It’s so bizarre to hear him speak like that after months of his lively voice, sparkling eyes, and affectionate hands. He feels nearly lifeless as his father assesses him.
“Are you going to introduce me?” His dad nods in my direction, and I avert my eyes.
“Right,” Teagan finally stands, pulling me up with him. “Da, this is my girlfriend, Layla Diaz. Layla, this is my father, Martin.”
I extend my hand towards him. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”
His eyebrows climb his forehead as he looks from my face to my hand. I’m about to pull my hand back awkwardly when he reaches out, shakingit. His palms and fingers are calloused, but his grip is soft. I expected the work-worn hands, but not a gentle touch.
“Pleasure, lass,” he says gruffly, then gives his attention back to Teagan. They clasp hands, but still no hug. “How long are you here for, son?”
“Not long, I’m afraid.” Teagan stuffs his hands into his pockets. “We’ve a wedding for some friends in Kilkenny to attend in a couple of days and will have to head back to the States not long after.”
“I see. Could use yer help with a few things while you’re here.”
“Martin, please,” Siobhán begs. “Can we not just enjoy our time with him? Who knows when we’ll see him again.”
“The work doesn’t stop just because the prodigal son returns.”
“Christ,” Teagan mutters, cupping the bill of his hat with a hand.
“Watch yer language, son. I’ll not have ya takin’ the Lord’s name in vain under my roof.” Martin gives him a withering look.
Teagan’s jaw clenches as he glares right back. The pressure is building, and if he doesn’t get some sort of release soon, he’s going to blow.
“Hey, babe?” I say soothingly, waiting for his eyes to meet mine. His face is set in hard lines but softens when he looks at me. “Can you show me where the bathroom is?”
“Aye, Lovely. C’mon.” He laces our fingers and begins to lead us from the room. “Then we’ll take a walk when you’re done. I want to show you something.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Layla
“If I would have known you were going to take me traipsing through the mud, I would have worn different shoes,” I complain as I try to maneuver around a mud puddle in my tennis shoes.
Teagan chuckles, then turns to grip either side of my waist before lifting me over the puddle. “We’re in Ireland. What did you expect?”
“It’s theGreenIsle,” I remind him. “Not the brown one.”
He laughs again, the concern that’s been knotted in my chest loosening. I was worried that my normally happy-go-lucky Irishman was going to be as gloomy as the autumn sky above us for the rest of the day.
When Teagan showed me to the bathroom, I pulled him in with me, locking the door behind. I think he thought it was going to be a repeat of the club in Texas, and while the idea crossed my mind, what I did do waswrap my arms around him, hugging him tight in a silent reminder that I have his back, just like he has mine.
“Where are we going anyway?” I ask.
Being outdoors is great, to an extent, but sloshing around in the muck and mire of the woods is not.
“Just a little further. Promise.”
Sighing heavily, I follow behind him. I try to step where he steps, hoping to minimize the amount of mud I’m collecting on my clothes. After a few more minutes, he stops, stepping to the side. While still under the canopy of the trees, what’s before us is a tiny clearing with a small, crumbling structure. I stare wide-eyed and completely confused.
“Did you bring me out here to kill me?”
“Fucks sake, no!” Teagan cries indignantly. “It’s a…oh, c’mon, I’ll just show ya.”
Giggling, I let him lead me to the little murder shack. The door is hanging off its hinges, windows are covered with plywood, and the wind is making whistling noises as it blows through the holes in the roof and walls.
Not creepy at all. Nope. Definitely not.
