Chasing River (Burying Water #3)(81)

I’m basically living the life now that I will be in thirty years, minus the wife and kids. I know I’ll find someone; an eighteen-month stint in prison isn’t the worst thing for an Irish-born man. There are plenty of Nualas out there who wouldn’t care. The thing is, I don’t want another Nuala.

I want a girl like Amber.

I want Amber.

But she’s leaving on Sunday and, unless I jump on a plane and go with her, that’ll probably be the last time I ever see her. That thought did cross my mind earlier, during dinner, when she mentioned it. I doubt she was serious. But it did get me thinking that I should look into getting a passport. I never bothered applying for one before, figuring there was no reason to put myself through the hassle. I know I’ll never set foot on American or Canadian soil, but I’ve heard that it’s pretty easy to travel through the European Union without issue. Unless they’ve put me on some sort of watch list. It’s not like they’re going to tell me about that, so I guess there’s only one way to find out: try to get on a plane. Of course, I wouldn’t be trying that with Amber.

“Whatever you did, she’s not going to call the cops on you.”

I turn to find Ivy standing behind me. She would have seen the stitch work on my back.

“Like you said, you’ve been friends with her for three days. How do you know?”

“Because, if she were going to, she would have done it right away. And she definitely wouldn’t have let you into this house.”

I nod quietly, her words calming the worry simmering inside me.

“Can we finish that now, before your idiot brother drinks too much to get his matching ink?”

I glance over her head to see Rowen downing another shot.

The staircase creaks just as Ivy shuts off the tattoo gun, finished.

“See?” She whips out a mirror from her tool kit and holds it up to show me the fierce and proud stag now prominently sketched on my body. It holds my attention for about five seconds—she’s right, her freehand is better than the original sketch I had—before my eyes dart to the landing, and a pale-faced Amber.

Looking like she just saw a ghost.

I’m on my feet in a second. “What’s wrong?”

Her green eyes, full of disbelief, dart from me to my chest to Ivy, then finally to the floor, with the slightest head shake. “Nothing. I just . . .” Her words trail as she staggers into the kitchen, Ivy watching as closely as I am.

Ivy pokes me, then nods toward her. “Okay . . . Next up.” She rolls her eyes at Rowen, who’s already got his shirt off, revealing his bare canvas. “That’s right. You’re a virgin.” She begins dismantling her machine to change out the needle and clean up. “I haven’t had one of you in a while.”

“Then you’re in luck tonight.”

I leave them to their banter and head over to the darkened kitchen, where Amber stares listlessly out the window, mimicking me from not long ago. “Everything okay?”

She sips from her tall glass of water, emptying half of it before setting the glass on the counter. “It looks good.” Her eyes are on the stag, veering to the phoenix for a short moment. “Did it hurt?”

“Not at all.” No man ever admits to the pain.

She drifts back to the window, but with a smirk now. “Liar.”

At least she can smile. Sort of. “You should get one.”

“Yeah? Where?”

I can’t help myself. I step closer, drawing a circle on the back of her shoulder, over that blue dress that’s been teasing me all day, so short. “Right here.”

She shivers but doesn’t pull away. “What would I get?”

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know.” She sighs. “I just don’t know anymore . . .”

Something tells me this isn’t about a tattoo. “Is everything okay back home?”

“Yes. And no.” A deep frown mars her forehead, and that line in between her eyes creases.

“Ivy said you had a sister-in-law?”

“You could say that. She and my brother aren’t married, but they’re forever.”

“What’s she like? Do you two get along?”

“Yeah. She’s great.” She smiles. “I think you’d like her.” The smiles fall off. Because she’s remembering that I won’t ever meet her. Not unless it’s here, in Ireland.

“Look, Amber—”

“She told me things about my dad,” Amber interrupts me. “Things that he did, to protect my brother, and Alex. Illegal things that could have gotten him into so much trouble. I had no idea.”

That’s why she looks so shocked.

I tug on her shoulder until her lithe body turns to face me. I want more than anything to pull her into my chest, but Ivy’s work won’t allow that for that. Maybe Amber won’t allow for that. I can’t tell, the way she’s staring up at my face. Has she forgiven me?

Ivy’s snap of, “Stop staring at me like that,” pulls both our attention to the dining room table, where she’s already working on Rowen, having positioned herself between his outstretched legs.

He winks at us. “I can’t help it.”

“It’s creepy.”

“Maybe you’re creepy.” He grits his teeth as if in pain, and I’m guessing he is based on how her little fingers are digging into his bicep. He quickly adds, “In a hot way. Hold on a sec, Ivy . . . I need to get this.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks the display screen. His eyes race to mine. “Hello, Fern. How are you?” His tone climbs five octaves to altar-boy status for the old lady. “No way . . . Really?” He listens intently as the old woman talks. The longer it stretches, the more certain I am that this is about gardai showing up. “Thank you for letting me know, Fern . . . No, I’m good. Just at a friend’s . . . I know. That Aengus, he’s a problem . . . Okay, well, I’ll stop by tomorrow to carry your rubbish out, just like always. See ya, Fern.”