Running Back nyl-2 Read online

“Because it’s better than being fucking lonely?”

  “Mike, don’t take me out of context—”

  “I don’t think I am. You don’t believe in love.”

  “I think people fall in love, I just don’t think it sticks. Why do you care? This should not be such a big deal.”

  He massaged his shoulder like he’d filled with too much tension. “I think it’s sad.”

  I prepped myself to run. “Well, maybe I’m sad, then. Let’s head back.”

  Chapter Eleven

  I didn’t see Mike again until early evening the next day, after I’d returned from meeting up with a historian in Cork. The woman had been very informative and interesting, and while she’d given me several new insights into the county’s history, I wasn’t sure it would be directly helpful for learning more about Ivernis.

  I ran into Mike when I was heading up to my room—or more accurately, he ran into me, stepping out of the library as I passed. I halted, worried that he might still be mad at me from the night before. Instead, he grinned at me. “Gibbons.”

  “What?”

  “Gibbons are monogamous. And they don’t fly.”

  I smiled. “I forgot gibbons. I saw a pair at some zoo in California.” They’d swung around on their long, flexible arms, playing and flirting until the female had grown bored and climbed a tree. The male had followed, trying to get her attention and generally making a nuisance of himself as she tried to get some peace. Still, after a while she’d given in and they’d gone tree swinging again. Cam and I had watched, rapt, for half an hour. “You looked that up?”

  He shrugged as though it was nothing. “I look everything up. My sisters think I’m a space shot, but I’m actually very well informed.”

  I raised my brows. “You can be a well-informed space shot.”

  He grinned again and leaned against the wall, closing the space between us until I could feel the heat from our bodies. “Come to dinner tonight?”

  “Um.” I seemed to be having trouble finding oxygen. “Okay.”

  He leaned forward and my breath caught. He drew his thumb slowly over my cheekbone and my heart stuttered to a halt.

  He straightened, that charming grin taunting me. “Sorry about that. You had an eyelash.” He placed his hands in his pocket and sauntered down the hall.

  I had to lean against the wall to regain myself, and he’d just turned on to the stairs when I pushed upright and shouted after him. “Michael O’Connor! My eyelashes are nearly invisible!”

  Only laughter answered me.

  * * *

  We went out to dinner at O’Malley’s, the one nice restaurant in the village center. It was half empty when we arrived, but after twenty minutes every seat was taken.

  “News travels fast,” Kate said without looking up from her menu.

  I had to agree. Every person craned their head our way, from a table of weathered old men in low hats and heavy jackets to a group of girls Anna’s age. Only the smallest children seemed to be clueless, crying loudly as their parents failed to pay attention to them.

  It only took fifteen minutes before the first person approached, and the noise level dropped noticeably. Mike tossed me a quick smile as a middle-aged man cleared his throat beside Kate. “Mrs. O’Connor?”

  She lowered the menu. “Yes.”

  He tipped his hat. “I’m Eamon Murphy. Knew your husband when he was a lad.” His gaze flitted toward Mike. “You’re the image of your dad.”

  Kate smiled politely. “I believe he mentioned you.”

  “Good to have O’Connors back in town again. Doesn’t seem right without you.” He waited.

  Kate waved toward them. “My daughters, Anna and Lauren. My eldest, Michael. And this is Michael’s friend, Natalie.”

  I heard the thumps of several kicks. A foot smacked into my leg. I couldn’t tell if it had been meant for me or someone else.

  “Ah, the archaeologist.” Eamon smiled, wrinkles spreading out over his leathery cheeks and brow. “I hear something’s dodgy with the excavation? You better fix that.”

  This time, I was the kicker. Mike winced.

  Eamon missed it, as he’d turned back to Kate. “We’ve all been very curious about you. Expected you to come back years ago.”

  Kate’s fingers stiffened around her silverware. “Well. I didn’t.”

  He didn’t take note of the shortness in her voice. “Lovely city, Boston. I can see why Brian wanted to visit, you know, though we always thought he would settle down here.”

  I searched for something to diffuse Kate’s pained look. Anna beat me to it, speaking up in an exact mimic of her mother’s tone. “Well. He didn’t.”

  Eamon chuckled, and the talk turned to more mundane things. By the time the food arrived, several other locals had edged up to our table. Everyone was very curious about Brian O’Connor’s life in America, though the curiosity was tinged with a wide array of other emotions—disapproval, excitement, disdain, hurt, vicarious interest. Kate did her best to give succinct explanations, but each time another person approached and asked, “Why didn’t he come home?” she tensed even more.

  So it was a relief when we left, retreating to the inn where the only other guests in the parlor were a German couple and a family from County Meath. I figured I’d head to my room, but Kate and Lauren roped me into a game of Go Fish. I was torn, since they were probably only asking to be polite, but I couldn’t help myself. The warmth they radiated was addictive and bone-deep. Anna might be angry, Kate sad, Lauren stressed and Mike protective, but they weren’t cold. They felt warm.

  I wanted to feel warm.

  Mike, Lauren and I sat on the floor before the fireplace while Anna curled up against her mother on the sofa, watching as Lauren dealt out the cards. “We should see if anyone has any pictures of Dad. Aunt Maggie should.”

  “Aunt Maggie?” Lauren sloppily picked up her cards. I sneaked a look. “Jesus.”

  Anna sat straighter. “She is. She’s our only aunt.”

  “I’m sure she has pictures.” Kate hugged her youngest to her side, her voice just shy of normal. “Of course, she’s suffering her own loss right now, so maybe we should save that for later.”

  “I’d think she’d want to look at them. Because Uncle Patrick’s probably in them too, right?”

  “Laur, hold your cards closer,” Mike said in a beleaguered voice, like he’d told her time and again.

  “Why don’t you just not look at them?”

  “Because they’re staring me in the face. Besides, Natalie’s cheating too.”

  My head flew up. “That’s not true.”

  Mike grinned at me. “And she lies.”

  I narrowed my eyes. His danced. Anna kept talking. “Well, we’re going to her house tomorrow, aren’t we? For the month’s mind thing. We can ask.”

  “We’ll see.” Kate closed her eyes as she stroked her daughter’s head. “We’ll see.”

  The evening went on. Somehow I ended up in involved in an intense discussion with Lauren and Anna on Girl Scout Cookie names. I was vastly outnumbered by Bostonian fools who thought Caramel Delights was legitimate.

  “Hey,” I tossed at Mike, after we figured out the difference in cookie names came from which of the two Girl Scout baking companies produced it (thus destroying a satisfying and endless argument forever), “isn’t it weird, then, that you ended up playing for the New York Leopards? Didn’t the Patriots bid on you?”

  Lauren groaned. “Oh, sore subject.”

  “What? They didn’t?”

  Mike looked aggravated. “They did, they were just too late. What was I supposed to do?”

  My mouth flapped open. “So would you rather be playing for them? Would you leave the Leopards?” I felt personally betrayed.

  He laughed. “No. Not anymore. They’re my family.”

  “Actually,” Anna put in from the couch, “we’re you’re family. They’re just a bunch of dudes who knock people down.”

  I excused myself around nin
e, when Kate started yawning. Back in my room, I spent the next hour writing emails. I started with Cam and Mom, but the O’Connors’ relationship made me send notes to each of my brothers. When I came back from Ireland, maybe I’d see if we could all get together for dinner.

  And then a new email popped up. And I stopped breathing.

  The subject line was innocuous. The sender was Dr. Henry Ceile.

  Dear Ms. Sullivan,

  I hope you’ve been well. I see you are in Ireland working, once more, on one of Dr. Anderson’s projects. I am about to begin excavating an Iron Age site in Ulster, and I would like to extend an invitation to join me as one of my site managers. I would be happy to meet with you and speak about this opportunity.

  Best,

  Dr. Henry Ceile

  I was still staring at it when someone knocked on my door and it swung open. I looked up to see Mike.

  “Hey,” he began, and then stopped and frowned. “You all right?”

  I waved at the computer, too stunned to speak, and Mike came over to read it. “What is this? A job offer?”

  “Yeah. From this guy who’s never gotten along with my advisor. He’s trying to poach me!”

  Mike couldn’t smother his smile. “Are you interested?”

  I almost choked on oxygen. “In working for the devil? No way.”

  “Why not? You’d at least get to work on a site in your field.”

  “Thank you, for reminding once again that I will never be able to excavate at Kilkarten.”

  He stared at me.

  I took a deep breath. “Sorry. That was uncalled for. Just—I would never betray Jeremy like that, by going to work for Ceile. That would be tantamount to saying that Jeremy’s crazy, that I agree with Ceile that Ivernis doesn’t exist. Would it make sense professionally? Sure. But—it would make me sick with myself.”

  He slowly sat. “You’re still upset you’re not excavating Kilkarten.”

  I let out a strangled laugh. “Of course I am. You knew that.”

  “I didn’t realize how strongly you felt.” He studied me. “Are you upset with me?”

  I avoided his too-clear gaze. “I don’t know. I guess my emotions about you are all tangled up.”

  “But that’s the main block between us.”

  I shrugged and nodded. “It’s the elephant in the room.”

  “Okay. I get that. But—maybe for tonight we can forget it and just be friends.”

  I nodded. “I’d like that.”

  So for that night, we talked and watched Irish television. He told me about his teammates and I told him about my travels and we made mangled attempts at accents, starting with Ireland and spreading all over the world. He tore apart my fantasy team and I taught him how to write his name in ancient Greek. It was one of the best nights I’d had in a long time, and when he finally slipped out the door, I stared after him for a long, long time before falling into a deep sleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  When I woke, I threw on my simple black dress and blew out my hair. I left it loose and straight instead of shoving it into my habitual ponytail, and even scrounged up some eyeliner from the black hole of my messenger bag. When I finished, I could see hints of my mother in my reflection. For a moment I just stared, slightly uneasy, before attempting on a whim the look she had been particularly famous for. It was a cross between a smile and sneer, an expression of unrelenting disdain for the mere mortals that wanted her attention.

  It looked so ridiculous on me that I laughed, and headed down to breakfast.

  Downstairs, the O’Connor women waited in unrelenting black. Different blacks; Kate looked elegant in a sheath and pearls, Lauren looked like the dress could double for cocktail hour, while Anna’s looked kind of poufy and alternative. She didn’t have her dark eyeliner on for once, but she hadn’t given up the combat boots either.

  We’d already started in on our eggs and hashbrowns when footsteps sounded in the hall. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel Mike’s presence behind me, palpable and elemental as a gust of wind or a burst of light. “Morning, everyone.” He tugged on my ponytail. “Morning, Natalie.”

  Kate smiled.

  I flushed. “Good morning.” I glanced up, and froze.

  He’d put on a suit, his black jacket sharp, his white shirt crisp. His brilliant hair gleamed in sharp contrast. I sucked in a breath. He grinned down lazily and filched toast off my plate.

  I blinked at him. “You stole my breakfast.”

  He gave me one of his devastating smiles, before turning to his mother. “Wow, Mom. You look great.” He dropped into the chair beside me, angling his leg so his knee brushed mine. I tried to keep from jumping and he tugged the plate of sausages toward him.

  Kate O’Connor set down her coffee mug. “Thank you, Michael. Your compliments are always so sweet and so unexpected.”

  He gave her a puppy-eyed expression. “I remember flowers and cards at every holiday.”

  Kate smiled. “You are always so sweet.”

  “This is the problem with my family,” he said to me, sotto-voice. “They say one thing, but I suspect they actually mean two or three other things. Makes conversation very complicated.”

  Kate laughed. “And doesn’t Natalie look lovely too?”

  I jerked up as they all turned my way, Kate smiling a little too smugly. Mike turned his head, ever so slowly, and tilted it up and down as he took me in. I tried to fight the rising color in my cheeks. God, why didn’t he ever blush? He was the redhead.

  “Yeah,” he said. “She does.”

  I was almost positive both Anna and Lauren kicked their brother when he said that.

  I kept stealing glances at him all through breakfast. I couldn’t seem to help myself. I was used to seeing him in jeans or in running gear, not in a formal suit. A red tie hung loosely around his neck, and I barely heard anything as he laughed, his eyes glinting, lips parting...

  I placed my silverware down and practically leaped into the air. “Excuse me. I have to get my...something...from the car.”

  Outside, I leaned against the warm stone of the inn, my breath rushing in and out. This was crazy. I couldn’t get involved with Mike when Kilkarten lay between us. Maybe once we were back in New York, or after his sisters decided definitively that there would never be an excavation, but when everything still hung in the air—it felt too much like emotional manipulation.

  Lauren’s voice floated out, and I jerked upright and tried to look like I totally hadn’t been fantasizing about her brother. But she was nowhere. Instead, I noticed the closest window propped slightly open. Ever so stealthily, I sidled over until I stood next to it. A rose trellis got in my face and made the world smell all pink and orange and candy-like.

  Lauren kept speaking. “She’s really pretty. I mean, she always looked pretty, but normal pretty. Today...”

  I preened.

  Kate ruined that. “You know who she reminds me of?” She paused, and I pictured her taking a long sip of coffee. “Tamara Bocharov.”

  Oh, shit.

  But what had I expected, putting on a dress and make-up?

  I guess I hadn’t expected anything. I’d just wanted Mike to think I was pretty, due to my certifiable insanity.

  Still, no one said anything. Kate sighed. “You’re all too young to remember her. That’s depressing.”

  “I remember when Pluto was a planet,” Anna said.

  Lauren snorted. “Barely.”

  “So who was Tamara?” Mike said.

  “Oh, a model back in the day. She—”

  “Ahh,” Anna said. “That explains why you like Natalie. I was wondering why you were hooking up with a girl who actually has a brain.”

  “I told you, we’re not a couple—”

  “Whatever. You should just admit it. The keys to a happy family are open communication.”

  “For Christ’s sake—”

  “Mike,” Kate said.

  He groaned. I snickered, then clapped my hand over my mouth a
nd pinched my nose shut to stifle the sound.

  He groaned. “Don’t we have a memorial to go to?”

  * * *

  Four hundred years ago, local O’Connors and O’Malleys and Murphys painstakingly built the local church by hand, making it older than America, as Eileen’s son and grandchildren cheerfully informed us as soon as the building came into view.

  Inside, light spilled across the pale wooden support beams and pews, making the whole room brighter than I’d expected. Whitewashed walls surrounded a handful of stained glass windows. I would never say it, because that would be wrong, but it looked pretty damn quaint.

  People packed the pews, dressed in black and curiosity. They watched as we walked down the red carpet and sat beside Maggie and Paul.

  The Irish O’Connors didn’t look so thrilled at the Americans’ presence.

  “Thank you for having us,” Kate said formally. “I’m sure it’s still very difficult for you.”

  Maggie looked her up and down. “Well, you can’t get over someone in a month, can you?”

  Kate stiffened. “Not someone you have a strong bond with, no.”

  Maggie’s lips curved. “This is where we all grew up.” She gestured around the church. “Brian and Patrick and I used to skip sometimes and go smoke by the Celtic cross.”

  “I know.”

  Both women narrowed their eyes and looked away.

  The parish priest—Father MacCarthy, whose nephew was one of the crew I’d hired—called for all our attention. I’d never heard of parishes outside of Austen novels—didn’t Edward get a parish? Or Edmund? The Mansfield Park boy, whoever he was. And the dad in North and South had one, with Richard Armitage.

  By Elizabeth Gaskell, I meant. Because I definitely thought about 19th century literature based on authors, not actors.

  Father MacCarthy started in on the dearly departed. I studied Kate and Maggie and the space between, maintained with stiff shoulders and pointed glares.

  After the mass finished, everyone filed out and headed over to Maggie’s. Some of the locals stopped to pick up food and flowers from home on the way over, while others enveloped the O’Connors completely. People crowded the house on Blue Street to overflowing. Outside, tables had been set up, and I sat down at one, nursing a glass of lemonade.