Chapter 25
CHAPTER 25
B y Sunday morning, Aisling hadn’t moved from the couch.
She sat curled under a faded quilt that smelled faintly of cedar and ghosts. Her pajamas were wrinkled, her hair a wild tangle around her shoulders, and the half-eaten slice of toast she’d made hours ago lay abandoned on the coffee table beside her cold cup of tea.
The kitchen was silent. It was the weekend, and the workers were gone. The hammering that had filled the house for days had stopped—and with it, the distraction she so desperately needed.
Instead, it was just her and the ghosts of her family. Her, and the ache sitting heavily in her chest like an anchor she couldn’t rip free.
Ronan was gone.
Her father hadn’t answered her email.
The world felt like it was caving in, and she didn’t have the energy to stop it. In fact, she hoped it would take her out when it completely caved.
A knock sounded at the back door.
She ignored it.
Another knock. Louder this time.
“Aisling Maeve O’Byrne, if you don’t open this door, I swear to the saints I’ll come through it myself!”
Bríd.
Aisling groaned but forced herself to throw off the quilt and shuffle toward the door. She cracked it open, just enough for Bríd to barrel inside with the fierce energy of a woman on a mission.
Bríd took one look at her and clucked her tongue. "Well, you look like shite warmed over, don’t you?"
"Thanks," Aisling muttered, dragging herself back toward the couch. Right now, she didn’t have the strength or the energy to put up a fight. And Bríd probably already knew what had happened.
Bríd didn’t wait for an invitation. She stormed into the kitchen, put the electric kettle on, and started pulling bread and butter from the cupboards like she owned the place.
"You haven’t eaten," Bríd said, not a question but a statement. "You’re still in your pajamas. You’ve got that look about you, like you’re ready to set the whole bloody world on fire."
"I might," Aisling said, collapsing onto the couch again. It was nice now that the main room and the kitchen were one big open area.
Bríd made a noncommittal sound, the kind that said she’d seen worse and wasn’t scared off yet.
"You heard the gossip, I’m sure," Aisling said, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Bríd barked out a laugh. "Heard it? Girl, it’s all anyone’s talking about after Mass this morning. Half the town’s ready to throw a wedding feast, and the other half’s betting how long it’ll take you to burn Ronan Gallagher’s house to the ground."
Aisling snorted despite herself. “Don’t tempt me.”
Bríd walked over with a plate of toast and a cup of strong tea and set them down in front of her. "Eat," she ordered. "You’re no good to yourself or anyone staring and sulking."
Aisling picked at the toast, her stomach turning with every bite.
"Tell me everything," Bríd said, sinking into the armchair across from her. "And don't leave out the filthy details. I’m an old woman, I live for scandal."
Aisling let out a shaky breath. "It was perfect. God help me, Bríd, it was perfect . We drank too much at the pub, we came back here, and..." She trailed off, feeling her cheeks flame.
Bríd smirked knowingly. "And you had yourself a night you’ll remember on your deathbed."
Aisling gave a helpless little laugh, tears pricking at her eyes again. "Yeah. I did."
"And then?"
"And then I woke up to a courier at the door delivering a decades-old agreement. One that says if I don’t marry Ronan, the land and this house go to the Gallaghers anyway."
Bríd sat back, eyes narrowing. "Séamus Gallagher. That crafty old bastard.”
"Yeah," Aisling whispered. "The old bastard initiated it with my grandmother right after I was born. Ronan knew nothing about it. Claims he didn’t anyway."
Bríd swore softly under her breath. "That man’s been scheming to get this property into Gallagher's hands since before you were a twinkle in your mother’s eye."
"I feel like such a fool," Aisling whispered. "I trusted Ronan. I let him in. I thought..." She shook her head. "It doesn’t matter. I kicked him out. Told him not to come back."
"And your father?" Bríd asked gently.
Aisling let out a brittle laugh, the sound hollow. "Not a word. Not even a 'go to hell' email." She dragged a trembling hand through her hair. "Maybe that’s just my curse—every man I ever need walks away and never once looks back.”
Bríd sighed and leaned forward, clasping Aisling’s cold hands in her warm ones. "Oh, love. None of this is your fault. You’re carrying the sins of two families on your back and trying to make sense of it all.”
Did she need to go to confession? Join a nunnery or kill the goat in a sacrifice?
"I just wanted to know where I came from," Aisling whispered. "I just wanted to build something real for once. Not another lie. Not another heartbreak."
"You will," Bríd said fiercely. "You’re stronger than all of them. You’re your mother’s daughter, your grandmother’s granddaughter. You’re an O’Byrne, and your family doesn’t fold when the world tries to crush you."
Aisling squeezed her hands back, some tiny piece of her—the part that wasn’t completely shattered—holding on to the truth of that.
"You love him," Bríd said softly. "Don’t you?"
Aisling bit her lip hard enough to taste blood. "I didn’t mean to."
"No one ever does," Bríd said kindly. "The right one comes along when you least expect it or want it."
Aisling wiped her eyes and took a shaky sip of tea.
"I feel like an idiot," she admitted. "Like the whole town’s laughing at me."
"The town can kiss my arse," Bríd said sharply. "And if anyone says a word to you about it, you send them to me. I’ll set them straight."
Despite herself, Aisling smiled.
"You are not alone, child," Bríd said. "You never were. You’ve got me. You’ve got this whole bloody house full of memories that need dusting off and setting right. You’ve got yourself. And someday, if that Gallagher boy pulls his head out of his arse, maybe you’ll have him too. But only if he proves he’s worth it."
Aisling sniffed. "You think he will?"
Bríd smiled, slow and sure. "I think if he’s half the man he looked last night while he was staring at you like you hung the bloody moon, he’ll move heaven and earth to make it right.”
He had made a promise to her, and a part of her was clinging to those words.
"But I’m not going to make it easy for him," Aisling said, lifting her chin.
Bríd chuckled. "Wouldn’t expect anything less from an O’Byrne."
Aisling sat back against the couch, exhausted, heartbroken—but a little steadier.
“What would you be doing in New York City right now?”
“I’d be trying to find a job—” she stopped. “I started the book that I wanted to write, but these last few weeks, I haven’t done a single thing on it.”
“Maybe, it’s time you took care of you. The renovations seem to be coming along. You said you’ve been cleaning out the closets. But what have you been doing for yourself?”
She gave a little chuckle as she thought of Ronan and the dates they’d gone on.
“Nothing,” she said. “You’re right. Tuesday night is reading night, and I should prepare the next chapter of my book. Go into that bar, hold my head high, and show the town that I’m still standing.”
A chuckle came from Bríd. “That’s my girl.”
Bríd picked up the now-empty plate and mug and carried them to the kitchen, bustling around like a one-woman army.
The house creaked softly around them, settling into the quiet of a Sunday afternoon.
Outside, the wind rattled the hedgerows and stirred the scent of cut grass and wild roses.
And inside, Aisling O’Byrne began, very slowly, to put her broken pieces back together. At least, now, she had a plan.
“Thanks, Bríd,” she said as the woman stood at the door. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
The woman gave a little chuckle. “You would have eventually picked yourself up off that couch and started creating hell for everyone around you.”
It was true. Even now, she wanted to do something to Séamus Gallagher. The old codger deserved to be put in his place.