“I did not.”
“And did you . . .” He cleared his throat and I turned my head to watch his profile. His throat worked and I saw true anguish pass over his features.
Clearing his throat a second time, he called to the guys behind us. “Back off, would you?”
They stopped at his command and we continued toward the fountain.
“What about Lucy?” he finally managed gruffly once we’d gained some distance from the others.
I frowned at him.
I noted he couldn’t bring himself to ask, Did you fuck Lucy?
Furthermore, some of the air left my balloon of fury at the hint of vulnerability coloring his words.
I sighed, shaking my head and looking away. “I wouldn’t call it that.”
“What would you call it?”
“None of your goddamn business.”
Ronan choked a harsh laugh, his tone incredulous. “None of my business?”
“That’s right. What goes on between me and Lucy—”
He jerked to a stop, grabbing my shirtfront. “Don’t you fecking say her name.”
I pushed him off, aware of the others hovering several yards away. My earlier anger had been eclipsed by a remarkable exhaustion. Maybe since the first time I’d laid eyes on the man, I didn’t want to fight Ronan.
“What happens with us is between us.”
“Like hell it is,” he charged at me, “not when you’re trying to—”
“I love her,” I admitted, to him and to myself.
He stopped, brown eyes flashing dangerously. “That’s bullshit.”
I laughed—again humorlessly—shaking my head at the irony of his statement. “That’s what she said when I told her I wanted her to be mine. When she rejected me.”
Why I was opening that wound in front of Ronan Fitzpatrick, I had no idea. Perhaps that was what people in love do. They become morose Byron-esque caricatures of self-loathing. They become masochists.
Fuck, I hated myself.
Ugh.
I was quite suddenly everything I couldn’t stand about the man in front of me.
And furthermore, I couldn’t bring myself to care.
“She rejected you?”
That stopped him, and he stood a little straighter, his expression telling me he was proud of his sister. Obviously, he’d misinterpreted my meaning. He likely thought she’d rejected my untoward sexual advances. Little did he know . . .
I thought about correcting his assumption but decided to let him swim around in his dream world. As I’d said, it wasn’t any of his business.
Now to the other matter.
“What I want to know,” I started, waiting until he met my glare before continuing, “is why, if you knew Lucy had a thieving problem, did you never insist she seek psychological help?”
Ronan flinched. Clearly my words had caught him completely off guard. He opened his mouth to respond. I cut him off, renewed irritation flaring at his apathy and inaction.
“She needs help, Ronan. She’s not something to be ashamed of, sent away.”
He sputtered for a moment before lamely explaining, “I didn’t send her away. I thought that it had stopped— I thought she wasn’t—”
“Well, clearly tonight’s events prove that you’re wrong,” I reprimanded. “And this isn’t the first time I’ve come across her flexing this compulsion. Your mother is obviously a bad influence, so I blame her. You know Lucy doesn’t steal unless that blasted woman is around, driving her to do it.”
Ronan continued looking at me as though I’d grown a rugby ball for a head until I glowered at him and added, “And I blame you, too.”
“You blame me?” he asked stupidly, eyes wide.
“Yes. You’re her brother. You should be watching out for her, not ignoring her cries for help.”
“Her cries for help?” he parroted, looking even more stunned.
“Yes,” I ground out through clenched teeth, losing my patience. A growl rumbled from my chest. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Ronan. Could you spare a moment in your self-absorbed little bubble to think of your lovely sister? She’s . . . magnificent and wonderful and selfless and needs you. And where are you?”
“Where am I?” That question he asked with a slight grin.
It infuriated me.
“I don’t know. But you’re not taking care of her, are you?” I challenged, daring him to contradict.
He studied me, his gaze coolly assessing. It took me several moments to see through my own irritation before I realized he was no longer angry. Or, at least, he didn’t appear to be.
“Hmm.”
Then he nodded, turned, and walked away.
And I watched him go, a frown of stunned confusion on my face. Finally finding my voice, I called after him, “Where are you going?”
“To talk to Lucy,” he called back over his shoulder, almost cheerfully. Then added, “And, for Christ’s sake, Sean. Go put some socks on. You can’t run in bare feet.”
Chapter Twenty
@LucyFitz Up, down, up, down… I AM SO READY FOR SOME CALM F%$&ING WATERS!