Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

“Mike, calm down.”

“Dad, it’s okay.” I shook my head at him, and then, even though it was difficult, I forced myself to meet Michael’s gaze. “I’ve been in Hartwell.”

His nostrils flared. “Your friend said you were only there on vacation.”

“She … she knows who you are. She was covering for me.”

“Jesus Christ,” he said, disgust flattening his expression. Somehow it was worse than the anger. “I never met such a coward.”

“That’s enough,” Dad cautioned.

“Yeah, it is.” Michael curled his upper lip. “Yeah, it’s definitely enough.” He moved toward me and stopped. “Get out of my way.”

Reaching for the numbness that had gotten me through the bad days this past decade, it eluded me as I sank back against the wall, trying to meld with it so Michael could walk past without touching me.

His expression was stony as he stormed by me and a few seconds later, we listened to the front door open and then slam shut.

Pain shuddered through me, and I gasped for breath.

All these years … all these years and he was still so mad at me.

“Do you blame her?”

“Bluebell,” Dad said. “I am so sorry.”

I shook my head, staring at the floor. “He hates me.”

“No, I don’t believe that.” My dad clasped my shoulders and then I was pulled against his chest.

I melted into him, clenching my fingers in his shirt as I shuddered harder in my attempt to hold back the tears. “Dad.”

“No one stays that mad at someone for nine years for no reason. He still cares. He’ll come around.”

“I have to fix it,” I decided. Not in the way Dad hoped I’d fix it. No. Michael and I were long over. But I found I couldn’t stand his hatred almost as much as I couldn’t stand him hurting. We would never have a relationship again, but before I left Boston, I wanted to mend what I could between us.

I added Michael Sullivan to my to-do list before I could leave for Hartwell:

Make sure Dad was happy.

Put my relationships with Darragh and Davina back together.

Talk to Dermot and hopefully get us back on the right path again.

Apologize to Michael and ask him to forgive me.

* * *

After the ugly confrontation with Michael, Dad and I tried to eat dinner, but my appetite was gone. I excused myself from the table and gave Dad a kiss on the cheek to reassure him. I hated the contrition in his expression. He was trying to do a good thing, and I wasn’t mad at him.

Unfortunately, he’d underestimated the full extent of Michael’s anger. I had too. When we’d seen each other for the first time in years last summer, I’d seen only shock and relief in his expression. But I guess me running away again was one too many acts of cowardice for him.

Was it cowardice? I asked myself as I walked upstairs.

I guessed it was. I’d never seen it in that light.

My past was awash with grief and Michael was inadvertently a part of that. Knowing I could never be with him, I’d cut our connection because seeing him every day, continuing our relationship, would have emotionally destroyed me. Distance helped numb my feelings for him. In fact, it had worked so well, it had shocked the hell out of me when I did see him again because the feelings overwhelmed me. They’d never gone away.

I’d merely put them on ice.