“What about you, Mr. Bohannon?” Flynn wasn’t mistaking the harsh gleam in her eye as she stared him down.
“I’ve played in literally hundreds of pubs over my career. I could name half a dozen pubs I’ve played in Ennis over the years, but I couldn’t tell you which one I played that night.”
The woman nodded, as if that confirmed something. “Understandable. Since you weren’t in Ennis at all.”
Ice crawled up Flynn’s spine, and Pru’s hand flexed in his. “Excuse me?”
“You were not in Ennis at the time Pru and Kennedy Reynolds were going through. You weren’t even in Ireland. See, one of your references put me in touch with one Darcy O’Hara. He said if anyone knew anything about you being involved with a woman, it would be her.”
Oh fuck.
Pru frowned. “Who is Darcy O’Hara?”
But it was Lydia Coogan who answered. “One of his groupies, apparently. She followed him on the road for nearly a year, trailing him from venue to venue. During the period in question, she—and he—were in Paris, playing Corcoran’s Irish Pub. She emailed me very detailed notes on the itinerary, including pictures and plane tickets that prove that you could not possibly have crossed paths with Miss Reynolds on that trip.”
Pru opened her mouth, then closed it again.
Flynn felt the ice turn to sweat. “Darcy was more or less a stalker. She could have invented any number of things, and likely would on
ce she heard I was getting married.”
“Perhaps she could. But she didn’t. You lied, Mr. Bohannon. Both of you lied.” She expanded her gimlet stare to include Pru. “And your sister and her husband are complicit.”
Pru’s face had gone white. “I can explain.”
Miss Coogan slammed the file shut and shoved it into her briefcase. “I don’t care, Miss Reynolds. I didn’t like this situation from the beginning. I don’t appreciate bending of the rules to accommodate people. The rules exist for a reason. But if you think I’m going to allow Ari Rosas to stay in your care, you have another thing coming. I’m pursing an injunction to have her removed from the home.”
“No! You can’t!” Pru was on her feet in a second.
The social worker slammed the briefcase shut. “I can and I will. Liars have no business raising a child. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but it will be over by the end of the week, I can assure you.”
“We’ll fight you on this,” Flynn snarled. He had no idea how, but there had to be something.
Coogan flashed a humorless smile. “Go ahead and try.”
Pru followed as the woman headed for the front door. “Miss Coogan, please. Just listen.”
“The time for listening is past. The time for truth is past. I suggest you start saying your goodbyes.”
The house shook as she shut the door behind her.
Chapter Thirteen
PRU FLATTENED HER PALMS against the door, shock and denial arcing through her. No. No, this couldn’t be happening. She’d done everything right. She’d taken the classes, gotten the certifications, and picked up her mother’s mantle without complaint. She’d been a goddamned rock since her mother died—for Ari and her sisters, because they needed her to be. Surely, all of that would outweigh her one indiscretion.
A car cranked up outside. Pru’s knees gave out, and she collapsed like a puppet with cut strings. Flynn caught her before she hit the floor. His arms came tight around her. He was saying something. She didn’t know if it was English or Gaelic. Her ears weren’t working. Her legs weren’t working. Nothing was working in the face of the tearing grief. Nothing could touch the unspeakable horror of what had just happened. She curled in on herself, wrapping both arms around her middle, as if that could contain the horrific pain. Tears poured down her cheeks and she opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her entire body felt like a scream that couldn’t escape.
She was going to lose Ari. She was going to lose the last piece of her mother. Her family would never trust her again. And she was letting down the child, who was counting on her more than anyone else in the world. The child she’d sworn to protect and love all of her days. After a lifetime of playing it safe, one reckless decision had destroyed it all.
It broke her. More than being abandoned by her father. More than the death of her mother. The realization that she’d done this, she’d made this mistake, shattered her. All the agony she’d repressed and ignored for years came flooding out in a silent storm.
Flynn held her as she shook and sobbed. A part of her wanted to shove him away. A part wished she’d never seen him, never met him, never been tempted by him. But that put the responsibility off on someone else, and it had been her decision. Her foolish wish. This disaster wasn’t on him. Pushing him away wouldn’t change anything, and she had sufficient wits remaining to realize that, when all this was over, he was the only one likely to still stand by her. That thought had her turning into him at last, fisting her hands in his shirt and tucking into his body.
An eon later, the tears finally slowed, probably because she’d wept out every drop of moisture in her body. Pru’s head throbbed. Not for the first time, she thought grief felt much like the flu—an attack on all the senses that left you weak and aching. Flynn’s hand was tangled in her hair, stroking her nape. He’d stopped speaking at some point. They were still in the floor of the foyer. Pru felt some dim measure of gratitude for the fact that no guests had stumbled upon them. But they couldn’t stay here.
She lifted her head to find Flynn’s eyes red-rimmed.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m so fucking sorry.”