Evie watched him through the window over the sofa as he walked quickly across the parking lot toward the garages. She had the better vantage point for his entire journey across the driveway from where she sat, and she savored every easy, masculine stride.

  “I hate that I’m so dependent on him.”

  Still watching him, tilting her head, Evie responded, “God, I’d love it.” At the ensuing quiet, she looked around in shock at Brit’s even gaze and then said in a rush, “I’m so sorry, that was inappropriate; I didn’t realize I’d said it out loud.”

  Brit waved her hand toward the window, the angry gash flashing. “Be my guest.”

  Evie gave her a warm smile. “If I thought you meant it…” And she raised a teasing eyebrow at her before raising the teacup to her lips.

  Brit merely watched her, her expression closed but not hostile.

  Evie cast another appreciative glance out the window even though Sean had disappeared. She looked back at Brit. “As an independent woman, I suppose I can appreciate why your hackles would be raised at having to ask for help. It’s the loss of control. But, if I were going to give up my control to someone, then…” With the quick tilt of her head in the direction Sean disappeared, she made her choice clear.

  Brit’s gaze dropped to her travel mug with a blush.

  Evie smiled to herself and pressed on, “Control isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Besides, if you think about it, if you’re able to get a man to do what you want… who’s really in control?” She took another slow sip of her tea, deliberately allowing long pauses. No comment forthcoming, she changed tactics. “But you were talking about dependence. Certainly, you know that’s not a choice; he knows it’s not by choice. You aren’t pretending to be a damsel in distress for his attention.”

  Brit lifted a hand and looked at the slash, still not commenting.

  Watching the younger woman consider her wounded hand, Evie persevered, “So, control isn’t the issue because I suspect you know how to get it when you want it; and your current state of dependence, although not ideal, is temporary. I suppose what it comes down to is vulnerability. Weakness, maybe.”

  Brit looked up sharply.

  Evie felt a surge of adrenaline. “Ah.” But they were moving too fast. Settling herself on the sofa, she asked conversationally, “What have you been doing since you returned here? Do you have a routine yet?”

  Brit shook her head. “Not really. PT started yesterday. You’re here today. But I’m not a routine kind of girl anyway.”

  “A routine may make things a little more… predictable.”

  Brit shrugged and offered another adjective, “Boring.”

  Evie smiled. “That’s right; you prefer chaos.”

  The word made her lose color. Looking down, she said quietly, “Not for the sake of it.”

  Evie wasn’t so sure, although she made a mental note not to use that word again; investigate it later. “And Sean’s a structured individual, being a doctor. The question isn’t if you two will clash, but how often and how badly.”

  For the first time since Evie arrived, Brit smiled. “Sean’s always been structured, not just since he became a doctor. Jasper and I…” Her smile faded, and she looked down again.

  Evie let the silence hang for a minute, and then she assured, “It’s okay to talk about him.”

  Brit took a drink of her coffee, her gaze unfocused, a short little zone out. When she snapped to a few seconds later, she looked at Evie. “Have you been to Lis Manor before?”

  She smiled politely and shook her head. “I have not; this is my first time.”

  “Allow me to give you a tour,” Brit invited.

  “I’d be delighted.”

  Setting aside her phone, Brit used the backs of her hands to support lowering her legs to the floor. Then she looked up at Evie and gave her an ironic smile. “Give me some time; I’ll get there. Getting up is easier than sitting down, although neither is fun…”

  Evie set aside the tea cup and rose. “I won’t condescend to you and tell you that you will be on your feet in no time. I have no idea how long it will take you to regain your core strength.”

  “Too long,” Brit quipped. “Sean says upward to eight weeks, altogether.”

  “He’d know.”

  “I’m hoping he’s exaggerating.”

  “Why would he do that?” Evie asked curiously.

  Brit smiled blandly. “I’m hoping it’s a version of Irish pessimism.”

  Evie didn’t believe her, but without other evidence, she couldn’t call her on it.

  Brit headed toward the patio doors. “Shall we start at the dock?”

  The tour Evie was given wasn’t what she had expected. As it turned out, it was better. She had been expecting—hoping, actually—for a glimpse inside Lis Manor; maybe sample the food the chef was famous for serving. Since the incident with Jasper, Lis Manor had canceled all reservations: dinners, weddings, and lodgings. No one other than employees or family was allowed on the property. Sean had been required to specifically request clearance for her to get past both the Cork police and the private security the family had hired. The extreme measures had given Evie a chill.

  Overkill on security and the loss of delectable morsels aside, what Brit gave her was a glimpse into the past. They toured the docks, where they paused while Brit explained how much time they’d spent there as children, probably the place they spent the majority of their time, in both summer and winter. They’d brave the frigid waters well before summer and long into the fall, reluctant to give up the freedom the lake afforded them.

  She pointed out the boat house, breezily mentioning that this was the place where she and Dougal Madden had become enemies. Brit had given Evie an exaggerated roll of her eyes but moved on without expanding on the comment and not appearing interested in doing so.

  At the treehouse, Brit paused and stared, lost in a moment all her own before she cheekily referred to the structure as the Ivory Tower her boys had built for her—for them. With sparkling eyes and a genuine smile, she told Evie that Jasper had stolen the wood for it. Then she informed Evie, “This is where I learned my mother was dead. Sean came to tell me.”

  Evie asked, “What do you remember about that?”

  Brit shrugged. “There was a leak in the roof.” She glanced over at Evie briefly and then back at the treehouse with a slight frown. “I wonder if it still leaks?” Then she turned toward the woods in the direction of the manor itself.

  Evie stared after her for a moment, wondering that that had been the memory of learning her mother was dead—a leaking roof. Casting one last glance at the treehouse that was featured in the most popular photo around this entire story, Evie followed Brit.

  Brit continued as though she hadn’t noticed Evie’s brief pause. “There are stables here now, but there weren’t any when we were kids. I’ll take you there if you like.”

  Evie shook her head, catching up to her. “I’ve seen a stable before in my lifetime. Do you ride?”

  Brit gave her an impish smile. “I’ve ridden a donkey.”

  Evie laughed. “That sounds like a story.”

  “Just a part of the job. Of course, I can’t mount a horse or a donkey in my current state.” She rubbed her ribs absently.

  Evie watched her, walking next to her companionably. She had to admit, she was enjoying the flashes of humor and mischief. Her only real impression of the younger woman was from the night in the pub, her work, and at hospital. She knew about the idealized version of Jasper’s, and she was trying to make her assessment.

  Evie commented, “The three of you appear to have been close.”

  Brit nodded, her face turned upward to consider the green foliage of the trees around them as they walked. “I don’t think we knew where one ended and the other began.” She smiled over at her, the memories cheering her for a moment before her smile faltered, and she looked away.

  “I met Jasper only after he’d had his falling out with Sean, so I hadn’t met Sean. The first time I met him was in the pub. I’d seen him at hospital, of course.” Evie noticed the quick side-eye, an involuntary action to gauge the woman’s intent; it was a contrast to her earlier words that Evie could help herself. She smiled to herself; Brit wasn’t as indifferent as she tried to appear to be.

  Evie continued, “I, of course, only knew about you from Jasper’s stories of you and from your photographs. Britton, your work is stunning.”

  Brit looked down and nodded once. “Thank you.” The reference to her work had her raising her hands and looking at the deep, red gashes and blue stitches across her palms. “I can’t even hold my camera right now.”

  Evie heard the ache. “What would you take a picture of if you could?”

  “Anything. Everything.” Brit looked over at her. “It’s how I… it’s… there’s a life to it, and without it…”

  “Jasper would say that you are addicted to what he called the dance with death. He was fascinated by your ability to toe the line and escape.”

  Brit stared at Evie, her expression shuttered. That look was full of recent memory; Evie could almost see a replaying of conversation that was happening on the floor of Jasper’s flat. After a few steps, Brit looked away.

  They walked on in silence. Evie didn’t miss that it was defensive silence, the cloak of protection that Brit suddenly tried to wrap around herself. As the trees cleared, an expansive lawn and the back view of the manor greeted them, water from the dolphin fountain dancing in the afternoon sun.

  As they approached the edge of the patio, Brit stopped and pointed. “The second room from the left on the first floor was my bedroom when I lived here. Sean and Jasper shared the room next to it for a few years. When they were older, they were moved into their own rooms, upstairs.

  Evie scanned the windows, then asked, “What were they like as little boys?”

  Brit laughed. “Little boys. I never thought of them as little boys; they’re three years older than me. They tolerated me, originally, but I was determined—and scared and desperate for attention—so I dogged them at every turn. I worshipped them.”

  Grinning over at Evie, she informed her, “Sean told me they were so unnerved by my stalking, they even resorted to covering the key holes in the bathroom door to make sure I wasn’t peeking through.”

  Evie smiled back.

  “But… little boys. They were never little boys. They were just my boys.” Her gaze moved over the back of the manor, seeing and yet not seeing.

  Evie noted her possessive pronoun; it mimicked Sean’s: Why’d he do it, Evie? She’s our girl. They belonged to one another; had ownership of each other from childhood that included Jasper. Sean and Jasper might have been at odds for years, but there was still an acknowledgment that Brit was theirs, at least from Sean. Even though, by that time, she belonged more to one than the other.

  Evie commented, “Your relationship with one another intrigues me.”

  “Like I said, back then, we were…” She grinned suddenly. “I've always said, like a trinity knot. Or like the holy trinity, the three of us. How’s that for blasphemy?”

  “You’re religious?”

  “I’m not,” Brit confirmed. “It’s hard to find the hand of a higher power in that childhood. Other than my boys.” Again, her smile faltered. “They were my saving grace; they know it. They knew it.

  “Sean was almost the same as he is now; being the oldest, we naturally looked to him. He was the responsible one, trying to keep us in line. Jasper and I were dervishes. They balanced each other; they balanced me.” Looking like she had been hit with a bolt of realization, she said, “I rewarded them by becoming their turmoil.”

  “Their turmoil? I don’t know that Sean would agree with you,” Evie pointed out.

  Brit stared at the window of her old bedroom.

  Evie pressed, “Why turmoil? You just told me the three of you were close, so close that you were three sprigs off the same stem.”

  “I fractured them. And when I came back, I pushed Jasper into doing what he did. If I hadn’t come back—”

  Evie interrupted her, “No one pushed Jasper into doing what he did. You certainly had nothing to do with his actions. If you never had any intention of returning to Ireland, he would have found a reason to do what he did.”

  Brit shook her head. “Without me, I don’t see how that’s possible.”

  “That’s arrogant, Britton.”

  Brit was taken aback by the reprimand. “Arrogant? Do you think I want to be the cause?”

  “No, but you aren’t,” Evie insisted. “Did he tell you that? Did he blame you?”

  Brit looked over the gleaming exterior of the manor, the sparkling waters of the dolphin fountain. “You aren’t supposed to repeat anything I’ve said, right?”

  Evie stared back evenly. “Correct, unless you say something that leads me to believe you intend to injure yourself or someone else.”

  Brit nodded and then imparted quietly, as though they could be overheard even though they were standing on the outskirts of the patio, the splashing of the waters obscuring even the keenest ear. She watched Evie as though to gauge how she would react. “He said it was my darkness he followed; he’d been waiting for me. I know he’d been active for two months. I confirmed my dates of visit with him on the day he started. This is my fault. If I hadn’t come, he wouldn’t have done any of it.”

  Evie was accustomed to hearing all manner of confessions, not one of them less significant than the other, and she knew how to keep her expression pleasantly bland. “Britton, have you considered that if you had told him that very same day that you wouldn’t be returning to Ireland, he would have started anyway?”

  She shook her head. “He was waiting for me.”

  “He was waiting for an excuse because Jasper doesn’t know how to take responsibility for his actions. You provided one. Either way, it’s not your fault. If we’re passing around blame to relieve him of it, what about me? Where is my share in this?”

  Brit frowned with a slight shake of her head. “Why would you have a part in this?”

  “I am a therapist. He and I have been friends for years; intimate, even. How did I not see this in him, this… potential?”

  Brit shook her head, clearly dismissing her words. With a sigh, she turned away from Evie and the manor, heading back toward the lodges.

  Evie followed, saying after her, “Don’t own this for him. I’m certainly not going to; I could beat myself up endlessly for missing the signs, but this is on him. He doesn’t get to put this on anyone else, the selfish bastard.”

  Brit looked over her shoulder in bemusement. “For a therapist, you’re more honest than I expected. I imagined a lot of ‘how do you feel, Brit?’ or ‘what do you make of it, Brit?’”

  Evie smiled. “You’ll get some of that, too, but as I’ve said, I’ve seen your work. As a photojournalist, you can see into the souls of other people. You’d see right through me if I used psychoanalytical bullshit on you instead of just being genuine. How would that help us?”

  Brit cast her a rueful side-eye. “I missed him.”

  “Emotions blinded you; I’m not giving you a pass, but it does affect how we see things.”

  “You understand then.”

  “Understand what?”

  “How dangerous emotion can be.”

  “Oh no,” Evie quickly corrected her. “That’s not what I said. It can cloud and confuse things, but emotions are so essential. Although I don’t always like them, I’m a huge fan of feeling every single one of them.”

  They rounded the manor and hit the gravel drive.

  Brit ventured, “If I can miss one, I can miss again.”

  Evie’s eyes narrowed briefly in assessment and suspicion. “Are you talking about Sean?”

  Brit didn’t answer her but dropped her head as she absently turned one of her hands and touched the stitches.

  “Despite his… goading, we both know he loves you. He’s been very transparent about that. You both have this relationship entrenched in, I assume, years of teasing and prodding. You know how to push each other’s buttons. But he would not hurt you.”

  Brit glanced over at her.

  Giving her a chiding look, Evie continued, “You know, in no world does this happen again.”

  Brit stopped and looked at her, mystified. “Did Jasper not tell you about the childhood I had in all of his rantings about my daring lifestyle?”

  “He did.”

  “What did he tell you?” Brit challenged.

  “That your mother was a drunk; she abused you regularly.”

  “Right. So don’t tell me that in no world this happens again. Because in my world, it’s the only thing that happens; love is not a reward. It’s not bells and doves and silver glitter. It’s bruises and humiliation and pain and blood.

  “This… this thing that happened.” Brit moved aside the band of her pants, an action that caused pain so that Evie could see the still-discolored gash on her abdomen. “He gave me this because I said I had someone to live for. This, and… my hands.” Her eyes watered. She next lifted her shirt to the sutures over her liver. “This is because I said I love him.”

  Evie looked from the angry wounds to Brit’s glistening green eyes, waiting.

  Chin trembling, one tear escaping, Brit confessed, “I say I love him, and this is my penalty. I can’t do this again. It will kill me. He doesn’t understand it, and I can’t tell him.”

  Evie tried to absorb what she was saying, trying to see it from her side; she struggled to do so. “And you think Sean is capable of this?”

  “I don’t know what anyone is capable of anymore. Never in a million years would I have thought Jasper capable of it,” she said wearily. She stared into Evie’s eyes fiercely. “But you can’t say anything.”

  “No, I can’t. But I encourage you to talk to Sean about it.”

  Brit dashed away a tear. “I just need to get better and leave. I should never have come.”

  “But then you and Sean…” Evie gave her a gentle smile. “Your romantic relationship with him may be new, but you just admitted to loving him.”

  “You don’t tell him that,” Brit said, a hint of accusation in her voice that Evie would gleefully go off and share her secrets.

 

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