Breakaway (29 page)

Rory’s shame felt like a poisonous snake, wrapping round and squeezing the life out of him. “I can imagine.”

“I’m not sure you can, actually.”

Rory bowed his head.

“Now, here’s the thing. Erin is a smart girl. And she’s
gotten tough, too. I trust her instincts. So if her gut is telling her you’re worth a second chance after all you’ve put her through, then I stand behind her decision.”

“Thank you, Mr. O’Brien,” Rory said humbly.

“But I want to make one thing perfectly clear: if you dare hurt her again, I will break your feckin’ neck like a twig. Are we clear?”

“Totally. Absolutely, sir.”

He nodded approvingly. “I’m glad you came and talked to me.”

“Me, too.” Rory swallowed. Who was this nervous twit who’d invaded his body? “There was one more thing I wanted to talk to you about, Mr. O’Brien.”

“Mmmm?”

“This is totally arse backwards, I know. But with your permission, I’d like to marry your daughter.”

Erin’s dad cleared his throat, looking like he didn’t know what to say. Rory knew he wouldn’t say no, having already told him he trusted his daughter’s instincts. But Rory still wondered what was running through his mind as they sat there in silence.

“Rory.” Mr. O’Brien’s voice was shaky. “I can’t tell you what it means to me that you’ve come to ask me that question.”

“I swear to you, I will love Erin the way she deserves to be loved, and I will never, ever hurt her. She will always be safe with me; I will always take care of her. You have my word.”

“Then, yes, of course, you may marry my daughter.”

“Thank you, Mr. O’Brien. Thank you so much.”

Erin’s father’s eyes glistened as he tossed Rory’s keys back to him. “Welcome back to the family, Rory.”

*   *   *

Rory racked his brains all night, trying to decide where he should do it. The next morning he asked his gran over pancakes. “Where did Grandda propose to you?”

“Propose to me? He never proposed to me. After we’d
been seeing each other for a while, he just said, ‘I suppose we should do it, then.’ And I agreed.”

Rory felt bad for her. “That’s not very romantic.”

His grandmother looked puzzled. “It was fine. No one in his family or mine had a pot to piss in.”

“Well, let’s say we’ve got a time machine, and you can go back in time and have Grandda propose to you in a proper way. Where would you want him to do it?”

His grandmother shrugged. “Anywhere would do.”

“Gran.” Rory kneaded the back of his neck in frustration. “I’m asking for help here. Pretend you’re twenty or whatever age you were when you and Grandda got married. You love this man. Where do you want him to ask you the most important question of your life?”

His gran actually went starry-eyed for a few moments. “At the end of Mass. We’d go to Mass together the way we always did, and then in my fantasy everyone would leave, and it would just be me ’n’ him in that lovely, quiet place, with the light flooding in through the stained glass windows.”

“What would be your second choice?”

“What, my first isn’t good enough?”

“Gran, I haven’t been to Mass in ages, in case you hadn’t noticed. I can’t just walk in there like a hypocrite and ask her to marry me.”
Not that that’s where I’d even think of popping the question, anyway
.

“Why not? Erin still goes to Mass sometimes. Not a lot. Not as much as she should. As long as one of you still does, I don’t think God would mind you lingering there.”

“Second choice, Gran. Please.”

“Honestly, is your head filled with rocks or what? What about that old rowan tree on the edge of the Purcells’ property? That’s romantic.”

“I broke my collarbone there.”

“You’re trying, son, did you know that? Very, very trying.”

Rory winked at her as he put a piece of pancake in his mouth. “Must be why you love me so much.”

His grandmother playfully lashed his shoulder with a tea towel. “Go on with yourself.”

“Thanks, Gran.”

“You’re welcome. Now hurry up and finish your breakfast so you can hang that new shower curtain for me, please. I’ve been begging for a month.”

It’d been three days.

“I’m on it.”

“God, it’s been ages since I’ve been here.” Erin settled down on the ground under the huge rowan tree a few miles out of town. It was impressive, close to fifty feet tall, with a broad trunk and sturdy spreading branches. The tree seemed to have its own gentle soul, which was why generations of Ballycraig children had been taught that if you sheltered beneath its branches, it would be protection from faeries.

The tree sat high on a magnificent hill, round and green, overlooking the village. Another vague memory came into sharp focus: Erin and her brother fighting over the last biscuit during a family picnic. Her mam had wisely taken the Solomon approach, breaking it in two.

Rory stood, hands on his waist as he slowly turned in a circle, looking every inch the master of all he surveyed.

“Bring back any memories?” Erin asked, loving the way the breeze tousled his hair.

He turned to her. “Apart from breaking my collarbone when I was a kid? Yeah. I think the last time I was up here might have been with you.”

Erin was pleased he remembered. “It was. That summer between your junior and senior year of university.”

“Thought so.” He closed one eye, scanning the land like a surveyor. “There,” he said, pointing two hundred yards away. “We had sex there.”

“I thought men didn’t remember things like that.”

“They do when the sex is amazing.”

Erin kicked off her sandals, fluttering her toes in the cool air. It was so relaxing, being up here with him and away from worries like exams and whether or not her mother could drive even Sandra mad.

“I remember the pictures you showed me when you were at university: all those waterfalls and countryside, that big lake. I thought, ‘It’s as lovely there as it is here.’”

“Yeah, Ithaca’s pretty great.” Rory sat down beside her. “I’m sorry you never got to see it while I was going to school there. I’ll bring you there when I’ve got a break in my schedule. I promise.”

She laid her head on his shoulder. “I would love that.”

He stroked the back of her hair. “You’re sure you can leave all this behind?”

Erin slowly lifted her head and looked at him. “Rory, all I’ve ever wanted to do is leave this. Not that I don’t love it, mind, but you know I’ve always wanted to live somewhere else.” A sick feeling was creeping up on her, and as much as it scared her to ask what he was getting at, she had to. “Are you getting cold feet?”

Rory pulled back slightly so he could look her fully in the eyes. “Are you jokin’ me?”

“Cut me slack, will you please? I’ve been floatin’ on air about us getting back together, but when you say things like that, it makes me worry that you’re not sure you want me to come back to America with you.”

“That is probably the maddest thing that’s ever passed your lips.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ve said madder things than that. Maybe not to you, though.”

“Ah, so you’ve got secrets.”

Erin laughed with amusement. “Oh, yeah, that’s me from head to toe: an international woman of mystery.”

“I’m so sorry,” Rory said abruptly, deep pain lining his face. “For all of it.”

“Where’s all this coming from?” Erin asked softly.

“Just now. The fact that you could even doubt I want you with me. It kills me, the way you still don’t completely trust me—” He broke off, overcome by emotion.

“Rory.” Erin cupped his cheek in her palm. “I do trust you. I just had a momentary lapse. I appreciate so much that you realize how badly you broke my heart. But it’s in the past now, love. You’ve got to stop beating yourself up over this. I want to look forward, not back, unless it’s memories of the good times.”

“Which I’m sure is the main reason you’re willing to give me another chance,” Rory ventured.

“Not the main, but it did help that there was a shared history between us I could look back on. Ultimately, though, it’s about more than memory. It has to be.” She ran her finger along the side of his cheek. “I was never able to really hate you. Distraught as I was, the world still felt out of step without you. Now I feel like all the pieces fit.” She halted, blushing. “God, I must sound like I’m on
EastEnders
or something.”

“You sound lovely.” He rested his forehead against hers. The mind meld, they’d always called it.
My thoughts are yours and yours are mine, same as our hearts.
It went all the way back to their teenage years, those words.

“I want you to close your eyes,” said Rory.

Erin lifted her head, looking at him suspiciously. “Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh, what?”

“Uh-oh, I’m not too sure about that.”

“Uh-oh, I want to propose to you, and if you say yes, I’ll give you a ring, you daft woman.”

Erin’s lips parted in shock. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘Oh,’” Rory replied, amused. “I suppose I can’t do it now I’ve spoiled the surprise.”

“No, no, do it,” Erin implored, twining her fingers through his.

“You sure? Because—”

Erin cupped his neck, roughly pulling his mouth to hers. “I’d forgotten what a windbag you could be.”

“I know. I know. All right, then, close your eyes.”

Erin closed her eyes, then opened one. “Why do I have to close my eyes? Don’t you want to gaze into them as you pop the question?”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” Rory replied, brows furrowed in confusion. “It’s obvious I’ve thought this out all backwards, because I’m nervous.”

“
You
nervous?”

“Yes, it does happen once every ten years or so.” His lips moved slightly as he murmured to himself.
He’s so adorable,
Erin thought. He would hate to hear himself described this way, but it was true. When he did things like this, she saw the handsome teenage boy she’d fallen for.

His lips stopped moving, and he looked at her with such tenderness and longing that Erin felt her heart tumbling.

“First, I need to get down on bended knee.” He winced slightly as he positioned himself in the classic will-you-marry-me pose.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Rory said dismissively. “Hurt my knee two seasons ago. Sometimes it gives me a bit of trouble.” He checked his stance. “I’m pretty sure you have to be standing for this to work.”

He was right. Erin stood in front of him.

Rory fished in one of his front pockets, pulling out a small, square, blue velvet box. The anticipation.
Miraculous,
she thought,
that it’s come back round to this
.

“I think you’re supposed to give me your left hand.”

Erin extended her hand to his. There was something comical to his directing the action step-by-step. Touching, too. There was no sign of the swaggering egomaniac here. Just a man and a woman with a past, wanting to step into the future.

Rory cleared his throat. “Erin Margaret O’Brien, will you do me the great honor of—”

“Yes!”

Rory laughed. “Can I finish the sentence, please?”

“Sorry,” Erin said sheepishly.

“No need to apologize, love. I just want to do this proper.”

Erin nodded, her left hand trembling in his.

“Erin Margaret O’Brien,” he began again. “Will you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?”

“Yes,” Erin whispered, beginning to weep.

“Then—oh, shite, I was supposed to take the ring out of the box so it was ready to slip right on your finger if you said yes. Let’s do it again.”

Erin wanted to tell him to take a deep breath and relax, as but intuited it would only make him more nervous.

“Okay.” He removed the ring from its home, holding it in his right hand as his left again took hold of hers.

“Third time’s the charm, right?” He swallowed, his expression so sweetly vulnerable it transformed Erin’s anticipation into something deeper.

“Erin Margaret O’Brien.” He took a deep breath. “So far, so good. Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

Erin paused a moment to let the beauty of the words sink in. “Yes,” she said, pure joy winging through her.

Any trace of anxiety that had Rory in its grip vanished as he slipped the ring onto her finger.