12
S onya finally calls as Maeve is almost to Stitches and Bitches. She leaps off her bike, tossing it on the ground, and answers her FaceTime, out of breath. Just seeing her best friend’s face—her long black hair, brown eyes, the scar on the top of her forehead from falling off the monkey bars in elementary school—gives Maeve an ache of homesickness she hasn’t felt much in recent days, probably due to how busy she’s been at the pub.
“I’m apologizing now if we get cut off. The reception on this island is—”
Sonya’s raspy voice cuts Maeve off. “Mae, I’m in love.”
Not the words Maeve was expecting. She leans on the outside of the building, panting. “With who?”
Wherever Sonya is, it’s not their apartment in Lakeview, with its constantly dripping faucet, cracked paint, and mismatched but well-organized decor. This place is high-end, something Eoin would like.
Sonya brings the phone closer to her face. “OK. Don’t kill me.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because ...” Sonya pauses. “It’s Melanie.”
Maeve is so confused, she blanks on who Melanie is. And then it registers, and she blurts, “You’re in love with Melanie Kingston?!”
Sonya glances around. “Keep it down. She’s sleeping.”
None of this makes sense. Maeve must be hallucinating. She wants to grab Sonya’s face through the phone and make her explain. “But Melanie’s not gay!” Sonya cannot be in love with the mean girl they couldn’t stand in high school. Melanie made everyone’s life miserable, and she took pleasure in it. How the hell did this happen?
“I assure you, Mae. She very much is. She just wasn’t out in high school because she knew her mom would capitalize on having a queer kid. Make a big deal on social media and use it to her advantage for her business. So Melanie played straight.”
“More like played bitch.”
“Please don’t call her that, Mae. You know people do extreme things when they have to deny who they are. But she’s not mean like we thought. She’s ... wonderful. She asked me out because she’s had a crush on me since high school. Can you believe that? High school .”
Maeve cannot believe anything coming out of her best friend’s mouth. “Was she flirting when she called you a Paki?”
“She didn’t mean it.” Sonya’s voice rises and she catches herself, lowering it to a whisper. “She was angry because I was out, and she couldn’t be. So she took it out on me.”
“By hurting you.” Maeve still can’t believe what she’s hearing.
“She’s different. You have to trust me.” Sonya then tells how they talked for hours, about everything, at brunch recently. Melanie apologized, explained, begged Sonya’s forgiveness. Next thing she knew, they were back at Melanie’s house, having the most amazing, intimate sex she’d ever had. They’ve spent every day together since.
“Is this why you haven’t called me in almost two weeks?”
“I wanted to tell you in person. I thought you’d be home by now. And I didn’t want to stress you out while you were dealing with ... everything. It felt unfair to rub my happiness in your face when you’re struggling with so much.”
This gives Maeve pause. Has she been struggling? She’s been busy, but she’s also had more fun since she got to Ireland than all of last year.
“I’m telling you, Mae. When I’m not with Melanie, it physically hurts. I mean, that’s love, right?”
“It’s hardly been two weeks. People don’t fall in love that fast.”
“I wasn’t aware there was a timeline,” Sonya snaps.
“Fine. Maybe there isn’t. But how do you know you can trust her?”
“I just know I can.”
“Melanie could be lying about all of this. She could just be using you. Last time we saw her, she was a real-life Regina George, but she never got hit by a bus.”
“I can’t believe you, Mae. After all the months I spent supporting you after Spencer. Staying home every weekend. Giving up my life so you didn’t feel so shitty about yours.”
“I’m just trying to protect you,” Maeve pleads.
“No, you’re not,” Sonya states. “This isn’t about me. You’re doing this because of Spencer. You got screwed over, and you want the same to happen to me so you won’t feel so shitty. So you’re not alone. You’re just jealous.”
“Jealous?” Maeve can’t believe that just came out of Sonya’s mouth.
“Yeah. Jealous. I’m in love with someone who accepts me for who I am, who I can be completely myself with, who I trust, and you can’t have that because you’re too scared to let anyone that close to you. To see the real you. Hell, you love karaoke and yet you won’t even get up and sing because you’re scared of what people will think.”
“I can’t believe you’d throw that in my face!”
“Perfection doesn’t beget love, Mae. Honesty does. Spencer may be a fucking asshole, but don’t kid yourself. You never let him in. He never knew the real you because you wouldn’t show him. Your relationship was doomed from the start. You may want to hide in your room and dance for no one, but I don’t. I’d rather risk getting laughed at. Or getting hurt. At least I know I tried. It’s better than ending up alone with only my regrets.”
Maeve can barely breathe.
Sonya rubs her face. “Look, I’m tired. I need to go back to bed.”
“Back to Melanie?” Maeve snaps.
“After all these years of friendship, can’t you just trust that I’m making the right decision and support me? I thought you’d be happy for me, Mae. All I want for you is love. Real love. It might not be pretty and perfect all the time, but it’s honest, and that makes it worth the ugly parts. Can’t you want that for me, too?” But Maeve can’t say it. She can’t say anything, even when Sonya’s bottom lip starts to quiver. “Fine. Whatever. I just wanted to tell you I’m moving out.”
“What?”
“Melanie asked me to move in with her. I’ll cover my portion of rent until you can find another roommate. It’s what I want, Mae. Not that you care about that.”
“You’re just going to leave? Just like that?”
“At some point, we all have to move on. We can’t live in our garden apartment forever.”
Sonya hangs up, and Maeve rests against the building, stunned, replaying the conversation over and over, every word imprinting on her skin like the lash of a whip. You’re too scared to let anyone that close to you. I’d rather risk getting laughed at. Or getting hurt. At least I know I tried. It’s better than ending up alone with only my regrets.
Maeve whimpers, her face in her hands. Sonya just served up a sucker punch to the gut and walked away. She didn’t ask about Ireland or Liam at all. Maeve didn’t get to tell her all the good things that have happened. She wanted to tell Sonya about dumping the smoothie on Briggs’s head and stealing his banner. And the pierogi! They’re a hit! People love them. Maeve can’t make them fast enough. She wanted to tell Sonya about Barb and Linda, and the kickball game! Maeve has a full team now. Even Derry and his son are playing for the Moorings. Barb is their unofficial coach, barking orders at practice. And they’re not half-bad. The Moorings might actually win.
Maeve’s backpack, and the datebook, pens, and knitting supplies, are scattered on the ground. She scrambles to pick them up now, placing each one back in the bag in its ordered spot.
Perfection doesn’t beget love, Mae. Honesty does.
Maeve slumps to the ground, her cheeks wet with tears.
“Bloody hell, Maeve?” Briggs kneels in front of her. “Are you OK?”
Oh great, he witnessed her meltdown. She was too busy losing her shit to notice who might be watching. “I’m fine,” she lies, wiping her tears away.
You’re too scared to let anyone that close to you .
Nausea bubbles in Maeve’s belly. She pivots, word vomit exploding, uncontrolled, maybe for the first time in her life. “You know what? No. I’m not fine. I’m so ... scared. My whole life I’ve fought to keep everything in order. Minimize the surprises, and you minimize pain. But people fuck you over and people leave and people die. There’s nothing I can do about it, and I hate that. So I just hold on tighter. Control more. Keep the mess to a minimum. Organize and reorganize. But it’s useless. And I’m so tired.” Her head falls to her hands. “I’m just a control freak who’s destined to end up alone with her color-coordinated closet and bleached white hand towels.”
“Give me your hand,” Briggs says, his palm extended. He helps Maeve off the ground and picks up her backpack. “I’m taking you somewhere.”
“You are?”
“Unless you don’t want to come with me?” Briggs holds her gaze, his question genuine. But Maeve can’t think of anyone she would rather spend the day with. From that first night, Briggs planted something deep inside Maeve that she can’t get rid of. She stole the sign hoping he would catch her. She’s played the pub-rivalry game because of him. Everything she’s done has been to keep herself in his path, even when she’s denied it. The moment he stepped through that pub door, something shifted in Maeve. Maybe it’s because Briggs is the only person who’s ever seen her dance like that, but with him, she’s more herself than ever before. And she genuinely likes who she is.
“Is that a good idea, though?” Maeve glances around for any lingering eyes, but miraculously, the street is quiet.
Briggs smiles. “I promise. Where we’re going, no one will see us.”
Maeve stands at the shore, looking down at the blue-gray water three feet below. “You jump into this every morning?”
Briggs mimics her stance, gaze trained downward. “I don’t usually look before I do it. I just ... jump.”
“Even in the winter?”
“In the winter I don’t jump. It’s more of a ... slither.”
“You’re nuts.”
“Would you believe me if I said it’s the best rush you’ll ever have?” Then he amends. “Well, one of them, at least.”
Maeve chuckles at the innuendo. “It looks really cold.”
“I’m not going to lie. It is. But it’s not as bad as you think. You just have to ignore the part of your mind that tells you to panic, and trust that you’ll be OK. You can handle this.”
Briggs wasn’t lying when he said no one would see them. This secluded part of the island is down a dirt road that looks like it leads to private property. Along parts of the coast, the ocean can be rough, with whitecaps and gray seas, but here the water is calm and crystal blue. Maeve can see all the way to the bottom. Far off, large rocks jut out of the water, covered in bright green grass.
“You can’t think about it too much,” Briggs says. “Just trust yourself, and do it.”
“It’s deep enough?”
“How about this ...” Briggs peels off his T-shirt. “I’ll do it with you.” He starts to unbuckle his pants, but Maeve stops him, her heart in her throat.
“First tell me why you do this every morning. And don’t say because it feels good.”
Briggs pauses, his attention on Maeve, like he’s debating whether to answer honestly or give some bullshit superficial answer. An answer Eoin would give. “As a sort of test,” he says. “To remind myself I can handle whatever is down there.” He exhales and squats to sit on the edge.
Maeve follows suit. The day has warmed some, but it’s by no means hot. Maybe seventy degrees.
“After my father died and I was done with uni,” Briggs says, “I left Ireland for a few years, went to Australia, thought I could run away from all the sadness. Turns out, grief isn’t like a sweater. You can’t leave it behind in a drawer. It comes with you wherever you go. When I came back, it was just as suffocating as when I left. The second I set foot on the island, I felt this overwhelming pain, because I knew no matter where I went, no matter how hard I looked, I’d never see my father here again. There wasn’t a place in the entire world that didn’t remind me of his infinite absence. And then one day, I was standing right here, feeling so overwhelmed and lonely, and I thought, this feeling will never go away, and I just ... jumped.”
Maeve gasps. “Just like that?”
Briggs nods, a small grin on his face. “The water was so shocking, I couldn’t think of anything but the cold and getting the hell out as fast as possible. But I forced myself to stay in. To calm down. To trust that I could handle it. It felt like I was in the water forever, when really it was probably a minute, but when I got out, this rush came over me. I had stayed when I wanted to run. I felt utterly alive for the first time since he died. And then just as quickly, every emotion, every memory I’d been fighting back for so long, hit me all at once. I sat in my car, wet and cold, and cried. But the next day, I came back and did it again. And the next. And the next. Until one day I wasn’t counting the seconds until I got out. I had come to a kind of peace with the water. And all of a sudden, it was like I could hold my grief instead of drowning in it.” Briggs turns from the water to Maeve. “You’re not a freak, Maeve. Everyone handles suffering differently. Sometimes we just need to do something to remind ourselves that feeling broken doesn’t actually mean we are.”
“Why did you tell me all of this?” she asks sincerely.
“Because I hate that you think I’m a liar. And the best way to prove I’m not is to be honest now. So there it is.” Briggs shrugs.
“I don’t think you’re a liar,” Maeve says quietly. “You may have omitted some details ... but I’ve known liars, and you’re not one.”
“So you forgive me?” Briggs asks.
“I don’t know ...” She grins, unable to resist his sculpted chest, her fingers itching to touch him. “If I forgive you, do we have to stop fighting?”
“Feck no,” Briggs says. “What fun would that be?”
“Good.” Maeve removes her shoes. She stands and takes off her shirt, then her pants, until she’s standing next to Briggs in only her black bra and underwear.
“Bloody hell,” Briggs says, scanning her body, his eyes hungry.
“You didn’t expect me to jump in with my clothes on, did you? Now, are you with me or not?”
Briggs grits his teeth. “Problem is ... I hadn’t considered that part, and now that I’m seeing it in real time, I’m having a bit of a reaction that I wish I could hide.” He glances down to his pants.
Maeve smirks. “Do you want me to turn around?”
“I appreciate the offer, but it won’t help. It might make matters worse seeing the whole picture. I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
But Maeve feels the opposite of that. This might be the most relaxed she’s ever felt. And to show him, she pulls Briggs up from his seat so he’s standing in all his glory, right in front of her. She steps closer. They’re almost touching. “Sounds like you need a cold shower, Briggs Murphy.”
He pulls in a ragged breath. “Not just cold. Bloody freezing.”
Maeve unbuttons the top of his pants. “There’s only one solution then.” She unzips his fly. “And for the record, I’m far from uncomfortable. I’m flattered, really.”
Briggs inhales through tight teeth. “Maeve, I’m trying to be a gentleman and control myself, but since we’re being honest with each other, I have to tell you that if your hand stays on my zipper one more second, I’ll be forced to eat your knickers off with my teeth.”
Maeve bursts into laughter that fills her up to her earlobes with happiness. “Tempting ...” She giggles, stepping back with a wide grin. “Rain check?”
“Name the date and time, and I’ll be there.”
“How orderly of you. Now you’re turning me on,” she jokes. She takes one last glance at the water and then holds out her hand to Briggs. “On the count of three.”
Briggs pulls off his pants and tosses them. Maeve can’t help but sneak a peek at his raw maleness, her stomach somersaulting. “The key is to remain calm,” he says.
“One . . . ,” Maeve says.
“Fight the body’s urge to constrict.”
“Two . . .”
“When you hit the water, you’ll want to gasp. Don’t, or you’ll take in a bunch of water. Cover your mouth. Are you scared?”
Maeve doesn’t answer but says, “Three.”
And they leap.
They hit the cold water, and Maeve’s lungs instantly squeeze. She gasps and takes in a mouthful of salt water. Her feet never find the bottom, so she kicks toward the surface. When her head emerges, Maeve breathes, but it feels like she’s sucking through a straw. She’s never felt this kind of cold. Chicago winters are brutal, but this is different. It’s everywhere. She’s completely exposed, completely immersed.
Briggs is next to her, treading, salt water dripping from his eyelashes and beard, his face beaming. Everything in Maeve wants to get out of the water. Every alarm in her brain is going off, but she stays. Trusts herself to know she’s OK.
What feels like an eternity lasts, in reality, about thirty seconds. Maeve finally succumbs and climbs out, her whole body buzzing, teeth chattering, skin covered in goosebumps. She’s pretty sure her lips are blue. And it’s all amazing.
Briggs grabs towels from his Jeep and wraps one around Maeve. “Do you want to get in the car? I can turn the heat on.”
“No.” She’s freezing, but she wants to stay outside. She turns her face toward the spotty sun, feeling its warmth on her cheeks.
Maeve spent months hiding in her garden apartment, half-underground, worried and ashamed, feeling violated, her trust in people completely obliterated. But the worst part was losing trust in herself. Feeling that something about her allowed Spencer to take advantage of her. That she should have been better. That she was the problem. Of all the girls in the bar that night, he knew she was the one he could take advantage of.
She smiles at Briggs. “I just jumped into freezing cold water and survived.”
“You sure as hell did.”
“I want to do it again.”
“Maybe when you’re not so blue.” His fingers touch her bottom lip. “You need body heat.” He opens his towel and envelops her in his arms, her face to his warm chest. “Better?”
“A little. But we should probably stay like this for a while.” Out here, away from town and all the eyes, she feels freer. Gutsy, even. She nuzzles her nose into his chest, right between his pecs, and takes a deep breath of salt water and masculinity. Her lips brush his skin, and a noise comes from deep in Briggs’s throat.
“Maeve ...” His face is tense, his jaw working as she looks up at him. “I think we should go.”
“But I’m not warm yet.” Her hands reach around his back, her fingers pressing into his spine.
“You’re on a high. You’re running on adrenaline.”
“So?”
“I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret.”
“What about you?” she counters. “You jumped, too.”
Briggs holds her gaze, steady and fierce. “I threatened to eat your knickers off well before we jumped.”
Maeve’s bottom lip nestles between her teeth. This isn’t some feral need induced by a natural high. She’s wanted him from the start. That hasn’t changed. She runs a hand down his chest to the waistband of his boxers. “I am of sound mind. I promise.”
Briggs steps back, his eyes no less hungry but his jaw tight. “Damn it.” He paces. “I don’t know how to do this.”
Maeve hugs her towel around herself. “It’s OK. You don’t have to.”
“No.” Briggs presses her against the Jeep, his hand on her face, forcing Maeve to look up at him. The intensity in his gaze reaches into the bottom of her belly and squeezes. “I want you, Maeve. From the first night I saw you. More than any other woman in my entire life. I am dying to devour you. Inch by inch. I can barely think of anything but you. These two weeks have been torture.” His forehead falls. “But I can’t mess this up. I need to get my head on straight first. What’s happening between us is new to me. There’s a lot at stake. But one thing I do know is you deserve better than the back seat of my car. At the very least, I owe you a bed.” He peels himself from her, taking her breath away. “Tomorrow, I’m leaving for a week to visit my mum in Cork. But I’ll be home in time for the football rounders game. I think a little space is a good thing. For both of us.”
As much as Maeve wants to ignore his reasoning, she knows he’s right. This day has been a complete turnabout. But what happens when they return to town? And what is Maeve thinking, when she has every intention of leaving the island? They both need time to process, as much as she’d like to ignore reality and have sex in his Jeep right now. But a week on the island without him? That sits sour in her stomach. She gathers what strength she has and, with wobbly legs, puts her clothes on.
Back in town, Briggs drops her off on a quiet side street by Stitches and Bitches, hiding her from anyone who might see, though the scandal of it could be good for both their businesses. They agree to take the week for themselves. No communication. Clear their minds.
“But just so you’re aware, Briggs,” Maeve says before she exits the Jeep. “Just because I like you doesn’t mean I’m gonna go easy on you now.”
“You like me?” he says brightly, like an innocent schoolboy, and damn, it only makes him sexier.
“See you in a week, Murphy.”
But as he pulls away and the teasing fades, a heaviness settles on Maeve. One week on the island without him. It’s ridiculous to miss someone she hardly knows. Sure, they had a magical day together, maybe the best of her life, but it was one day. Then again, she knows damn well that a single moment can alter a person’s life forever. And that might scare her most of all.