cringe. “That’s not a way to get on my good side, son.”

“I don’t doubt that, knowing what I know about their relationship, especially now.”

“Why now?” he asked, brow raised.

“I didn’t realize just how bad it was. I didn’t know that he… that he hit her.”

“If he hadn’t died, I might have killed him.” There was true bitter remorse in his eyes, a protective agony that stemmed from knowing someone had hurt his child and he hadn’t done anything to stop it.