nearly died from the injuries David had inflicted.
Though why she felt compelled to reach out to Ryan Fitzgerald she didn’t know.
Well, okay, so she did know. She liked him. Liked his integrity, liked his protectiveness and the way he cared about her, his family, his job. He was a man of action, a man of his word. He put duty ahead of his own hurt and that said a lot about his character. And made him dangerous to her peace of mind because she could easily see herself falling for him.
Yet, she couldn’t let him suffer.
Meghan reached across the table to lay her hand over his. The contact sent heat curling up her arm. “I’m sorry. That comment was uncalled for. I have no right to judge your father or his actions.” She remembered the anguish in Aiden’s eyes as he had confessed his fallibility to his family. That hadn’t been fake. “I’m sure he’s hurting just as you are.”
“I don’t understand him.” Confusion and pain etched lines in his handsome face.
For an unguarded moment she glimpsed the turmoil going on inside Ryan and her heart ached for him. “We all make bad decisions sometimes, horrible choices that have far-reaching consequences we can’t anticipate or want.”
“That’s an understatement.” He looked away, his jaw set. “It’s one thing to keep his affair secret all these years. But another to keep quiet about Olivia, especially after she came to town.”
“In his misguided way he was trying to protect all of you,” she said. But not his illegitimate child. A spark of anger flared. She battled down the flame to a smoking ember.
He stared at her, his disbelief as clear as glass. “How can you be so forgiving?”
Drawing on her faith and the wise words a kind nurse had once told her, she said, “Forgiveness is a process. Taken step by step. Moment by moment. Consciously giving over to God what we can’t humanly do ourselves. Forgiveness is the way to freedom from that which binds us.” And if she recited the words often enough, she’d finally master the concept. She hoped.
Ryan’s mouth twisted. “Trite words meant to offer comfort no doubt, but how could you possibly understand the depth of betrayal I feel?”
Defensiveness rose. “I know how devastating the cut is that you feel all the way to the quick of your soul when someone you love, someone you trust turns on you.” She’d given her heart so easily, so foolishly only to have the man she’d married beat her to a pulp. Literally.
“Who hurt you?” Ryan’s voice softened. He turned his hand over to twine his fingers with hers.
She swallowed, realizing too late she’d unwittingly opened up a door she wasn’t ready to pass through with him. “We’re not talking about me. I’m trying to help you.”
“But I’m not allowed to return the favor?”
She swallowed and was grateful to see the waitress heading over with her arms ladened with their dinner.
The smells of rich marinara sauce wafted from the plate of pasta. Meghan reached for a slice of garlic bread in the breadbasket at the same time as Ryan. He pulled his hand back. “After you.”
Appreciating his manners, she took a piece. Hoping to keep the conversation from turning back to her, she said, “The Red Sox are playing the Orioles tonight.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You a baseball fan?”
“You can’t live in Boston and not be.” She took a bite of her spaghetti. Her eyelids closed as she savored the taste. There was nothing better than pasta sauce done right.
“Good, huh?”
Her eyelids flew open. “What?”
He watched her with an amused gleam in his eyes. “You looked like you were enjoying your food.”
“I am,” she said and took a drink of iced tea to cool the burn of embarrassment heating her checks. “Is your Stroganoff good?”
“Yes.” He twirled some of the flat noodles covered in creamy mushroom sauce and held it up. “Want a taste?”
She nearly choked on the bit of bread she’d put in her mouth. Tasting each other’s food was an intimate act shared by close relations or…people in relationships. She was neither.
And had no plans to travel down that road.
SEVEN
“So what do you think of the Red Sox this season?” Meghan asked, her gaze on the bread she was tearing to pieces, the crumbs landing in a pile on her half-eaten serving of pasta.
Her words about forgiveness echoed in Ryan’s head. His curiosity about her deepened. Someone had hurt her. From the background check he had done on her-after the first time she’d stormed into his office demanding to know what he was doing to find her cousin’s killer-he knew Meghan was divorced. He could only guess that the marriage had ended badly.
He wanted to go back to that conversation, find out more about her, but he had the distinct impression she didn’t. Ryan, too, had memories he couldn’t bear to think about. Memories that spread the pain of being disillusioned through him. Keeping the evening light probably was for the best. He had so much turmoil going on in his brain right now, he was struggling as it was. “I think they’ll make the play-offs.”
“Did you play baseball growing up?” she asked.
“Yep, all the way through high school. But I was better at basketball. It was more fun. A faster game.”
A smile played at the corners of her mouth. “I like basketball, too. I played in junior high.”
“I can see you playing basketball. You should stop by the community center some time for a pick-up game.” She had an athletic grace about her. She was tall for a woman, lean, but with curves in all the right places. He blocked
He couldn’t let his guard down because this woman held the power to devastate his family.
Apparently done with her attempt at conversation, she lapsed back into silence and finished off her meal.
He studied the contours of her face, liking the high cheekbones and the soft pout of her lips. What made her tick? If he understood her better, maybe he’d find a way to convince her to keep the information about his father from going public. “Did you grow up in Boston?”
She startled as if he’d poked her. “Oh, yes. Yes, I did. Born and raised in the same neighborhood where my mother grew up. My dad immigrated to America from Ireland as a young man when he was twenty years old. He met my mom not long after, and they were married three weeks later.”
Ireland. The country of his forefathers, who’d immigrated to America in the 1800s and settled Fitzgerald Bay. Meghan’s ancestry, too. And Olivia’s country.
Hurt reared at the reminder of his father’s fall from grace. He viciously subdued the pain, forcing it back to the cramped box in his soul. “You’re an only child?”
“Yes. I always wished for a brother or sister, but…” She shrugged. “I envy you having so many siblings.”
He thought of Douglas’s concern after they’d been shot at. “They’re the best. I’m the oldest. The responsible one. Mom expected me to keep the others in line, back then and now.” He gave a small dry laugh. “As a kid, I resented each baby who arrived-one more sibling to take the attention.”
“I imagine that’s normal,” she said.
“Maybe. But no matter how hard I tried not to care for each new baby brother or sister, I would always fall for them.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t help myself when they stared up at me with big eyes as if I were their entire world.”
He trusted his siblings implicitly. He’d lay down his life for each one of them without a heartbeat of hesitation.
He’d yet to meet anyone outside the family who inspired the same sort of trust and devotion. Oh, he’d dated, but never seriously. There always seemed to be something…missing.
