The Best Part of Me (33 page)

“Sean,” Ewan growled in warning. His cousin was the only other person in his life who knew what had happened with the Madigans. His aunt and uncle knew the abridged version.

“How long are you going to choose to fuck up your life? You think you're helping her? You're punishing her for your own stupidity!”

Sean slammed the door shut and marched into the room. He was struggling to get his composure under control. Ewan had never seen him worked up like this before.

“Ewan,” he said in a measured tone. “You are my true brother. I have looked up to you all my life. This is the first goddamn time that I can honestly say I'm…disappointed. God, I sound like my father, but I can't fucking think of another word right now that explains how I feel. You've let me down, you've let Mom and Dad down, all because you're letting yourself down.”

Ewan's chin dropped to his chest to stare at the floor. He couldn't meet Sean's eyes. This was all becoming more than he could take. He'd just broken the heart of the only woman who'd ever truly loved him. And now his cousin was giving him shit for it. Like he didn't already feel bad enough.

“Listen to me. I'm younger than you are. I'm not as experienced with women as you are. But brother, that woman who just raced out of here… I pray I find someone who looks at me the same way she looks at you. Any man would be lucky to have her. Why can't it fucking be you, Ewan? Why?”

“You know why.”

“No, I don't know why. If you're talking about the lame shit your parents dealt to you and all the past shit with the Madigans, I'm not buying it.”

Ewan's eyes swung up to Sean, his posture going rigid.

Sean didn't seem to notice.

“Tell me this…how are you gonna feel in two or three years when Quinn comes back to visit her aunt and brings along a man? Maybe it'll be her husband or maybe a fiancé. Either way, it will be some guy she's fucking. How's that gonna feel? Knowing you had her, she was offering you
everything
, and you let her go?”

Ewan pushed off the wall and slowly stalked toward Sean. He wanted to put his fist through his cousin's face. He wanted to shove Sean's teeth down his goddamn throat.

Sean held his ground and squared his shoulders.

“How are you going to feel knowing she's in another man's bed?”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he said through clenched teeth. He grabbed Sean by the collar and pulled him so they were nose to nose.

Unwilling to back down, Sean bravely pressed on.

“No, I won't shut my fucking mouth until you fucking well listen to what I have to say. You are blowing this, brother. How can you live with yourself knowing that in five years, she might be telling some other guy that she loves him? Knowing that some other guy loved her more than you could?”

“No one could ever love her more than I can!” he roared.

And there is was. The truth.

Ewan stood there sucking in air like it was in limited supply, but his lungs weren't being very helpful. He couldn't breathe.

He loved her. He loved Quinn.

He'd felt it for a while but could never bring himself to acknowledge it. Because if he acknowledged it, he'd have to do something about it.

“Then go after her, man,” Sean said quietly. “You can still make this right.”

Ewan's fingers slowly loosened in Sean's shirt, and his heavy arms dropped to his sides. God, could he do it? Could he forgive himself? Could he trust her with his heart?

Ewan rubbed a hand over his face before looking up into his cousin's concerned face.

Yes. Yes, he could.

Quinn couldn't sleep.

She lay awake in bed, turning from side to side, stomach to back. The position did nothing to get her closer to REM. She'd even tried counting sheep. Imagining the fat, fluffy sheep, with skinny legs and black button noses, leaping over a low split-rail fence.

Nothing seemed to work.

At least she wasn't crying into her pillow like she had done ever since she'd returned from visiting Ewan.

Sometime around one a.m., she'd finally given up. After a trip to the bathroom, Quinn had slipped a sweater over top of her small pink T-shirt and pale yellow pajama bottoms and curled up on the couch in the living room with a cup of tea.

Her body felt tired. Her limbs felt heavy. Yet the thought of getting back into bed was suffocating.

Her heart hurt. Physically hurt.

She guessed this was what people talked about when they said they had a broken heart.

She'd given it one last attempt. One final push to get through to him about how she felt, and she'd failed.

She would be lying if she said she wasn't completely shocked by what he'd told her earlier. She still couldn't picture him doing all those things he said he'd done, but that was probably the part of her that didn't want to believe him.

In that moment, she'd come to the conclusion that all those horrible things he'd done didn't matter to her. And in the hours that had passed since she'd learned about it all, she had given it more thought, and she still came to the same conclusion.

She still loved him. What he'd done back then didn't change that.

Quinn just wished he loved her back.

She took a sip of her forgotten tea, which had turned lukewarm. Quinn placed the mug on the coffee table and stared out the back window into darkness. She could hear the faint inhale of her aunt's snoring from down the hall.

She wondered what her mother would say to her right now. How would she comfort her daughter, whose heart had been shattered? She felt so alone. She didn't have her parents, and she'd lost Ewan too.

She laid her head on the arm of the couch and traced the geometric patterns on the living room rug with her eyes. She felt them growing heavier and heavier.

Quinn woke slowly, picking her head up off the arm of the couch, and squinted into the sunny kitchen to look at the clock over the stove.

Nine o'clock.

She stood up and stretched. The muscles in her neck protested as she circled her shoulders. The couch wasn't very comfortable to sit on, let alone sleep on.

She was just about to muddle down the hall toward her bedroom and crawl back into bed when her cousin came through the porch door.

“Hey, Quinn. I'm surprised you're still in your pajamas. Usually you're working in the backyard by this time.”

“I finished the backyard a couple days ago. Where were you so early this morning?”

He shrugged. “I had to take an amp over to Tommie's place. I was going to make some coffee. You want some?”

“No, thanks. I think I'm gonna go back to bed.”

“Honestly, I'm surprised to see you sleeping here. I'd have thought you'd be sleeping over at Ewan's. Sean told me last night was his night off.”

The ache in her chest that had quieted since last night returned. She slowly shook her head. “Ewan and I aren't really together anymore.”

Rory looked at her with surprise. “Since when?”

“A few weeks ago.” Things had ended back then; he'd just made them official last night.

“Are you okay?”

She put on a brave face. “Yeah, I'm fine,” she lied. She felt her eyes start to get warm.

Rory frowned but nodded.

“I fell asleep on the couch last night. I'm gonna crawl back into bed.”

“Sleep well,” her cousin said as she turned to head down the hall.

Her trip to her bedroom was once again interrupted by the porch door flying open. This time it was Erin, and she had a panicked look on her face.

“Did you guys hear the news?”

Quinn shook her head in confusion as Rory replied, “No, what news?”

“Someone set the pub on fire last night.”

Ewan's weary eyes blinked against the sun's blinding morning rays as he sped along the freeway into Boston.

He was tired and drained. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this exhausted.

There was black soot covering the knuckles on both his hands, and the smell of smoke permeated every piece of fabric and upholstery in his truck's interior.

The reminder of his early-morning activities only fueled his rage, and he pressed his foot down a little heavier on the accelerator.

The fire had started just after closing time early this morning. After his talk with Sean, Ewan had been filled with a sort of eager hopefulness. He'd decided he was going to talk to Quinn. To tell her how he felt about her. He'd go over first thing the next morning and make her understand that he didn't want her going anywhere.

With a renewed sense of optimism he hadn't felt in…well, ever…he'd gone downstairs to help his uncle and his cousin clean up for the night.

They'd all been behind the bar when the front windows shattered. Ewan hadn't had time to process what was happening because whatever had been thrown through the windows exploded when it hit the floor. The explosions were enough to knock Ewan, Sean, and his uncle to the ground.

Fire had quickly licked at the old wooden floorboards and up the walls. The entire front of the pub had been engulfed in flames. Sean and Ewan had raced for the fire extinguishers while his uncle had called 911. By the time the fire department had arrived, they'd extinguished the fire, but they hadn't been in time to save the front entrance of the pub.

Black charred window frames were now the only things separating the inside of the pub from the street. The floor was ruined, and the old stone fireplace had turned a filthy charcoal. The ceiling panels had burned, but luckily the fire hadn't reached the wooden beams separating the ground floor from the second story, where Ewan's apartment was.

Thank God no one was hurt. And thank God the three of them were there when it had happened or it could have been a lot worse.

Still, the fact that they'd minimized the damage as best they could did nothing to lessen Ewan's anger and determination as he crossed the Boston city limits. He maneuvered his truck down side lanes, heading toward Marlborough Street in Beacon Hill.

The sun shined brightly as Ewan parked his black truck on the side of the street. As he walked toward a house he hadn't been to in over six years, his heart pounded. And with each heartbeat, his resolution grew stronger.

He took the brownstone's front steps two at a time and rang the bell. The few people who passed by stared at him. They were dressed in their Sunday best on their way to church. He looked like a chimney sweep, and he was knocking on the door to a sanctuary of sorts, but it was far from a church.

The brownstone's front door opened, and an older gentleman in a dark suit stood there.

“May I help you?”

Ewan cleared his throat. “My name is Ewan McKenna. I'd like to talk with Oliver Madigan if he's available.”

The doorman shook his head. “He is currently in a meeting, but I will tell him you stopped by.”

The older man moved to close the door, but Ewan reached out and stopped it. “Please let him know I'll be happy to wait.” And with that, Ewan turned his back and sat down on the top step.

“Very well,” he heard the doorman say before he closed the door.

This madness with the Madigans had to stop. Last night, as fireman and police officers had kicked through the remains of the pub's charred entrance, Ewan had stood on the street looking on helplessly at the carnage. He'd heard a car door open, and when he'd looked down the street toward the Blue Hills, he'd seen Keith Hardy and a few other men getting into a black SUV.

Hardy had grinned before sliding into the front passenger seat and slamming the door.

Ewan had watched as the SUV sped off. He had a few options, but only one of them was the right answer. He could race to his truck and hope he could catch up to the SUV and beat the shit out of the occupants of the vehicle. He could run inside and notify the police that the arsonist had just sped off down the road and let them try to catch up with them. Or he could make this dreaded trip into Boston and get to the root of the problem.

The first scenario would result in jail time. The second scenario might result in jail time for Keith and his boys but still wouldn't get the Madigans off his back. So that left the third option.

He'd thought he was done with them. He'd made it clear to them six years ago that he was done. Adam had shaken his hand and agreed. Oliver had sat in on their meeting and given his consent as well.

Adam Madigan was obviously not on the same page as he was. He could only hope Oliver Madigan was.

Ewan waited as he looked across the street to a giant park. This was one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in all of Boston. And there he sat, sooty and reeking of smoke, tarnishing the family-friendly vibe and getting stares from everyone who passed.

Ewan didn't give a fuck.

Hopefully, Oliver would listen to him. But if this didn't work, he'd have to do something that would make the Madigans listen. More than likely, he'd go to the police. He didn't care if he got jail time for what he'd done six years ago. This had to stop.

He didn't want to constantly wonder if Keith Hardy or Adam Madigan would waltz into the pub and demand his cooperation in some misguided corrupt game they were playing. He deserved better than that.

Quinn deserved better than that.

She was the reason he was here.

If he and Quinn were to have a real chance, he needed to clear his name from the Madigans' little black book. Stony determination pulsed within his chest.

He only sat there for twenty minutes before he heard the door open behind him. When he rose and turned, he was surprised to see Oliver Madigan himself at the door. The older man, whom Ewan had always gotten along with, started to smile when he must have noticed the state of Ewan's appearance.

“Good God, what happened to you?” he asked, his voice sounding genuinely concerned. He looked older yet, in some ways, younger. Ewan had heard that the old man's health had gotten better. Retirement must be treating the former head of the family well. He looked fit in his khakis and white polo shirt. His hair, inky as it had been when Oliver was young, wasn't thinning in the least. But the most notable change was the smile lines on the older man's face.