“Meat . . . if saying that will make you eat it.”
“You’re too much like your mother in some ways.”
“And too much like you in others,” I retort, punching buttons until the oven preheat lights come on. “It’s going to take an hour to bake. Can you make it that long, or should we go out to eat?”
“Nope.” Flipping through three cupboards before finding the glassware, he pulls two glasses out and pours each to a third full with the amber liquid. He never drinks hard liquor. “Neither of us are leaving this kitchen until you explain why you were arrested.”
My stomach drops. “How did you—”
“Told you, I’m not deaf. Besides, Ivy promised you weren’t hurt, but you were in trouble. It wasn’t hard to put two-and-two together.” He sets both tumblers on the kitchen table, drags the chairs out, and sits. “Let’s hear it, from the beginning. And I want to know exactly how this guy is involved, because I’m guessing he’s at the center of it.”
Crap. Dad’s never been one for delays, so I shouldn’t be at all surprised.
“So?”
I pour the whiskey back, grimacing at the unpleasant burn. It’s not nearly as unpleasant as this conversation is going to be. “Remember that bombing last week?”
“It’s not that bad, actually.” I scoop a mouthful in. “A bit too much salt, but the sauce is good.”
Dad twirls his fork in his hand absently. “The IRA, Amber. I ought to drag you to the airport right now.”
“See? This is why I lied in the first place.”
His answering glare is full of exasperation. “And now you’re actually carrying on with this . . . River. What kind of name is that anyway? Doesn’t sound Irish.”
“I like it, actually. It suits him.”
He snorts. “What’s his middle name? Twigs? Bog?”
I roll my eyes. Dad’s sarcastic side can be pretty predictable. “He saved my life, Dad. If it hadn’t been for River, you would have been flying here anyway, only it’d be to visit me in the hospital or collect my body.”
The cords in his neck tense. “Because of his brother.”
“Yes, his brother. Not River. He had nothing to do with it or with those people. Condemning him would be like condemning me for that mess with Jesse and Alex. You know . . . the one that cost you your job?”
“My choices are what cost me my job,” he mumbles. “I can’t blame Jesse for that.”
“Yeah, so Alex told me . . . finally,” I say softly. “I know what you did, Dad.”
His gaze flashes to me. “I’m not proud of what I did but, to be clear, it was the best way to protect everyone under the circumstances.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just do. And we’re not talking about me here. We’re talking about you, and what is going on here in Ireland. I know you’re twenty-five years old and I can’t dictate what you do anymore, but your mother and I raised you to be better than this. Just associating with this family is a bad idea, Amber. Look what’s happened since that bombing. You’ve been arrested for lying to a police officer!”
“You lied to an entire police organization,” I remind him. “And a judge. And Mom, for a while.”
He purses his lips. I’m guessing Alex is going to get an earful when Dad makes it home. “Well, you’re damn lucky that detective isn’t pressing charges. I should go down there and kiss his ass. And do you realize that you could just as easily have been in that pub when it got bombed?”
“I know,” I say quietly. Had I not decided to go to Cork, I likely would have. I would have met the infamous Aengus Delaney, looked the asshole right in the eye, perhaps shared a pint with him.
And then who knows? I could have ended up like Rowen. Or worse.
Dad pours himself another whiskey. “You know, since Jesse finally settled down and started using his head, I thought I could finally relax. I thought our family was past this sort of thing. I never thought you’d do something so stup—” He cuts himself off, and then, in a slightly softer voice that screams of disappointment, he finishes off with, “so dangerous.”
“Neither did I,” I admit. His words burn, but not nearly as much as they might have in the past. “But it was the best way to protect everyone.”
He heaves a sigh, shaking his head to himself. “How do you know?” He parrots me, just as I did to him.
I rest my chin on his shoulder. “I just do.”
He chews his food in silence for a few moments, before asking, “So are you going to come home with me?”
I shake my head.
“I didn’t think so,” he grumbles. “Leaving here on Sunday?”
“I changed my flight this morning. I’m staying in Ireland for another week, at least.”
“And then?”
“And then I don’t know.” I hope I find my answer soon, though. “I’m taking it one day at a time, like I have every day since I arrived here.”
He stabs at his food with his fork. “This thing you have with him is doomed, Amber. You do realize that, right? That boy’ll never not be a criminal.”
“I do realize what he is.”
“He’ll never step foot in our home.”
“I know that, too.”
“And Dublin is 4,682 miles away from Sisters. I Googled it.”
I smile, sadly. “I really care about him. 4,682 times more than I ever cared about Aaron, or Brody, or even Neil. In a different way. A deeper way.”
I can see the frustration in his face as he mentally runs back through the obstacles to this relationship that he just presented. All of them are valid. That frustration is followed by a flash of realization, and then fear.
“You are not actually thinking of staying here. That’s just . . . You can’t do that, Amber! You have a career and a family in Oregon. A life! You can’t just blow that off for some guy you’ve known for a minute!” Each word comes out faster, louder, laced with more panic. “That’d be just about the dumbest thing—”
“Dad!” I cut him off with a yell, but follow it up with a pat on his arm and a smile. “You’re not saying anything to me that I haven’t already thought about. You raised me well. Now you need to trust that I’ll do the right thing for me.” I have an envelope’s worth of plane ticket receipts to countries I’ve dreamed of visiting and yet I’ve been watching the clock on the wall, anxiously waiting for River to come back. Leaving Ireland doesn’t sound at all appealing to me, and yet ditching all of my plans doesn’t, either.
There has to be some other answer.
He heaves a sigh that turns into a monstrous yawn. He’s exhausted, but too stubborn to turn in just yet. “Just do me a favor . . . please.”
“What?” I ask with hesitation.
“Get on a plane and fly somewhere—anywhere away from here and him.”
I open my mouth to protest but he cuts me off with a raised hand.
“No. Just listen to me. I get it, okay? You care about him, a lot. I’m not going to try to change how you feel. God knows I won’t get anywhere with that. The boy did save your life after all. That’s bound to create a strong connection. But, sometimes people need some time and space to think clearly. You’re one of those people, Amber. Despite what you’ve been through and all these changes you may feel going on in your life right now, you’re not suddenly going to become this spontaneous, fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants girl who wanders through life ‘one day at a time.’ ”