Talking Sense (20 page)

She hesitated, then sat beside him and reached out to take his hand. He let her, but it was almost as if he didn’t notice the movement.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

He didn’t say anything.

“Colm, you have a half-brother and half-sister. That’s a good thing, yes?”

He turned his cold blue eyes on her. “We don’t know that.”

She frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

He gestured to the plaque. “We don’t really know this is my father. How did we get here, Mia? Because you saw a painting by an Irish artist who happened to have been in Dublin at the time I was conceived? And then I dreamed the name of the road where he was buried? It’s a bit of a loose fucking connection, don’t you think?”

“Well, if you put it like that, yes,” she admitted. “But you’ve got to have more faith in your gift. You were led here by a chain of events, and you have to trust it was for a purpose.”

“Mia, the only reason I came to New Zealand was because I held a ring—which may or may not have belonged to my father—and daydreamed a strange-shaped building, which I’d probably subconsciously seen on the news earlier that week or something.” He was growing angry now, the first time she’d really seen him like it. “It’s ridiculous. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Sweetheart, you’re shocked to find out what happened to him and that’s understandable, but you shouldn’t doubt your abilities just because they led you here. It’s important that you knew he’d passed away.”

“He hasn’t ‘passed away’, he’s dead. He’s fucking dead.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands knotted together, and dropped his head.

She hesitated, not knowing what to say. She didn’t know him very well, and she wasn’t his girlfriend, not really. They were just two people who’d met up briefly for physical release—how the hell could she provide comfort in such an intimate moment?

But she was the only one there, and her heart ached for him. They may not have known each other for very long, but her feelings for him ran deep—deeper than she’d thought imaginable in such a short time. She loved him, even though she kept telling herself it wasn’t possible, and that love grew over time. But how else could she explain this overwhelming affection for him, this desire to take away his pain and make everything all right, without calling it love?

She reached out a hand and stroked his hair, half expecting him to pull away angrily. But he didn’t. He remained where he was, tight with pain and grief, his hair sparkling with droplets of the misty spring rain.

“Why don’t we go home?” she whispered. “And maybe later we can do a bit of research and find out about his other family.”

“I don’t want to know about his other fucking family.” He stood up. “Let’s go.”

She walked after him, jogging to keep up with his long strides. “Colm, wait, you’re not talking sense. You came all this way to find him.” She tried to grab his hand and slow him down.

“What’s the point?” he snapped, ripping his hand out of hers. “Why would I want to know about them, or meet them and find out how happy he’s been with them? How do you think that would make me feel, knowing he deserted me and my mother?”

He probably didn’t know about you
, she thought, but there was no point in saying it because he was beyond reason. “I know you feel that way now, but maybe they can tell you if he had the same gift as you. Maybe one of his other children has the same ability?”

His face darkened. “It’s bollocks. It’s all bollocks, the whole fucking thing. I don’t ever want to talk about it again.” He marched off.

Mia followed, at a slower rate this time, not attempting to keep up. For once, she could read him as easily as a book. He felt betrayed that he’d gone through all this only to find his father was dead, and embarrassed and foolish that he’d told her about his gift when he didn’t really believe in it himself half the time. He was going to use this as an excuse not to use his talent, she could see it coming. Her heart sank.

By the time she reached the car, he’d got in and started the engine, and he was revving it impatiently.

She slid in and buckled the belt, trying not to think about the night before when he’d made love to her so passionately in this very seat. How could things have changed so much in such a short space of time?

He set off through the town, and she sat quietly as he wound his way back through the busy streets. From the direction he was going, she knew he was taking her to her house.

He didn’t say a word until they pulled up outside her front door. She turned in the seat and sat waiting for him to talk to her, but he kept the engine running and just stared morosely ahead.

“I’m not getting out until you talk to me,” she said wryly.

He glanced over at her. “I’m really not in the mood for long conversations, Mia. Thank you for a lovely day yesterday. I’ll speak to you later.”

“Will you?” She said the words softly, more as a statement of the state of their relationship than as a real query.

His eyes met hers. They were angry and yet sad, too.

“You’re going to tell me this is over, aren’t you?” she whispered.

He gave a frustrated, heavy sigh. “What’s the point in carrying on? It’s just going to make it harder when I do eventually go.”

She dropped her gaze, her stomach knotting.

“I like you, Mia,” he continued flatly. “I’ve liked you since the moment I met you, and I’ve grown incredibly fond of you over the past few weeks since we’ve been seeing each other. But we have to be realistic.”

“So you’re definitely going back to Ireland?” she asked softly.

“Well, there’s nothing for me here.” His voice was sharp.

She knew he meant the fact that his father was dead, but still, the words stung.

“Fine.” She got out of the car, her stomach churning.

He mumbled something behind her, switched off the engine, got out and ran around to catch her before she could open her front door. “Mia.”

“What?” Her eyes blurred with tears, but she refused to shed them while he was still there.

“That came out wrong.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

He didn’t seem to want to be responsible for making her feel bad, but neither did he take her in his arms to comfort her. All of a sudden, she was too upset to argue. “I know.”

He looked at the ground. “I might ring the principal. I might not come back for the fourth term.”

Her stomach clenched. “You’re going to leave
now
?”

“I don’t think I can bear to stay, Mia.” His eyes met hers again for a long, long moment.

Anger flared inside her. “Well, that’s fucking cowardly.”

His brow darkened. “What do you mean?”

“Running away? Refusing to use your gift because it might tell you something you don’t want to hear? And not staying with me in case we might feel something for each other? That’s the coward’s way out, on both accounts.”

His jaw bunched as he clenched his teeth. “Don’t.”

But she was beyond caring. “You said ‘It’s just going to make it harder when I do eventually go’. You think it’s going to be harder than it is now to say goodbye?” She bit her lip, trying hard not to let the tears pricking her eyes fall, although she knew he must be able to see them shining.

He didn’t try to comfort her, though. Instead he just said, “It’s better this way.”

And all of a sudden she realised that he didn’t love her. She’d been a fool. She’d thought he felt the same way about her as she felt for him, but she’d been wrong.

When she’d asked him if he’d ever been in love before, he’d looked sad and refused to tell her. Why hadn’t she remembered that? She was just a diversion, something to play with until being in New Zealand had run its course, and now it had and he had no reason to stay.

And she’d been having all those daydreams about babies and marriage and happily-ever-after.
What a fucking idiot.

“Yes,” she said, turning to ice inside. “Of course.”

His face softened. “Mia…”

“It’s okay.” She forced a smile. “I’ll be fine. I always am.”

They stared at each other for a moment.
Is this it? Is this the end?
She couldn’t believe it, and yet somehow it seemed to be.

“Good job I wasn’t pregnant, wasn’t it?” she whispered, unable to stop herself from saying the words.

He shrugged. “It is if you’re not ready to settle down.”

She bristled at that. When had she ever said she wasn’t ready to settle down? “I meant because of you going back,” she said through clenched teeth.

Pain shimmered across his face. “If you had been, we’d have sorted something out.”

“Like what?” Tears burned her eyes, but she still refused to let them fall, because she didn’t want him to think she was upset—she wasn’t, she was furious. “You’d have made an honest woman out of me? Noble Colm, always the gentleman. How long would that have lasted? It’s hardly the basis on which you should build a relationship.”

“I don’t know,” he said, not without some amusement. “It formed the foundation of a lot of Irish marriages in the past.”

“Don’t you dare make a joke out of this.” She couldn’t believe he found it amusing.

He looked impatient at that. “Mia…”

She put her key in the lock. “I’m going now.”

“Don’t go like this.” He caught her hand. “Let’s not make this a big deal. We’ve only slept together half a dozen times. I’m very fond of you—I don’t want to part like this.”

I’m very fond of you.
Next he’d be saying, “Can we stay friends?”

She pulled her hand out of his and he put his hands back in the pockets of his jeans. He cleared his throat. “I’d like to stay—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted hurriedly. She unlocked the door. She was going to cry any minute, and she didn’t want him to see her. “Goodbye, Colm.”

She shut the door and waited, heart pounding. Outside, she thought she heard him curse, but he didn’t knock on the door. Footsteps sounded, and then the car door slammed. The engine revved, and he pulled away.

She covered her mouth with her hand, but it wasn’t enough to smother the sob that was forming. She managed to stumble into the living room and collapse on the sofa before the full wave of the emotion washed over her.

What are you crying for?
She scolded herself even as the tears flowed. It was probably hormones. After all, she couldn’t be so upset over Colm, not really. It had just been a brief fling, and how many of them had she had in her life?

But deep down she knew it was different. She’d never felt this sense of loss before. She missed him, that was the terrible thing. He’d practically told her she meant nothing to him, but she still missed him.

Had it all been a sham, then, the way he’d held her so tenderly, the times he’d told her she was beautiful?
You don’t have to be in love to tell someone they’re beautiful,
she reminded herself fiercely as she dashed the tears away. He’d probably told her what she wanted to hear to get in her panties. More fool her.

The tears stopped coming, and Mia lay on the sofa, looking up at the ceiling while the rain lashed against the windows and the light slowly faded. The deep, dull ache had returned to her back because she hadn’t taken her painkillers that morning. Her mind flickered with the memory of Colm massaging her with his strong hands. She’d thought it had meant more, but it hadn’t.

She didn’t deserve happiness. She’d taken a life and maybe whoever was in charge had decided to show her how good things could be before he or she whipped them away to continue the punishment she knew was justified. Maybe she’d never meet the right man. Anyone she met now, she’d be comparing to Colm, and she knew they’d fall short. Perhaps she was destined to remain alone. And maybe she preferred that idea now.

She’d learned a valuable lesson.

And she wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“What the fuck happened to you?” David stared, and Colm knew he was looking at his dishevelled hair and bloodshot eyes.

“Hello to you, too.” He leaned against the doorpost, trying to look casual but using it more to prop himself up. “What do you want?”

“I think I should come in.” David pushed past him into the living room. “Fucking hell, man. Please tell me you didn’t drink all that this evening.”

Colm shut the door bad temperedly and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He glared at the half-empty bottle of Ardbeg Islay malt whisky on the table. “No.” He shrugged. “Most of it, though.”

He went over to the sofa and fell rather than sat on it, leaned his head on the back and prayed for the room to stop spinning. “What do you want?”

“What happened?” David sat in the armchair opposite him. “I’m guessing something to do with Mia.”

“No.”

“Colm?”

“Yes.” He covered his eyes with an arm.

“Did you break up?”

“We weren’t even together, dude. Not in any real sense of the word.”

“You had sex, though.”

“Yes.” He sighed.

“More than once.”

“Yes.” He thought about the headboard in Auckland. And Mia’s bedroom. And the car. And up against the window. Fuck it, he was
not
going to cry.

“I think that pretty much constitutes dating,” David said.

“It was only sex,” Colm lied.

“Yeah,” David said, “it looks like it.” He got up and went into the kitchen, filled the kettle and switched it on. Then he came back in and leaned on the breakfast bar, arms folded. “So what prompted it?”

Colm leaned forward and picked up his whisky glass. “I found my father.”

David’s eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Six feet under. Well, he was cremated, but you get the picture.”

“Shit, man, I’m sorry.”

Colm took a mouthful of whisky and then put the glass down. He didn’t want to drink any more. He’d hoped it would make him forget her, but all it did was make him remember and be miserable about it. “It’s okay.” All of a sudden a wave of weariness washed over him. “I guess I should have expected it.”

“He must have been young though, eh?”

“Fifty-one. He died in 2005.”