That's when Brogan noticed me, his body going rigid as his face drained of color. He stared at me for the space of two heartbeats and then looked to Fionn, his lips thinning. "Don't do this, Fionn," he said stiffly. I felt my face warm, feeling embarrassed and lost.
Fionn smiled innocently, ignoring his words. "Of course, ya know Lydia," he said. Brogan's eyes met mine and then he looked away, down to the floor for a moment as his jaw ticked.
Courtney stepped forward. "Are you kidding me?" she looked at Brogan. "Did you know she'd be here?"
"She's me guest." Eileen said, coming from the kitchen, handing me a glass of white wine. I gripped it gratefully. "I didn't realize you'd be here tonight, Courtney," Eileen said.
Courtney smiled placidly, shrugging one shoulder. "Hopefully not for long." She put her arm through Brogan's. "I prefer to be home in bed in front of a warm fire on nights like this." She smiled meaningfully up at Brogan who was as still as a statue except for that same tick in his jaw.
Eileen's eyes darted to me and then to Fionn. "Well then, time to get good and plastered. What can I get ya to drink?" he asked Brogan and Courtney. Courtney asked for wine and Brogan said he didn't want anything. Fionn headed for the kitchen, shaking his head.
As he passed by me, he leaned toward my ear and whispered, "You're stronger. Ya can do this. Unbalance him."
My heart was pounding as Eileen led us to sit down in the living room. I sat down next to her on the couch and Brogan and Courtney sat down across from us on a loveseat, Courtney scooting as close to Brogan as she possibly could.
Brogan looked to be made of stone, his expression tense and completely unreadable. There was a moment of strained silence, and I noted that Brogan was leaned slightly away from Courtney. One of his tells. It gave me the courage to stay seated, not to run for the door.
I took a long drink of wine, setting it down on the coffee table in front of me and rubbing my shaky hands on my thighs. "I received the package you sent," I said to Brogan, hating myself for the way my voice trembled. His eyes met mine, and I swore for a moment, grief passed over his expression. But then it was gone, and I wondered if I was seeing my own emotions reflected in him, because despite this terrible, awkward situation, I wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms and ask him to comfort me. His cold demeanor—not to mention that awful woman—was the cause of the intense pain resting heavily on my chest. And yet, seeing him made me realize the depth to which I’d missed him.
"What package?" Courtney asked.
Brogan ignored her. "Good," he said.
I waited for more but when he didn't say anything else, just kept looking at me with that distant expression, I nodded. "Thank you."
His jaw muscles tensed, and he closed his eyes briefly, letting out a harsh exhale. "Jaysus Lydia, there's nothin' to thank me for." Fionn had just come out of the kitchen with two drinks in his hands, and at the sound of Brogan's harsh voice, a pleased look came over his face.
He handed a glass of wine to Courtney and held up his glass. "May ya never lie, steal, cheat, or drink. But if ya must lie, lie in each other's arms. If ya must steal, steal kisses. If ya must cheat, cheat death. And if ya must drink, drink with us, your friends. To me friends!" He started to bring his glass to his lips and added, "And ya, too, Courtney."
I almost laughed. I felt wound so tight and a burst of hysterical laughter seemed like it might release some tension. Courtney glared at him and Brogan uttered, "Fionn," in a warning tone, and so I simply took a small sip of my wine and replaced it on the table.
I couldn't do this. I put my hands on my thighs, ready to stand up. This had been a hideous idea. Or it might not have been if Brogan had shown up alone. Why was she here? But he hadn't, and I might have been able to plow ahead despite the chill of Brogan's silence, but I couldn't do this in front of Courtney. I felt shaky and sick. Eileen put her hand on top of mine before I could move.
"So, Lydia, what have ya been up to recently?" she asked, looking at me pointedly. I glanced at Brogan who was looking off behind me somewhere, that same muscle working in his jaw.
"Um, well, I . . . I re-enrolled in school. I'm getting my teaching degree. I hope to work at a college, teaching history when I graduate. And I'm working at a small clothing boutique."
Brogan's eyes snapped to mine. "Your teaching degree? A boutique? You own a company. Why wouldn't you work there?" He closed his mouth and grimaced as if asking me a question resulted in physical pain.
Courtney picked imaginary lint off Brogan's shoulder. "A teacher. I think it's sweet," she said, syrup lacing her tone.
I ignored her. "I actually don't want the company, Brogan. I contacted your lawyers and told them as much. You have the ability to run it far better than I can. From what I can tell, it's doing wonderfully." I paused. "Thank you for that. My father would have been very happy. I think . . . well, I think my father would have wanted it that way," I finished softly.
His hands clenched in his lap, and he ran his tongue over that front tooth as he stared off behind me again, the wheels in his head obviously working overtime—on what, I couldn't be sure. My pulse raced. Unbalance him.
When he looked back to me, his expression was raw, tortured. "This isn't a game, Lydia." I shook my head. "I gave ya the company because it's rightfully yours. Always should have been."