Tranquility (Turbulence Series Part Two), page 38
She let out a horrified laugh. “Oh my god, exactly like that!” Well, now she knew why that saying existed.
He shook his head. “Nah, there’s more to it than that. He’s pissed off, but he’s not that callous.”
Sitting up, wiping her tears, she glanced up at the driver self-consciously. What a story he’ll have! “He said not to come back until I want to talk about a commitment. What the hell does that even mean?”
Ferris leaned back in the seat and sighed as the taxi maneuvered through Cork City.
Sniffing, she said in a more determined fashion, “I want to go back to work; I’m going back to work. I can get Doctor Thomas to clear me. Four months was a ridiculous time frame. I’m fine.”
Ferris shook his head, his attention still on the scenery outside his window.
“KitKat is in India,” Brit continued. “I can join her there.”
“You aren’t a hundred percent, and I’m not having you risk another photographer’s life by going to work when you’re not at a hundred percent. No.” His voice brooked no arguments.
“I’ll go freelance then.”
“I’ll fire your ass.”
Brit looked at him, eyes wide.
Ferris turned his gaze to her. “You don't run away. Not this time. That’s what you do, Peanut Brittle—you run. You’ve been running for years, from country to country, from job to job, so you didn’t have to think about anyone or anything. Now, your feelings get all icky, and you wanna bounce. I’m not helping you do that. Figure it the fuck out.”
“I didn’t run away from him. And he kicked me out!”
“He asked you to consider your relationship!” Ferris fired back. “So take a damn minute and give it a look instead of reverting to your old habits.” Ferris leaned forward to address the driver. “Pull over, will you? I’m getting out.”
“Ferris!”
As the driver pulled to the side of the road, Ferris looked at her and asked, “Is he worth it, Brit?”
She nodded. He was; of course, he was. It was Sean.
“Then drop the dramatics and take a risk. I have a feeling he won’t disappoint you.” As she watched him, he withdrew several Euros from his front pocket and handed it over the front seat. “Take her where she needs to go.”
“Ferris…”
Opening the door, he looked back at her. “I’m heading back to the States, but I mean it, Brit; you better not freelance.” He looked over her messy hair, tear-stained face, and gave her a small smile. “You survived a horrible thing, Peanut Brittle. Make it count.” And then he was out the door, slamming it shut on her.
Chapter forty-four
BRIT
“Where’s my camera?” Brit demanded, her tone low and angry, eyes flashing.
Evie faltered in the doorway of Brit’s cottage but continued with her greeting, “Good morning, Britton.”
“I asked you a question.”
Evie nodded once. “I have it; it’s safe. I’ll return it to you this evening.”
“Why doesn’t Sean have it?” Brit accused.
Evie’s brows lifted. “So you’ve seen Sean.”
Giving Evie a tight, cruel smile, she expanded, “I’ve fucked Sean.” Technically, it was the other way around, but she wanted her words to have a shock factor.
“Well, then he must not be too upset,” she responded dryly.
Bitch. She should have known that sex didn’t faze Evie; she would probably send Sean a thumbs-up emoji later; exploding fireworks and clinking champagne glasses. “You did a lousy job of explaining things to him.”
Evie smiled, walking further into the small space. “Well, it appears you’ve done a lovely job of smoothing things over with him.”
“I shouldn’t have had to do so. What’s your reason for it?”
“The gesture was for you, for your peace of mind. I didn’t think he’d see anything in it; it’s just a camera.”
Brit stared at her as though she’d called her baby ugly. But she continued, “You also didn’t explain to him why; why I needed this, why I wasn’t… responding. I spoke with the man!”
Evie said sternly, “I needed him to give you space. Did it hurt him? Maybe. Do I care about his feelings in this right now? Not as much as yours; he can get over it. Clearly, he’s over it.” Her inference was clear. “Men are easy that way.”
Brit glanced away. He wasn’t, on both points.
“What?”
Evie was getting good at reading her. “My leaving that day wasn’t meant to hurt him. It was cruel, I know it. But giving him something—information, that message—would have helped. You might think it was an empty gesture, but it wasn’t.”
Evie’s eyebrow raised, and she rolled her brightly painted lips. “Well. What I know and what I was acting on is that you have a dependency on that camera, not Sean. What if you’d needed it? What if he’d used it as manipulation to get to you? I wasn’t going to give him any leverage. Call it cruel, but Sean stopped being my concern when you called that morning; you became my only focus. I just needed him to… cooperate, shall we say?”
Brit glared.
“I told him you were fine; he knew you were being taken care of. Part of Sean’s displeasure is a result of his control issues—controlling you. And after that, he couldn’t; you took control of yourself in that moment. Does it stem from the time you were sent away years ago? Maybe; he wouldn’t talk to me. He shut down communication with me, Britton.” She tilted her head. “I know he was hurt, but I wasn’t going to push him.
“I honestly didn’t see this happening. I’d written off your relationship. I didn’t think you’d get to the point where you’d ever let him past a certain point emotionally. And he needs that from you.”
Brit frowned. “He’s not a bad man.”
“No. But he’s not a perfect man. Cooling his heels didn’t hurt him; it wasn’t cruel. The camera? Brit, he had the information he needed. I didn’t see that the gesture was necessary; dramatic, that’s all. And, we all know what it means to you, so yes: a way for him to gain back some control.”
Brit wanted to deny it, to deny that Sean would use her camera to manipulate her, but then she remembered the night Sean took her camera into the shower with him. To ensure that she didn’t leave. She heaved a disheartened sigh.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to see him?” Evie asked gently.
“So you could dissuade me?”
“No; why would you not mention it? That was a big leap from no communication to face-to-face. Why wouldn’t you have asked if it was the right time, or…” Evie shrugged. “For advice?”
“Advice to see Sean? I don’t need advice to see Sean,” Brit pointed out. “At least, not if you had done what you were supposed to have done. I walked into that blindsided. But I missed him. I’ve been missing him, and I felt good enough to see him. I wanted to see him; it’s that simple. Ferris told me they’d be out last night, so I joined them.”
“Ferris.” She folded her arms over her chest, not looking pleased, as though there had been a wildcard she hadn’t thought of. “How did he get a hold of you?”
“I got a hold of him; I can’t go radio silent on my employer.”
Evie nodded. “So now that you have reconnected with Sean, what are your plans?”
Brit blinked. Plans? There were no plans. “One day at a time, I suppose.”
Evie’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Sean isn’t a one-day-at-a-time kind of guy. He likes to move fast. Once his mind is made up, he goes after what he wants.”
Didn’t she know the truth of that! But she shrugged, striving to appear nonchalant. “New day, new leaf.”
Evie’s pale blue eyes were skeptical as she said, “Uh-huh. That’s amazingly Zen of you. And I hope you have the time to explore all of those new leaves.”
Brit gave her a side-eye. Sarcasm was Evie’s way of telling her she knew she was full of shit.
“As riveting as this development is, that's not why I came over this morning. There’s… something else.”
Her first thought, of course, went to Jasper. One of the other women, maybe? She hadn’t been brave enough to reach out to any of them. Her own guilt, the reality that she hadn’t experienced what they had, kept her from it. As cowardly as it may appear to them, she couldn’t do it. Evie wasn’t eager to press the issue, either, something for which she was grateful.
So when Evie slipped her hand into her pocket and produced Brit’s phone, Brit was confused. “I have been monitoring, just in case. Not to be intrusive, but in the event of an emergency. I haven’t read any messages, as you’ll see… Except one.”
Brit frowned. What could have made Evie look so hesitant?
“It’s an Instagram message.” Holding out the phone, she said meaningfully, “From Jack Britton.”
She’d rather it had been about Jasper. Because this? This was a hit from out of the blue, not unlike when she’d first heard the man’s name.
The two women stared at each other in expectation. Brit wasn’t sure what Evie expected of her, but they were frozen for so long, Brit became aware of song birds outside, the sound of traffic, kids laughing as they played. Any distraction her mind could latch onto.
“Brit.”
Her eyes dropped to the phone in Evie’s hand. “What am I supposed to do with that?”
Tilting her head, Evie answered her, “Take your mobile. It’s just a mobile.”
Brit hugged herself and bent forward slightly, looking at it hesitantly, afraid the message would be displayed on the front. Her heart was pounding heavily. But Evie was right; her taking the phone wouldn’t send a message through the ether to the man, telling him she was now in possession of it. Just like Jasper, he didn’t have that power.
Reaching out, she took it, staring at the darkened glass. She asked again, “What am I supposed to do?”
“What do you want to do?”
She had no idea. “What did he say?”
“Why don’t you read it?”
Brit shook her head. “Just tell me.”
Watching her, Evie nodded. “He addresses you as Erin.”
Brit made a face. “Erin? Maybe he contacted the wrong person? Maybe it’s not the same Jack Britton?”
Evie gave her a gentle smile. “He said he named you Erin.”
Her flesh broke out in goose bumps. The man who had started it all—her life, her torment—the man who hadn’t rushed in and saved her, who’d left that to another man (a child, really, who’d taken up that burden and then had grown into it, never faltering). But Jack Britton? He’d faltered. He’d failed. He’d left her flailing.
And he’d named her Erin.
“As if he had the right because I don’t recall him calling me anything.” Fire swept through her; years of anger at a man who never fulfilled the role of knight and savior, or even simply as father.
Evie stood there and accepted the words; understanding her role as a proxy. “You are his daughter.”
The words should have stung. Or they should have given her a sense of connection. They did nothing for her. Shaking her head, she simply said, “I’m his offspring, but I’m not his daughter. I didn’t know who he was. I didn’t know anything about him. If he has another daughter, then I imagine she knows who he is. I imagine when she was scared, he fought her fears; I imagine she didn’t have to wonder about who would save her. I imagine she didn’t daydream about needing to be saved because he was there for her.”
Evie’s eyes encouraged and conveyed sympathy at the same time.
So she kept going, unleashing on the woman all the fury she held for the man who had the audacity to reach out to her after all of these years. “So, I am not his daughter. He hasn't earned that. I’m his mistake, but I’m not a mistake. I don’t exist to make him feel better about anything. That’s not my job. He has to make peace with himself on that.” She threw the phone onto the counter.
Smiling, Evie praised, “Well done.”
Pointing to the now-offensive piece of equipment on her counter, she reiterated, “He doesn’t get to do this. If he wants me in his life, he needs to earn me; he struggles for it. What he doesn’t get to do is send an Instagram message like a fan.”
Evie ducked her head, coughing to cover up what Brit suspected was a laugh. She informed her, “He did mention he was made aware of what had happened through social media; he was reaching out due to concern.”
“It's a bit late now. His concern was needed twenty years ago.” Turning away, feeling her pulse calm, she added, “He gets to inconvenience himself for once in his life and show up. But I don’t think that’s going to happen.” She added wryly, “Dougal Madden is more committed in his feelings for me than Jack Britton ever was.”
Chapter forty-five
SEAN
Sean walked across the pedestrian bridge toward the National Monument, focused on his mobile. He didn’t know when he had become so preoccupied with it, but he assumed his constant checking of messages started the night he had escorted Brit out.
Escorted. He was generous with himself. He’d thrown her out with an ultimatum, sure she would have protested, that she would have contacted him by now. But that had been days ago, and she’d gone silent again. Worst of all, he had no idea where in the city Evie was keeping her.
People brushed past him, equally absorbed in their electronic devices, rushing to get home or out to the pubs. He wasn’t rushing anywhere; he just needed to get out of the flat. Every morning as he made coffee—or evening, or anytime he was on the main floor—he found himself staring at the door, remembering what he’d done to Brit there. He swore he could still smell her, taste her, hear her sighs and moans echoing through the room. He’d kept her tiny torn thong like a talisman. After the way he’d treated her, he was afraid it would be all he would have left of her. That, and the memories that assaulted him every time he looked at his damn front door.
Ferris had sent him a text the next day, letting him know that he was returning to the States; wished him well. It had been sudden, short and odd, but lately, everything in Sean’s world had been strange.
So when he heard his name on the wind as he stepped off the bridge, he thought he was imagining it until it was repeated; louder, hesitant. The timidity in her voice broke his heart, but he experienced a shot of joy that it was her voice. His head snapped up, and he whipped around, seeking her out.
She held her breath, freezing when his blue eyes pinned her. She was standing against the rail, arms folded across her chest, her hands on her shoulders; she may have appeared cold to passersby, but she was holding on to herself, waiting on his reaction to her.
He glanced over her, both assessing and like a man starved for a meal; her dark gray hoodie and blue jeans with mountain boots, her hair pulled back into a low ponytail, a few red tendrils dancing around her cheeks in the wind. He almost smiled; she wasn’t dressed so accessibly this time, but he’d already calculated how quickly he could have her out of those clothes. When his gaze lifted back to hers, however, his thoughts sobered. She looked anxious. His jaw tensed; he’d done that to her.
He waited for a couple of people to pass in front of him before he made his way to her, casting impatient looks at them as they went, delaying his approach. The closer he got, the more unsure she looked. He offered her a smile and greeted her gently, wanting to ease the look in her eyes. “Howya, Britton.”
“Hey.” She watched him as he walked up to her, her eyes searching for a hint of intention.
There was so much expectation between them in those few seconds as he breached the space.
Despite everything they’d been through together, she was standing in front of him looking terrified, like a schoolgirl about to ask a boy to the school dance, not sure if she would be rejected. It was a horrible feeling that he could reduce her to this.
She asked, “Do you have a few minutes?”
His expression softened even more. “I do, sure.”
Glancing aside at the passing people briefly, she corrected herself, “I mean, more than a few?”
He smiled and raised a hand, caressing her cheek with his thumb. “I knew what you meant, love. I’m at your disposal for however long you need me.” And if he hadn’t had the time, he’d have made time.
“Can we go somewhere and talk?” She offered quickly, “Pub? Coffee shop? I think there’s a bakery…”
With a raised eyebrow, sensing the reason for her suggestions, his smile widened. He skated his fingers lightly over the thick material of her sweatshirt to a hand resting on her shoulder. Slipping his fingers around hers, he pulled her hand toward him. “There’s a pub; c’mon.”
She looked relieved that he accepted.
Sean took her to a pub only a couple of blocks away. While it was primarily bars lining the walls in the small space, a few tables were nestled by the iron-grated turf-burning fireplace. Sean directed her to one of the tables and seated her against the wall in the long booth while he took the outward seat—a stool. “What’re you wanting?”
“Cider?”
He smiled. “I cut my teeth on cider.” But it was the lighter choice, so he didn’t argue. He left to place their order at the bar and returned to the table, setting down the drinks and taking a seat on the stool, regarding her warmly. She was pressed back in the corner of the booth, hugging herself around her middle. To say she looked apprehensive would be an understatement.
“My full attention is yours,” he said, curious as to her invitation. She looked reluctant to be here; at the same time, considering that he’d shown her out the door unceremoniously the last time they saw each other, he supposed a little bit of hesitancy was to be expected.
Brit glanced toward the bar and looked around the relatively vacant pub. She took a deep breath and looked back at him. “I talked to Evie. I asked her what she’d said to you. I’m sorry, Sean; that’s not… she left so much out.”
Sean dropped his gaze to their untouched drinks.
