Running Back nyl-2 Page 18

  I shoved my hands in my back pockets and my eyes found Mike’s. “I was going to go for a run. I don’t know if...?”

  He was already standing. Anna started to speak up, and both her sister and mother kicked her.

  This time my laugh came out a little more genuine. That was my kind of subtlety.

  Mike was changed and downstairs in a moment. “You’re disappointed.”

  “Dumb, right? I didn’t have any guarantees.” I broke into a jog, taking the northern path. A veil of fog covered the land, so every movement was oddly fascinating and disruptive. My gut knotted up with anxiety, and I tried to handle it by increasing my pace until we cleared the top of the fog and the cliff. Below us, blankets of white rolled in from across the sea like some actual, sentient creature. Above, the waxing moon hung low and pale in the gray sky, drifting in and out of ghosting clouds. I slowed and faced him. “I missed you.”

  He looked back at me. “I missed you too.”

  All I wanted was to kiss him, to cling to him, but my stomach still hurt. “Are you still mad at me?”

  He closed the space between us. “No.”

  “Why were you mad at me?” I inched forward.

  He stroked his fingers along my temple and behind my ear. “I didn’t want to get hurt.”

  “I don’t understand.” But even so, the knots in my stomach were slowing coming undone.

  He smiled wryly. “Maybe I’ll explain someday.”

  And then our mouths met, and it was like we were erasing all the time and distance apart. He was warm and strong and right under my hands, and as we kissed the horrible tension of the last week faded away and everything made sense again.

  We sat near the edge of the bluff, our legs pressed together, his arm around me. His voice had the cadence of music. “Tell me about Kilkarten.”

  I sighed. “What if I was wrong? How can I have been so wrong?”

  “You can’t know yet. It’s only been two weeks.”

  “But what if there’s nothing?”

  “Then you try again. You start over somewhere else.”

  A strangled laugh came out. “How can I do that?”

  He stretched his legs out before him. “I do it every year.”

  It took me a moment to process what he meant. “But that’s different.”

  “No, it’s not. I know exactly how it feels to want something so badly, and to fail and have to start over again. And again. To keep going even when you’re losing.”

  I turned, slightly worried for him. “But it’s not your fault if you lose.”

  “Sometimes it is. And it’s my career on the line. My reputation. And I have thousands of people watching. Counting on me. Hoping I’ll fail.”

  “You shouldn’t carry that whole weight on your shoulders. It should be the whole team.”

  “Natalie.” He shifted to face me. The moon brightened his hair to cold fire. “You shouldn’t be taking this completely on yourself, either.”

  “I don’t know what I’ll do if there’s nothing.” To my embarrassment, my voice cracked and I started to sniff. “I’m sorry.” I pressed my hand to my nose and mouth, and then when that wasn’t enough, I pulled up my knees as though that would pull in my emotions. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “You’re stressed out.” He placed an arm around my shoulders and pulled me against him. His warmth seeped into me and edged out the damp air. “It’s okay.”

  Was it? It didn’t get things done. Oh, it was useful enough as a way to release stress, but indulging in long crying jags always seemed pointless, when I could instead be working on how to solve the problem. “I don’t cry.”

  He sounded wry. “So you’re not human?”

  I laughed, and then pressed my hand to my head. “I have such a headache.”

  “That’s what happens when you spend so much time trying not to cry.”

  I flicked my eyes toward him. “And what would you know about that? Spend a lot of time bottling down tears?”

  He leaned his head back, offering me a clear, strong profile.

  I breathed out a long sigh. “No, but it’s the same when you’re bottling any emotion, isn’t it? And you keep your anger wrapped up in a charming smile.”

  “No more than your anxieties are bow-tied with laughter.”

  He had me. I shrugged. “Why cry when you can laugh?”

  “Why yell when you can grin?”

  We both stared up. “You think we’re kind of fucked up?”

  “Utterly.”

  I started laughing, and he started laughing, and then we were kissing in the cold night air. He twisted his upper body over mine, and I fell down into the grass, pricks of moisture chilling my arms until Mike’s hands swept over them.

  We lay there, me curled into him. We watched the stars brighten. “I’ve spent my entire life thinking I knew what I wanted to do. I’m beginning to think I was wrong, and that scares me. It scares me to think that I might have to go to the conference and admit that there is no Ivernis, and Dr. Ceile was right and I’m just a dreamer.”

  “Natalie. None of us are perfect. And you shouldn’t be scared at the conference. If there’s no site here, and you’re able to admit that without clinging to Ivernis—that’s brave. And I’ll come. So you can just pretend you’re telling me, and I’m not going to judge or care, I’ll just want to hear what you know.”

  “Really?”

  “I promise.”

  I wanted Ivernis to be real so badly. I wanted it for so many reasons and so many people, and I’d wanted it for so many years. I wanted to find Ivernis even more when the world or Ceile or my parents told me it was impossible.

  But it was nice—it was wonderful—to have someone whose focus wasn’t tied up in the site, but that simply wanted me to be happy

  So I leaned over and kissed him.

  * * *

  “Goal!”

  The ball tumbled past the posts and made a dive for the hill beyond. Finn, the conscripted goalie, watched it with some regret and more disdain. I cheered and threw my arms around Anna, who let out a squeal that could have been at her perfect kick, but probably came as protest to my sweaty hug.

  I jogged over to the sidelines, swapping out with Anka for the last three minutes of play, and scooped up my water bottle, chugging it down as the clock ran out. Twelve to seven, more than enough to make Mike scowl like a child when he joined me at the sides. “Don’t be such a baby,” I called, and then undermined that with, “Losers weepers!”

  “You didn’t find anything!” he shot back.

  I did a small victory jig. “I found a winning score.”

  He reached out and pulled me toward him. “That’s what you call scoring?”

  I wanted to kiss him until his eyes shut all the way. “You’re just trying to distract me because you’re a sore loser.”

  “Just try me in real football,” he grumbled, and then our lips touched.

  I pulled back and swished the rest of my water over him.

  He let out a cry, even though I knew it had to feel nice after an afternoon of running. I grinned and darted backward as he reached for me, and then sprinted full force across the field.

  Mike tackled me—of course he did—but twisted so he took the brunt of the fall and cushioned my body. The impact didn’t even deter him, because a second after, he rolled over and pinned me to the ground.

  He blocked out the sky. All red and gold and laughter, and my scowl had no heat. “No fair.”

  He braced his arms on the ground, keeping bare inches between our bodies. “Who said I was trying to play fair?”

  “Um...” I kept getting distracted by the light in his eyes. “Fair is good.”

  “Scoring’s better.”

  If this started, it wasn’t going to end, and if I turned my head I could see Jeremy’s shoes. I hooked Mike’s ankle and bucked him off me.

  He cracked a smile as he smacked into the grass. “Damn. You’re strong.”

  “I
know. That was mostly leverage, though.” I rolled off him and offered him a hand up. “I’m secretly a spy.”

  Laughing and teasing, we trooped over to the pub, a hot mess of bodies and sweat that Finn looked relieved to not have to handle for once. Anna promptly sat down in his line of vision and started chatting with the other teenagers she’d befriended.

  It had been good to have a day of activity that wasn’t just digging through nothing. For the past five days, we’d labored intensely for zero results. We dug. We sifted. We opened new units. The frown lines deepened around Jeremy’s mouth. Grace and Duncan looked more and more dissatisfied. And I felt guilty.

  But the crew seemed happy, and a game of soccer let everyone feel better. I’d always thought of archaeology as the classic work hard and party harder—after seven hours in the field, all anyone wanted to do was kick around a ball or drink loads of beer. We’d nominally played crew against locals, but really it had been everyone athletic against Mike, in a sure move to make him lose. It had put everyone in a very good mood, and now the pub rang with laughter.

  I looked around the room and realized I recognized half the people, and it made a different part of my heart ache, like when you get a good book cry. I liked people tapping me on the shoulder or shouting across the room to me or a bench being so full thighs touched. I liked belonging.

  Across the room Maggie sat down next to Kate, and the two women nodded stiffly. I watched as they engaged in conversation over two large mugs.

  “What does your mom do?”

  Mike surreptitiously moved his potatoes onto my plate. “She’s an engineer for semi-conductor chips.”

  I had not been expecting that answer. “What? Wow. How do you get into that?”

  “I think she started off in the field when she was young and kept advancing.”

  “Does she like it?”

  He hesitated. “I’m not really sure. I think it was good enough, and she had three kids to support, and it paid well.”

  “But she didn’t have to support them after you were drafted.”

  He looked at me. “That’s what I thought.”

  I shook my head, caught sight of Maggie, and regained my line of thought. “Wait. Sorry. I meant, what does she do here? You know. When we’re off together or Lauren’s with Paul or Anna’s hanging out with Mary and whoever and trying to get Finn’s attention?”

  “What?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I just can’t help that you’re clueless.”

  “Lauren and Paul?”

  “Totally not a thing. Forget I said anything.”

  He looked around wildly, but Lauren was chatting with Anka and her husband, and Paul was nowhere to be seen. I took Mike’s hand and pulled on it for attention. “Focus. At dinner your mom always says that she met up with someone for lunch, and I know she goes into town twice a week for yoga and to talk to that woman at the art gallery. But that doesn’t seem like much.”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  I sighed. “Mike. You would make the worst spy in the world.”

  “You say that like it’s an actual, serious failing. Where’s Paul?”

  Because it totally was. “How did she meet your dad?”

  He kept scanning the pub. “She worked at the hardware store his second-cousin owned in Southie.”

  We were interrupted by a red-cheeked O’Malley, who really just wanted a second of Mike’s time to gloat, and he hadn’t even been on the field. “Not so good at football, now, O’Connor.”

  Mike shook his head at the older man. “You come over to the States and try our version, and then see how well you do.”

  “Don’t be sore about it. I’ll buy you a pint.” Grinning like a madmen, O’Malley went off.

  I propped my chin on my hand. “See? All you have to do to get people to like you is lose.”

  Mike shook his head. “No one in this village takes me seriously.”

  “That’s because they’re just too used to you troublesome O’Connors. But at least they buy you beer.”

  “There’s that.” His eyes tracked to the side. “One sec. I have to go punch Paul in the face.”

  I rolled my eyes as he climbed out of his seat. “Play nice!”

  When they came back, Mike looked satisfied, and Paul looked irritated, and no one looked too banged up. In fact, they both swung their arms.

  “Done playing in the dirt, boys?”

  Paul scowled. “Hardly fair when he’s a professional athlete.”

  “Don’t whine. It’s unattractive.”

  “Not really looking to pick you up, love.”

  Mike draped his arm around me. “Not your love.”

  I knocked my shoulder against him. “Smug’s not attractive, either.”

  Mike kissed me. “I’ve been wanting to beat the crap out of this guy for ages. I’m feeling a lot better now.”

  Paul grumbled. “You didn’t. I let you land that punch, because—”

  I kicked him.

  Unlike the O’Connors, he didn’t pretend he hadn’t felt it. “Jesus Christ! Does everyone in this family communicate by kicks?”

  Mike took a swig of his drink. “We like to be subtle.”

  “You’re all mad.”

  Lauren dropped down beside him. “As hatters. Why is your cheek swelling?”

  Paul leaned back and delivered a long look at Mike. “Ask your brother.”

  Mike shrugged. “Ask Natalie.”

  I widened my eyes at Lauren. “It’s totally not my fault. How did he not know you two were a thing?”

  She let out a beleaguered groan. “Because he’s an idiot. They’re both idiots.”

  We spent the next hour and a half needling each other and devouring an unseemly amount of fish and chips. At some point my gaze, now slightly fuzzier, fell back on Kate and Maggie, who still sat close. I shook my head. “They must have figured everything out.”

  Mike ate a poor, innocent fry doused in vinegar and salt. “Figured what?”

  “Any lingering resentment about your dad and uncle. Paul,” I said, remembering Patrick’s month mind, “you sounded like you knew what was between the brothers. What was it?”

  He cut a derisive look my way. “None of our business.”

  Lauren laughed. “So basically, you’re clueless.”

  He scowled at her. “My mum said they all had a fight, that Brian was always a rebel but it worsened, and then he took off for America and never came back. And the next thing Maggie heard, he was married. Broke her heart.”

  Mike snorted. “You make it sound like he married my mom as soon as he arrived.”

  Paul shook his head. “Why don’t you think he did? Do you know how many undocumented Irish are in America? They can’t come home if they ever want to return to the States.”

  Well, I didn’t know. “How many are there?”

  “Forty, fifty thousand.” He scoffed at our astonishment. “Don’t any of you read the papers? There was a whole article this morning.”

  Mike leaned forward. “What are you implying? He married my mom for citizenship?”

  Paul leaned back. “I’m not implying anything. Just stating the facts.”

  Mike shook his head. “They got married because they were in love.”

  Paul laughed. “Ah, I’m sure of it.”

  I squeezed Mike’s had so he didn’t leap up and attack Paul across the table. “He probably wouldn’t have left Maggie and Ireland if he was madly in love with her.”

  “Unless,” Paul said darkly, “he had an excellent reason for wanting to get away.”

  Mike’s grip tightened on mine, and I didn’t need to look at him to know his face had gone stony. He was thinking about his father’s involvement with the Nationalists again. “That’s possible,” I said quickly, “but instead of just conjecturing, why don’t we ask them?”

  They all stared at me like the crazy bug had bitten me. Paul shook his head. “I don’t want to uncover that old shite.”

  “We can’t
ask them about their old romances,” Lauren added.

  I shrugged. “Why not? What’s the worst that can happen?”

  They were all silent for a moment, and then Mike stood abruptly. “I’m sick of only knowing half truths.”

  Lauren sighed and also stood. “It’s on your head if she freaks out.”

  They all started forward, but I tugged Mike’s hand to stop him. “Maybe I shouldn’t go with you guys.”

  Paul raised his brows. Lauren leveled a look at me. But Mike was the one who spoke. “This is your crazy idea, Sullivan. So get your ass up.”

  So all four of us crossed the room and ranged ourselves before the O’Connor widows. Mike took center stage. “What happened twenty-seven years ago? Between Dad and the two of you.”

  Kate’s cup rattled against the saucer as she plunked it down. Maggie spoke sharply. “None of your business.”

  Lauren looked mulish. “We’re curious. And everyone here loves to gossip, so if we buy enough pints, someone’s going to talk. But we’d rather you did.”

  The women exchanged a glance, and then Kate sighed in defeat. Maggie scowled. “It was all bound to come out sooner or later. Come on, then. We’ll go back to my place.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  First, Maggie had to make tea for all of us. She poured for herself last, and then we settled around the low wooden table, warm mugs between our hands as the rain started to patter down. “We grew up together. Patrick and Brian and me.” She nodded at Paul. “I had a baby sister, you know, but she was ten years younger and quiet, so we never paid her any attention.

  “Brian was the daring one. We’d go swimming at night or tell our parents we were on school trips and sneak out to parties. Stupid things. Patrick was a little older, and stubborn as hell. Came with us but would worry the whole time.”

  She paused and turned her mug before sipping from it. “And I was...young. Not purposefully cruel, but I flirted with Patrick when I knew my heart went to Brian. Stole kisses from both. Still, I didn’t expect Patrick to be so shocked when Brian proposed and I said yes.”

  Beside me, Mike shifted. Slowly, I lay my hand on his and our fingers entwined. Maggie pushed out a breath and continued. “We were going to live at the farm when he came back from university. But Brian—he was so rash. He wanted a united Ireland. He wanted to go off and fight.”