Chapter 22
I love my niece. I’d burn the world for my niece, slay any monster and any dragon for her but right now? God damn it.
“You found Pumpkin?” Niamh crouches down low, picking up the tiny ginger cat so she can show the little girl. Immediately the purring begins, so loud it could rival my truck, and I know for right now, the moment we just shared is lost.
I walk by the two of them, but a hand brushes my thigh as I pass.
Glancing down, I see Niamh’s eyes on me, looking up from beneath her lashes, and for once, there isn’t a guard propped up in front of her.
She gives me a smile, not a dimpled one, but this is real.
It’s soft, and it’s open, and it damn near makes my heart skip a beat.
Scrubbing a hand down my face, I move through the doors to grab the rest of the dishes for dinner, ordering my two brothers to get what I can’t. Caleb hurries along in front of us, drawn by the noise of Rosie’s giggles.
When we re-enter the dining room, Niamh is sitting on the floor, legs crossed as she helps Rosie cuddle the kitten.
“Can I hold her?” Caleb asks shyly, standing right beside Niamh as he stares longingly at the kitten.
I look at Silas, his brows in his hairline as he watches his son speak to her.
Caleb doesn’t talk to many people, especially not people he doesn’t know well, not unless he feels safe with them.
His mom leaving did a number on him, and while Silas has him in therapy to help, these things take time. This in itself is a huge step.
“Of course you can,” Niamh tells him softly, “Come take a seat.” She pats the space beside her. Caleb gets down onto the floor, crossing his legs as he watches his sister love on the cat.
“Only for a minute,” Silas tells his two kids, “Then wash your hands so we can have dinner.”
“Okay, daddy,” They reply in unison.
They’re fantastic fucking kids, all things considered.
Rosie passes Pumpkin back to Niamh, and she immediately hands her over to my nephew, helping him adjust his arms so the baby can sit right in them without falling. The cat’s loving it, the sound of its purrs filling the room as we watch the three of them on the floor.
“Pet her right here,” Niamh shows Caleb a spot behind Pumpkin’s ear and it’s like a button for the cat. She immediately curls in deeper to Caleb, going soft and closing her eyes.
“She’s so cute,” Caleb whispers as if afraid he’ll wake her.
They do that for a couple more minutes, but eventually they have to let Pumpkin go so the kids can eat. Niamh takes the cat out to the bed she’s set up in the living room and comes back to take her spot at my side.
She keeps her eyes to herself now, but from beneath the table, something nudges against my foot, and I swear my heart drops into my stomach. A subtle glance under shows her booted foot pressed up against mine, and I feel like I just won the whole damn world.
“What’s up with your face?” Remy hollers over the table, staring at me hard.
“Remy,” Silas scolds.
Niamh snorts beside me, using her hair as a curtain to shield her face from me. Damn, I feel like I’m fucking blushing. There’s a foreign burn on my cheeks, and my scalp is prickling.
Picking up a green bean from my plate, I launch it across the table. The long, stringy vegetable hits my youngest brother right in the middle of the forehead, leaving a buttery, grease spot on his skin. He snaps back in his chair as if he just got shot before his mouth drops open in shock.
“Did you just throw a fucking green bean at my head!?”
Rosie gasps at his side. “Uncle Remy said a bad word!”
“Remy,” Silas scolds for the second time in less than a minute.
“He needs a time-out,” Rosie says matter-of-factly. “I get a time-out when I say a bad word.”
Niamh’s shoulders are shaking, her head bent toward the table, still with her hair as a shield to cover her face. My hand moves on its own, reaching to tuck it behind her ear.
“I want to see that.” I tell her when she snaps her head toward me.
Remy makes a gagging noise. “Get a room!”
“Remy!” And there’s the third telling off.
The rest of dinner goes just how it started, with a lot of ribbing from Remy, a lot of scolding from Silas and me trying to sneak glances at the woman sitting beside me. Even Caleb is laughing.
It feels good after the heaviness of the past few days.
When dinner is done, Niamh and Remy take cleanup duty while Silas and I wrangle the kids into the living room to try and calm them down after all that activity.
“Is she staying?” Caleb settles on the couch beside me, a book in his lap.
“Niamh?” I look down at him.
He nods, blinking eyes that match my brothers.
“I hope so,” I admit.
“I think I like her,” He sighs.
“You think?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that’s good, buddy. I think I like her too.”
“Well, duh,” My nephew rolls his eyes like he’s the wisest one in this room, “You married her.”
“That’s true,” I agree. “It’s okay to like her.” I make sure to reassure him.
He shrugs his little shoulders. “Yeah, I guess so. I like her cat too.”
“Maybe we should convince your dad to get one,” I whisper to him.
“I heard that!” Silas snaps from the other side of the room, where he has a lap full of dolls and stuffed animals, which Rosie keeps taking from to build her little tea party around the coffee table.
“Can we, dad?”
Shit. I wince when Silas glares daggers at me. “We don’t have time for a cat, Caleb.”
“We can make time though,” Caleb defends. “Please, dad?”
Fuck. I put my foot in my mouth there.
“Maybe we should revisit this in like a year?” I say. He’ll forget in a year, surely.
Caleb mutters something under his breath and then goes quiet, turning his attention back to the book. I can feel my brother’s eyes burning into the side of my head, but I don’t look at him. I know better than to suggest shit like that, and that’s my bad.
Rosie runs from the room like a bat out of hell, followed by an oomph that sounds from the kitchen, and then she’s back, Niamh in tow. Rosie is dragging her by her hand, a towel thrown over her shoulder.
“Sit,” Rosie demands, pointing to a cushion thrown onto the floor in front of the table. “It’s teatime.”
Niamh chuckles as she lowers onto the cushion, entertaining Rosie, pretending to sip from her plastic teacup, little pinky out and everything for the next hour. At nine, Silas rounds them up and heads out, leaving just me, Niamh and Remy, but I’m about to remedy that.
Flicking my eyes to my brother, I jerk my chin to the door, silently telling him to get the fuck out, but all he does is grin.
“Roman tells me you own the bar in town. Sunstone Saloon, is it?” Remy asks her.
Huffing an irritated breath, I push up from the couch and go to the small drinks cart I have set up in here.
I pour two glasses with a small serving of whiskey and hand one to Niamh.
Remy lifts his hand to take the second, but I ignore the fucker and return to my spot on the couch, groaning a little when my ribs smart.
I’m due to take my pills for the pain soon, but they’ll knock me out, and I’m not ready to let the night go just yet.
I just need my brother to leave so I can pick up where I left off with Niamh in the dining room.
“That’s right,” Niamh nods to my brother, not picking up on the silent conversation we are having.
“How long have you been doing that?” Remy continues, getting comfortable. He spreads his arms along the back of the chair, a shit eating grin on his face knowing he’s pushing my buttons.
“About five years, I think,” She responds. “I opened it with my dad.”
“Ah,” Remy nods, “A father - daughter duo. I like it. Is he working there tonight? Maybe I’ll pop down there, introduce myself since we’re all family now.”
Fuck. I filled Remy in, but not on every single tiny detail, like why Niamh was in so much debt to begin with. It’s bad enough Silas knows everything, which I get was inevitable since he was the one to get me the information in the first place, but things have changed since then.
Niamh stares down into the amber liquid. “Uh, he actually passed. A year ago, now.”
“Shit.” Remy hisses, all humor he had slipping away, “I’m sorry, I didn’t — fuck. I’m sorry.”
Niamh shrugs and wets her lips. “It’s alright.”
Grief is a funny thing, isn’t it? How it can hit you out of nowhere.
It could be days, months, even years where you feel okay, but then someone says something, or you smell a scent or hear a song, and it drags you way back to when you were in the thick of it.
Niamh is still very much in the thick of her grief; that much is obvious, and no one can bring her out of that.
It takes time, and how much time depends entirely on the person grieving.
It’s the cost of loving someone so deeply that when they’re no longer here, a part of you leaves with them. It isn’t about getting over it; it’s about learning to live with a part of yourself that’s missing, a part you never get back, and we all do that differently.
“I should probably go,” Remy fidgets uncomfortably now that he’s put his whole foot in his mouth and then gets up. “I really am sorry.”
“Don’t sweat it,” Niamh assures him, but she can’t look him in the eye. Me, however, I’m glaring at him, my fingers twitching to slap him upside the head.
“I’ll walk you out,” I grind out, leaving Niamh in the living room to show my brother the door.
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” Remy hisses.
“Why the fuck did you need to know!?” I fire back, “If you weren’t so determined to mess with me, you wouldn’t have said anything in the first place.”
He scrubs at the back of his neck. “Shit, I’m sorry, bro.”
I grunt and shake my head. “Just keep your mouth closed, yeah?”
“Got it.” He mimics closing a zip over his lips and throwing away the key. “Are you two like… ya know?”
“I don’t know,” I open the door, the chilly mountain air sweeping in through the house.
“I’m happy for you,” Remy says, stepping out onto the porch, “Even if the way you started was all the way fucked up.”
“Shut up.” I shake my head.
“Well, it was,” He shrugs, “Like I knew you had a stick up your ass, bro, but a contract to get married!?” His laugh is boisterous. “Can’t believe pops would do that though.”
“Yeah, me neither.” I move to close the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Once he’s out of sight, I completely shut and lock the door, returning to the living room where Niamh is perusing the bookshelf tucked into the corner.
I doubt there’s anything of interest there for her, it’s all books on agriculture and town history, a collection my mom started back when she was still alive.
She’d often curl up in the chair right by the fireplace, a book in her lap and a hot chocolate resting on the arm.
“Are you okay?” I pause at the couch, leaning against it to watch her.
“I want to be,” She flicks her blue eyes to me, “Some days are harder than others, and then some days, I think I’m okay and then feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”
“It takes time,” I assure her. “There is no rush.”
She nods gently, “I guess.”
Dropping her hand from the weathered spines, she turns to me and then closes the gap, coming to a stop in front of me, an inch between us. She looks over my face with an intensity she’s never shown before. “You’ve made it easier.” She whispers.
My throat works on a swallow, and I force myself to keep still so I don’t reach for her.
“I tried to pretend you didn’t, but tonight made me realize I had been lying to myself. And part of me feels guilty for letting myself feel something other than sadness, but I also know my dad would turn in his grave if he knew how the last year has been for me.”
“Life isn’t meant to be easy, sweetheart.” My fingers curl into the palms of my hands. “It’s meant to be messy. Unpredictable.”
Her eyes drop to my lips. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“Making me feel something more.”
The world stops spinning for a moment as she presses up onto her toes and then so fucking gently, as soft as the whisper of a butterfly wing, presses her lips to the corner of my mouth.
The kiss is chaste, but it lasts. I still feel the tingle of it long after she’s left the room.