“Holy shit!”
“Yeah, it wasn’t pretty,” I said softly, glancing at Patrick as we both remembered that morning.
“God, that must have sucked,” Nix said, slumping back down in his seat.
I nodded in agreement. “Then soon after that, Patrick’s wild oats came back to haunt him.” At Nix’s confused face, I explained a little more clearly. “He’d slept with someone before we were married, and gotten her pregnant.”
“You dick,” Nix said to Patrick, who was running a hand down his face.
“Aye, ye’ve got de right of it.”
“We decided to get out of Ireland with some friends of Patrick’s, but we had to leave in two different groups. Patrick took his baby mama—” I paused when Nix snorted at my terminology, “then Nan and I were supposed to go in the second group and meet up with him.”
I looked over and met Patrick’s eyes while I finished my story. “I was angry, livid really, so before we left Ireland, I slept with someone else to get back at Patrick—and then I refused to follow him to Oregon. Your nan and I took a plane to New York and rode the bus down here instead.”
Patrick’s eyes closed tight, as if in pain, and I so badly wanted to reach across the table to hold his hand—but I didn’t. He didn’t deserve my comfort—not for this.
“Dang, Mum. Bad move.”
“Not really, I got you, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, lucky you.”
“I know, I just love smelly socks and the way you stink up the bathroom so I can’t shower for an hour afterward.”
“Shut up, Mum!” his eyes flew to Patrick in embarrassment.
“Oh, please. I lived with the man—he could give you a run for your money.”
Both Patrick and Nix burst out laughing, and it was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard—until suddenly, it was the most painful, as Nix’s chuckles became gut wrenching sobs. I stood so fast that my chair hit the tile behind me, and was around the table in seconds, pulling my baby boy into my arms.
He’d finally gone over the edge he’d been perched on for weeks. I was just thankful that I was there when it happened.
“Nan’s gone, huh?” he asked into my neck, his entire body shuddering as his fingers dug into my back through the thick robe I was wearing.
“Yeah, baby. I’m so sorry.”
I heard a sniff from the table, and turned my head toward Patrick to find his elbows braced on the top with the heels of his hands digging into his eyes.
I couldn’t stop the tears that rolled down my face.
“She made Patrick read Robert Burns poems to her,” I told Nix softly, rubbing his back.
“Good ol’ Robbie Burns, eh?” he replied in a surprisingly accurate depiction of Peg’s accent.
“Yep. Still making all of us do her bidding, even at the end.” I clenched my eyes tightly closed and breathed in deeply. I didn’t have the luxury of letting myself lose it. I had a son to take care of.
“What happens now?” Nix asked, and it was so similar to the question that I’d heard years ago, that my eyes met Patrick’s across the table as I answered.
“Nan planned her own damn funeral, so we’ll do that next week sometime… and then, we’ll just keep living.”
“Okay,” Nix said, as he leaned up to kiss my forehead. I swear I’d never get used to my child being taller than I was. “Um,” he hiccupped, and pulled away. “I’m going to go shower. You okay?”
“I’m good. Go ahead and shower, but leave some hot water, would you?”
“Yup.” He moved to the entry of the kitchen and then turned back to Patrick. “It was nice to meet you again, even though the reason you’re here sucks.”
“It was nice to see ye again, too, Phoenix.”
“Sorry I stole your last name,” Nix said with a crooked, watery smile.
Patrick stared at him for a minute then lifted his chin. “I’m not.”
Chapter 48
Amy
“Thanks for coming,” I said, looking over my shoulder at Patrick, who was glowering at the man I was speaking to.
“Of course, babe,” Sam said kindly, pulling me into a hug and rubbing my back in long, sweeping motions.
The movement would have been a comfort on any other day, but with Patrick watching us, it just made my skin crawl.
“Call me tonight.”
“I will.”
I watched Sam walk out to his lifted pick-up truck, and sighed as he waved before pulling away. Fuck.
I’d been seeing Sam for a little over six months and things were good with us. Really good. He was handsome, smart, he knew what he was doing in bed and he treated Nix like the kid brother he’d never had—interested in what he was doing and protective, but not all up in his business like a parent. He was such a good guy. Over the past month, he’d dealt with my mood swings, breaking plans, and depression, and he’d never once faltered in his devotion.
My dating life had been pretty much non-existent the past few years. I’d dated a man for almost a year when Nix was five, but that had eventually fizzled out. I’d made him wait so long before I’d been ready to have sex with him, that when I’d eventually given in we’d realized that we weren’t very compatible. He’d been a sweetheart, a man I’d met at my yoga class, and I couldn’t have picked a better person for my first time after the attack… but it hadn’t been good. Not in any capacity. He’d been gentle, and tender and everything I could have wanted, but he’d also had no backbone or skill. After the first time when I’d cried, and the next few times that I’d laid there in boredom, we’d both known that it wasn’t going to work out.