Bryan.

He always wanted to talk about Bryan and how steady he’d become. He’s so stable, so sturdy. He’s such a durable chap, Sean would say, as though Bryan were a table.

I felt my cousin’s eyes on my profile. Not wishing to rehash the same conversation, I kept my gaze studiously forward.

“Eilish.”

“Sean.”

Now he grunted. Then he stood, crossed to the door, and shut it. Sean rounded on me, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It’s been weeks. You’ve been here for weeks.”

“And?”

“And what do you think?”

“I think things are going well.”

“Not about the bloody job. What do you think about Bryan?”

I twisted my lips to the side, hoping I was able to mask the sharp pang of some unknown emotion—regret? Sorrow? Embarrassment? Longing? More guilt?

What do I think about Bryan?

I didn’t know what to think about Bryan. Before I’d messed everything up by kissing him, we’d shared a few friendly moments. Over the last few weeks, while avoiding him, I’d watched him interact with his teammates; his care for them was clear and he was well liked, respected. I also felt like I knew him better now—much better— than I had five years ago when we slept together.

Mint tea, spectacles, and housecoats. I smirked at the memory of his grumpiness last month, how adorable he’d been as he complained about his neighbors.

I like him.

Yes. I liked him. And I was beyond besotted with his body.

And that tattoo . . .

Giving myself a quick shake, I reminded myself that I shouldn’t be thinking about Bryan’s sexy tattoo. Ever.

My voice was forced firmness as I said, “Sean, I don’t have time for this. It’s Friday, and I have several more appointments this afternoon. Please let me work.”

“Fine,” he huffed, his hands falling to his thighs with a petulant smack. “I’ll let you work. But you should know that people are starting to notice.”

A jolt of trepidation had me lifting my eyes to my cousin. “What do you mean? Who has noticed what?”

“Bryan, for one. He has noticed that he is the only one you pawn off to Connors.”

“Has he said anything?”

“He doesn’t have to. The other lads have brought it up a few times. Gavin asked me if Bryan had made a pass at you, if that’s why you won’t help him.”

Guilt—always guilt—flared in my throat, making my lungs prickle, and I swallowed against the thick band of remorse.

Bryan hadn’t made a pass at me. I’d made a pass at him.

“Shells,” I sighed, dropping my pen to the desk and holding my forehead in my fingers. “I didn’t mean to exclude him.”

“Then what did you mean by refusing to treat his injuries?” Sean demanded with a flair for the dramatic.

I slid my eyes to my cousin, glowering at him. “That’s not what I’m doing. I’ve never refused him. It’s just . . . really difficult.”

“What’s difficult?” Sean asked gently.

“Honestly? Touching him is difficult. So is talking to him, or being around him, or seeing him.” I re-buried my face in my hands and shook my head.

I hadn’t anticipated how strongly I’d be drawn to him. Clearly, I’d been naïve. I thought I could ignore him, or get used to him at least, but that wasn’t happening. Instead, he’d become an ever-growing source of longing, frustration, and—yes—guilt. Sooner or later I was going to burst with it.

When Sean spoke next, he was very close and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Perhaps if you told him the truth, things would be easier for you.”

A wary laugh tumbled from my lips. “I can’t. I can’t tell him.”

Just the thought made me want to buy two one-way tickets back to America.

“Why not? He’s very stable.”

“I’m not worried about his stability, Sean.”

“Then what are you afraid of?”

What am I afraid of?

Patrick was my life. Despite how he came to be, his sweet smile, his silly sense of humor, the way he looked at me with adoration and love . . . it’s what I lived for. He was what I lived for. The mere thought of losing that daily dose of amazing terrified me. He’s my world.

“Eilish?”

“I’m afraid he’ll t-t-take Patrick away f-f-from me,” I blurted, my voice cracking on the last word, my damn stutter returning in full force. I told myself to be quiet, but some force compelled me to continue. “I have n-n-nothing, nothing b-b-but this job which means I’m b-b-barely making ends meet. I could never afford a custody b-b-battle. He would win, he would take Patrick and there’s n-n-nothing—”

“Shhh.” Sean gathered me into his arms, pressing my head against his shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you.”

I forced myself to take several deep, calming breaths, pushing the crush of anxiety away, back, and down, where my worst fears lived and simmered in the back of my mind.

“Are you going to cry?”

I shook my head tightly. “I n-n-never cry. You know that.”

Sean gave me one final squeeze, then gripped my arms, holding me slightly away so I was forced to meet his gaze.

“You have me,” he said, his eyes as earnest as I’d ever seen them. “And I will always help you. When you tell Bryan, because you must tell him, if he goes off the deep end—which I don’t think he will, but if he does—I will help you. You have to know that.”