Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

“Bluebell,” he said, his tone coaxing, “they’re not here to hang you from a cross. They’re here because they haven’t seen you in nine years. Now I’m not saying there isn’t anger and hurt there, but it’s time to work on that. It’s time to heal the breach.”

Dad didn’t give me a chance to respond. He grabbed my hand and led me downstairs. My legs turned to jelly, and I wondered if they?

?d hear the shallow staccato sounds of my breathing.

When we walked downstairs, they weren’t in the living room.

My grip on Dad was probably painful.

I knew I was acting like a little girl, clinging to him, but I couldn’t seem to let go as he led me into the kitchen.

Tears I’d held back for years flooded my eyes at the sight of my big brother and sister leaning against the kitchen counter with coffee mugs in hand. I knew from photos that Darragh had grown to look more and more like Dad. And Davina, except in style, looked a lot like Mom. It was rare to see Mom in anything but nurse scrubs. Davina’s hair was similarly styled to mine, long, beachy waves but without the bangs, and she wore skinny jeans, a plain black T-shirt, and a stylish pinstripe blazer. She wore cute flats that looked like they cost a lot of money. In fact, everything about my sister, from her clothes to her makeup, although casual, hinted at quality and money.

Dad had gifted me his eye color and the dimple in my left cheek, and my paternal grandmother had gifted me her height and curves. Davina (like Dillon had been) was tall like Mom with slender curves. I’d cursed the fates for not giving me my mother’s height and figure.

I took all this in, noting how well they both looked, and pride overwhelmed me. We came from a working-class, Irish-American family—my big brother was now a sports writer for the Boston Globe and my big sister worked in an office in the financial district. And even better they were both happy in their personal lives. All of that filled my chest with something that felt heavily bittersweet. I hadn’t been a part of any of that, and it was my fault.

Darragh put his cup on the counter, and I braced myself as he strode purposefully across the kitchen.

Without a word, he pulled me into his arms, my face pressed to his warm chest.

He was hugging me.

Sobs that had stayed locked inside me for years burst out and I closed my arms around his broad back and bawled.

“Ssshh, baby sister,” he tried to soothe, his arms tightening.

But I couldn’t.

Hard, painful tears wracked me, and they held everything in them. All the pain of the past decade.

“Dahlia, please,” he begged after a while, choking on the words.

I reached for some control, trying to squeeze the sobs back down. Slowly, shuddering, I managed until my tears were silently rolling down my face.

Darragh gently eased me away, and I let go of him to wipe at my face. He reached behind me and took tissues from Dad to hand to me. I wiped at my eyes, which I was sure were now giant panda eyes.

My brother’s expression was strained, his hazel eyes bright with unshed tears.

Mortified by my reaction to his hug, I flicked a glance at Davina and froze. She was crying quietly, but her tears seemed to be uncontrollable too.

More tears slipped down my cheeks seeing her pain. “I’m so sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” She swiped at her face, clearly aggravated.

“For everything.”

“Well, that’s kind of the problem, isn’t it? You blamed yourself for things that weren’t your fault, and you took off. And I do blame you for that, Dahlia. I blame you for missing out on the last nine years of my life and for making me miss out on yours.”

“Let’s all sit down.” Dad pressed a hand to my back.

The suggestion relieved my shaky legs. Dad took the seat beside me, and Darragh sat across from me beside Davina, but not before touching my shoulder in comfort.

God, I loved my big brother.

The ache of missing him swelled inside me.

“Where have you been?” Davina demanded first.