The Best Part of Me (31 page)

“It hasn't escaped my notice that my nephew has been hiding away in the pub and his apartment. Asking Ewan what's the matter is fruitless. When he's in these moods, you're more likely to get the queen to let you wear her crown jewels than you are to hear any sort of reasonable explanation from him. So like I have done many times before, I figured I'd just wait him out until he got over whatever it was that he was sulking about.”

He removed his hat and laid it on the table, centering his gaze on her.

“Then I hear that you, Miss Adler, are departing our lovely little town to head back to Pittsburgh in another week's time. Now, I might be old, but I can put two and two together. Something has happened between you and my nephew, and if it's chasing you away from here, I can only imagine that it wasn't just some little tiff.”

She shifted in her seat uncomfortably.

“Mr. McKenna—”

He raised his hand to stop her. “My darling girl, please allow me to interrupt so that I can say what I've come to say. I assure you I'm not looking for an explanation. Whatever has happened is between the two of you to figure out. But there is something you should know about my nephew.”

A furrow moved across his brow as he ran his fingers along the rim of his hat.

“When Ewan was nine, he came to live with us here in Ballagh. He was a tall, scrawny lad. He's always had a very quiet nature about him. Even at that young age, when he was supposed to be out teasing girls in the schoolyard and getting into trouble with his mates, he was never far from our sides. He insisted on helping with all the chores, was the first to volunteer whenever Kate or I needed anything done in town. Almost like the chores were a penance for something and if he didn't do them, then God knew what would happen to him. But even after weeks of staying with us, his eyes were always wandering to the front door. At first I'd thought he looked there longingly, like he wanted to leave. But after some time, I realized he was doing it because he was expecting to see someone walk in.”

An ache started growing in Quinn's heart thinking of the little boy his uncle described.

“I'll never forgive my brother for what he did to his son.” He shook his head, not trying to hide his look of disgust. “To make a long story short, my brother, Douglas, was heavily involved in some political bunk. To this day, I still don't know what involvement he really had in it all. But I do know that one evening, his transgressions caught up to him when his oldest son was killed by an opposing political faction.”

Connor McKenna looked back toward the hills.

“Darren was the polar opposite of Ewan. A brawny lad, talked a mile a minute. Although I'd only met him a few times being that I lived here in the United States, I was damn fond of him. He'd been trying to beg a pint from a bartender a few neighborhoods away with his friends when they were fired upon. He, along with two of his friends, was killed.”

Quinn sat in silence, unable to keep the ache from growing in the pit of her stomach.

“Douglas and his wife, Clara, immediately put Ewan, who was grieving something fierce for his older brother, on the next plane to Boston. Because of his ties, Douglas's communication with me was close to nonexistent. He'd just told me that he needed us to look after his boy until he took care of a few things. We realized it was much more dangerous when we received a few phone calls from some family friends of ours, expressing their condolences for our family's loss. But it took me a couple of calls to realize that they weren't just talking about Darren. They also mentioned Ewan. As it turns out, Douglas was spreading the word that both of his sons were killed that evening. I've never asked him why, but I suspect whatever mess he was in made his family a target. That can be the only explanation for telling people his son, who was healthy and breathing, was dead.”

Dear God.

“So while we tried to push Ewan toward a normal childhood as best we could, it wasn't easy on the lad. After a while, when his parents didn't send for him, let alone call or write, he became inconsolable. The anger that burned in that young boy was bright and ugly, and I cursed my brother every day for it. Eventually, we sat down with him and told him all that we knew. I was done waiting for my damn brother to explain,” he said angrily. “Ewan deserved to know the truth. At least as much as we knew of it. At first, it only seemed to throw him deeper into despair. I'd thought we'd made a terrible mistake by telling him.”

Quinn's heart broke at what must have been running through Ewan's head. What had he thought was the reason for his own parents to send him away? Did he think they didn't love him? That he wasn't worthy?

At that thought, she felt numb.

How many times had he told her that he wasn't worthy?

“Oh, my God,” she whispered, covering her mouth at the painful truth.

“My dear, I can't tell you what to do about your decision to go home. But I hope that you will consider what I've told you today, and maybe it can shed some light on how Ewan reacts to certain things. I do know that I've never seen him moon over a lass like he's mooned over you.” He smiled at her as he put his large, warm hand over hers. “What happened to him when he was a child, the way he was sent away without any explanation, is unforgivable. And that injustice has molded his entire existence.”

“But the letters,” she said. “I know he receives letters from Belfast. What about those?”

“The letters started a few years after he came to us. His mother wanted to reach out to him, to make amends. To explain they were acting in his best interest. But reconciliation is a step that Ewan is going to have to make when he feels the time is right. And apparently, he's not ready. It's not for me or Kate to persuade him otherwise.”

“His parents never tried to visit?”

“Yes, they tried a few times. But each time they came, I told Ewan ahead of time. Figured the boy had a right to know what was heading his way. He made himself scarce. That was his choice.”

They sat in silence. Connor McKenna stared off into the distance as Quinn tried to calm her bleeding heart. It ached in her chest, and the worst part was she didn't know how to make it right. What would Ewan do if he knew that she knew about all of this?

Slapping his hat back on his head, Mr. McKenna slowly rose to his feet. “My dear, like I mentioned to you, I'm not about to tell you what to do. I just hope knowing a little more might help you understand. I see the way he looks at you, and I can't tell you how long I've prayed for him to have that sort of light in his eyes.”

She rose to walk with him back across the yard.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said softly when they reached his car.

“Aye, it's not a nice story, I know. But it's his,” he said. “Take care of yourself, young lady.”

And with that, he slipped into his big sedan and backed out of the drive, leaving Quinn looking in his direction but seeing nothing at all.

It was nine o'clock in the evening on Saturday, and all Ewan could think about was what he could do next to keep his mind occupied. Sean and Uncle Connor had forced him to take the evening off. It was his first evening off in three weeks.

So here he sat, in his bloody apartment above the pub, flipping through his three channels on TV. He could hear the buzz of the Saturday night crowd below. He could hear the quiet strum of a guitar as the one-man band that was Martin Kennedy warmed up for the evening.

His bloody cousin and uncle thought they were helping him. This was the worst possible thing he could be doing at the moment.

Nothing.

His options were pretty bleak too. Anyone who he would normally consider calling was probably downstairs at the bar. He was too restless to read a book. It was raining outside, so going for a walk or a run was out. He didn't even want to think about spending the evening with his aunt, who would badger him about things he didn't want to talk about.

And as for calling a woman? It was completely out of the question. As far as he was concerned, there was only one woman worth a phone call, and he'd be damned if he caved in and called her.

Which put the vicious cycle of trying not to think about Quinn back to thinking about her.

Goddamn it.

Maybe a little part of him wanted her to show up at his door. Maybe he wanted her to seek him out. Who was he kidding? There was no
maybe
about it.

Three weeks. He hadn't heard her voice for three weeks.

And rumor was she was leaving on Wednesday. Leaving as in packing her shit, hopping on a plane, and flying back to her life in Pittsburgh. A life that didn't include him.

This was what he wanted, he'd told himself. But it fucking hurt to think about it.

He needed to do something. Anything.

Switching the TV off, he took his empty dish and glass into the kitchen. He wasn't dressed to go anywhere, so maybe he could start with changing his damn clothes.

Sounded like a grand fucking plan if he'd ever heard one.

There was a knock at the door, so soft he barely heard it. If his cousin was up here fucking around and leaving all the work for his uncle, he'd push him down the bloody stairs. If they didn't want him working down there, they better at least make sure the bar was well manned or the earnings for the night wouldn't be enough to cover the music and the extra kegs he'd ordered.

The knock came again. Goddamn Sean.

With three quick strides, Ewan yanked the door opened and stilled.

It wasn't Sean. It was Quinn.

His traitorous body reacted to her the way it had become accustomed to doing. His heart rate kicked up, and the blood raced through his body.

She must have had the hood up on her jacket, but the ends of her hair were wet. He could smell the rain on her, mixed with that sweet lavender scent that seemed to linger on her skin.

God, she was beautiful. Standing in his doorway with worried eyes, she smiled timidly at him with her hands in the pockets of her dark green raincoat. How he longed to run his fingers along her cheek. To push his hands into her hair and kiss her the way his lips had been wanting to since they'd kissed her last.

“Hey,” she said. Her quiet voice streamed to his ears like a song.

He tipped his chin up in greeting.

“I expected you to be working this evening.”

He shook his head. “It's my night off.”

“Right,” she said, leaning slightly to peer around him. “Are you busy at the moment? Do you mind if I come in?”

Ewan stepped back, holding the door open so Quinn could step inside. As he closed the door behind her, she unzipped her coat but didn't move to slide it off her shoulders. He probably shouldn't offer to take it. It'd be best if she left as soon as possible. They were alone and his body wanted her. This wasn't a good idea.

“How have you been?” she asked, trying to make small talk since he wasn't being a gentleman and asking her to sit down.

“Fine.” He sounded short. Good. He wanted to sound short. Maybe if he didn't encourage her, she'd leave quickly.

“That's good,” she said softly. Her eyes, which were watching him, quickly looked away.

Oh, fuck, he was hurting her feelings.

“I hear you're heading back home.” He kept his tone steady, trying to disguise the fact that the thought of her leaving was shredding him.

“Yeah, Wednesday. My flight leaves at nine in the morning.”

Nodding, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall.

“So I'm guessing you've come to say good-bye?”

Her eyes flashed up and he could see the pain there.

God, he was a dick.

“Yeah, something like that.”

Fuck him. He had nothing to say to that.

Shaking her head as if she had lost her train of thought, she said, “No, actually, that's not why I've come. I have something important to say. Do you mind if I sit down?”

Ewan shook his head and motioned her toward the armchair nearest the door. If she was gonna sit, he might as well sit too. So he perched himself on the side of the couch farthest from her. He watched her and waited for her to start talking.

“I've been thinking about what you told me. About—” She paused. “Darren.” She took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling, searching for her next words.

“I'll admit that after I got back from our walk, I did suspect that maybe you were right. You've mentioned many times how we could never work. You're not right for me. Not worthy. And who knows, maybe we really wouldn't work. I can't see into the future. But neither can you.”

She rubbed her palms up and down the tops of her thighs.

“I was still fighting with my uncertainty, trying to make sense of everything you've said, when your uncle stopped by for a visit.”

She was looking at him and must have seen the confusion in his face at the mention of his uncle. Why the hell would his uncle have stopped by the Hughes farm?

“He was worried about you. Said you were working too much. Turning down invitations to your aunt's house. He said he'd guessed that something may have happened between you and me, so he wanted to explain some things to me because he knew that you never would.”

Goddamn it.

Quinn took a deep breath and steadied her gaze on him before she said, “I know who those letters are from, Ewan.”

“Fuck me,” he said quietly as he got to his feet and walked toward the kitchen. Running a hand through his hair, he turned to her, wanting to roar.

“Ewan—”

“He had no right to tell you,” he growled. “No right.”

“Maybe not, but he did. I know now and I'm glad of it.”

“Why?” he laughed. “So now you know how fucked up I am? How my own goddamn mother and father couldn't even stomach me so they fucking sent me packing to live with my aunt and uncle?”