Wild Chance (Wild Irish Universe)(29)

“What’s your advice, then?” Killian asked.

“Don’t carry that load, man. It’ll kill you.”

“I’ll wait here,” Killian said. He didn’t look convinced. “But if you need anything…”

“I know.” Aedan took one final reassuring look at his friend before easing himself out of the passenger side of the vehicle. Slowly and steadily, he made his way up the drive short driveway. The house hadn’t changed much—it had gotten older but that was to be expected. The grass in the front yard was neatly trimmed, rose bushes were planted beneath both the front bay windows with their white trim. The cobble stones of the path leading from the sidewalk to the door made him think of walking down the yellow brick road to a shady guy behind a giant curtain—it always had. Everything about the yard, even the porch swing he wasn’t allowed to use, gave off an air of perfection.

It was a flawlessness Aedan knew didn’t exist.

It seemed like the walk was the longest he’d ever done. But, finally, he knocked on the door and backed up a few steps. His mind couldn’t resist likening this moment to knocking on a suspected insurgent’s door then easing back to see what would pop out.

“Go away!” His aunt’s voice hollered from the other side of the door. “Whatever you’re selling, we don’t want any.”

Aedan frowned. “Níl mé ag díol. Tá sé Aedan.”

There was a pause before hobbled footsteps could be heard on the wooden floors on the other side of the door. Finally, the door opened and Bronagh filled his vision.

The years had not been kind.

He remembered the woman who had struck fear in him for years. Then he’d gotten too tall, too big for her to push around. She’d then taken to ignoring him afterward.

He’d never put his hands on her—his size and height made her think he would. That had been enough.

Now, she stood before him, a shadow of her former self. Her blonde hair had descended into the madness of old age—grey and tied back in a tight, sensible bun. Her bright blue eyes had lost their luster even more than before and her face was a roadmap of every frown she’d ever thrown his way.

She clutched a cane in her right hand that trembled. For a moment, he wondered if that was one of the side-effects of growing old or if she had an illness. But he knew deep down she wanted to know nothing about him. After so many years, he didn’t care enough to ask how she’d been.

“Don’t think ye comin’ in here.”

On what planet would that even be a thing?

He tilted his head. After so long, Bronagh was still a giant ass. She was still ornery and mean. “I never said I wanted to.”

“What do ye want?” She asked, her accent not as strong as it used to be. “A hug?”

“Answers,” Aedan said. For her to think he would want anything emotional from her made him want to laugh out loud.

“I have none for ye.”

“I think you do. Where is my mother?”

“I told ye.”

“I am only going to ask you one more time.” He growled in Gaelic. “Where. Is. My. Mother?”

“She dumped ye on me. Ruined my life. She didn’t want ye. Then she tried sending all those letters—”

“Letters?”

Aedan saw it when Bronagh realized she’d said too much. But he wasn’t going to pretend she hadn’t. “Now is not the time for silence, Bronagh.” He barked.

“Don’t raise yer voice at me, boy!”

“Trust me, Bronagh. If I was yelling, you would know it.” He glared at her, “Let’s try this again. What letters?”

Nothing from her.

Aedan tilted his head. In that moment he knew if he didn’t back up, he might in fact have snapped. But before he could say anything else, she wilted.

“Wait here.”

Aedan glanced back to see Killian had climbed from the driver’s side of the vehicle and was leaning against it, arms folded across his muscular chest. In that moment he seemed like a guardian angel, one Aedan had so desperately needed.

Shaky footsteps hitting hardwood floor drew his attention back to the interior to find his aunt had returned with a wooden box in one hand. She handed it to him and he backed up.

“And don’t come back!” She screeched, slamming the door in his face.

But he didn’t care about that. As he lifted the lid of the wooden box, decorated intricately with four leave clovers and trinity symbols, his heart raced in his chest. The smell of papers that hadn’t been touched in years wafted up to his nose. It was a familiar smell mingled with dust and mothballs.

Inside, were a stack of envelops, their paper turning brown with the passage of time. The name Ailin Callahan scrawled in beautiful calligraphy against the exterior along with an address for somewhere in Ireland called Dingle.

All the letters were addressed to him—Aedan Fionn Callahan.

His heart raced as he carried his treasures back to Killian.

“What’s in the box, Cal?”

“Letters—letters from my mother.”

“Your mother? Please tell me she…”

“I-I…um—I’m not sure how to feel right now.”

“Do you want to stay with us? Or did you want me to take you to Mona?”