Delaney

I stretch out in the king-sized bed, smiling when Cillian reaches out in his sleep and pulls me snug against his hard body. I don’t even know what day it is, but I know I never want to go home.

Cillian has made it his mission to show me all of Ireland, and in the past few weeks, we’ve done more than I ever imagined possible, even checking off a couple more things from Maeve’s list. This time, not because I felt obligated to, but because I wanted to.

Every moment with him is an adventure.

After the night in Strandhill, Cillian and I drove south along the West Coast. We spent a few nights in Galloway, then Limerick, and even made it all the way down to Cork, before driving back up the East Coast towards Dublin.

I’ve seen more castles, churches, ancient sites, and sheep than I knew existed. So much of the land seems untouched by men, and it’s easy to understand how myths and legends began here. Gods and goddesses, giants and fairies, even Irish luck; they all seem possible when you stand in the shadows of Benbulbin. And it’s hard not to walk along the Cliffs of Mohor or Connemara and not feel insignificant.

But it’s not just the land or the old buildings.

What makes Ireland is the people.

I understand why Maeve wanted to come here.

Life is lived here.

Or maybe with Cillian, I’ve just learned how to live it.

Lacing my fingers in his, I snuggle back against him and close my eyes against the morning sun that streams through the windows – our only alarm clock. He turned his phone off days ago, and mine is still broken, stashed with my luggage at his house.

We haven’t been back since.

I know, at some point, we have to go back. I need to settle things with the rental agency. The car is a complete write-off, but instead of worrying about it like I probably should be, I’ve just been enjoying every second that I have here.

I know it’ll have to end soon. This isn’t reality, it’s just a beautiful dream that I’m going to have to wake up from eventually. I’ve already stayed longer than I should. But I don’t want to leave – Ireland or Cillian.

We’re back in Strandhill staying in Patrick’s small bachelor pad on top of the pub. I think this is my favorite spot. I love waking up and walking on the beach, seeing the surfers, watching the sunset over the ocean. Even more, I love hearing Cillian sing. Tonight, he promised Patrick that he’s doing a whole set with the band.

I’ve tried to ask him about Wild Irish, but his walls go up every time I do. I’ve managed to get some information out of him. I know now that Aiden, Shane, and his brother, Owen, are the other members, and that after his falling out with Owen, the band split.

Sometimes, I wonder if he’s not using his time with me as an excuse to run from his problems.

When I sigh, Cillian places his mouth to my ear and says sleepily, “What’s wrong?”

I hadn’t realized he was awake. Turning in his arms, I place my palm on his cheek and kiss him. God, I’m going to miss him when I go home. “You asked me when you met me who I was running from.”

“Did I?” he murmurs, his fingers trailing across my skin.

“I could ask you the same.”

He ignores me, trailing his lips down my stomach.

“Is it your brother?”

His muscles tense, blue eyes suddenly steely, but he doesn’t answer, and I see the answer in the hard lines around his mouth.

“You can’t run from your problems forever. Neither of us can.”

He grunts. “We’ve been doing a good job of it so far.”

I smile softly and touch his face. His scruff is thicker now, almost a full beard. “Whatever he did, you need to forgive him.”

He rolls over on his back with a frustrated sigh. “What he did was unforgivable.”

“He’s your brother–”

“He’s a lying, cheating bastard that couldn’t keep his cock in his pants.” Rolling off the bed, he grabs his clothes and starts to dress.

“Maybe there’s more to the story. Emer said–”

The look he pins me with stops me mid-sentence. “My brother fucked the woman I thought I was in love with. Hard to spin it any other way.”

The woman he was in love with.

I don’t know why his confession bothers me so much, but it does.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” I sit up, grab the t-shirt and shorts Cillian bought for me at one of our stops, and put them on.

He drags his fingers through his hair and looks out the window.

I find my purse and put my sandals on. “I’ll go get us coffee.”

“No. I’ll go.” His voice is rough and he doesn’t look at me. He cuts me off at the door and slams it shut behind him.

I sit down heavily on the bed, a premonition tugging at the back of my mind.

I hate seeing him upset. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned his brother, but I feel like it’s something that’s holding him back. Like he’s using it as an excuse for not letting go, for not letting himself care about other people.

Or maybe I just want more than he can give. Which is completely selfish, because I’ll be gone soon. Maybe I just want to know that it won’t just be me that will be leaving with a broken heart.

Yeah, selfish.

If I care about him as much as I think I do, then I should be glad it won’t hurt him as much.