Thekitchen fell silent to the shouts and screams of our thoughts, and I struggledto think of what to say to drown them out. But what was there? The woman was inpain, and what could I offer other than the guarantee of catching the bastardwho had committed the crime to cause said pain? I had nothing, or nothing shewanted, anyway. So, I stayed quiet and waited for her to speak.
Afterfinishing her drink, she handed me the glass and demanded more. I obligedwithout protest, and this time, she lightly sipped at the whisky, beforecupping the etched crystal in her hands.
“Tellme about your ex-wife,” she said, and I guffawed, startled by the unexpectedrequest.
“Whywould yewannahear about her?”
Sheshrugged. “Why not?”
Shakingmy head, I uncorked the bottle of whisky again and filled my glass, as I said,“Because she hasnothin’ to do withanythin’.”
Rosiesnickered and brought her drink to her lips. “I disagree. I think she has a lotto do with the way you are.”
“Theway I am?” I parroted, narrowing my eyes. “And what the hell kind ofpresumptuous shite is that?”
Rosieshook her head, as she lowered the glass to the table. “No, I … I didn’t meanthat the way it sounded. You’ve just got this thing about you, like youactually caremore than let on, but you’re holding back. Andmaybe I’m completely wrong about that, in which case I’m sorry, but …” Sheshrugged, clearly embarrassed and regretful. I groaned in reply and hastilymade the decision to lower my guard.
“Wedivorced a year ago,” I told her, as I shuffled the pictures into a neat pileand slid them into their folder, knowing I wouldn’t be going back to them againfor some time. “I saw itcomin’ for a long time.”
“Youdidn’t love her?”
“Itwas a type of love,” I said after a moment of consideration. “Just not theright kind.”
Rosienodded. “I loved my ex-husband, sofreakin' much. Andin a way, I still do, but it’s … a different love now. Honestly, he’s one of mybest friends.” Then, she turned to me, a welcomed hint of laughter in her eyes.“Is that weird?”
Isnorted, as I brought the whisky to my lips. “Does it really matter what Ithink?”
Rosieswallowed, then said, “It shouldn’t, no. But … yeah. For some reason, it does.”
Thecomment came across as a confession, and I let the scotch roll around in my mouth,as if it were her words singeing my tongue and warming my soul. The familiarfeelings of attraction were wasting no time in bubbling to the surface again,completely against my control, but Christ, I wished they wouldn’t.
“It’snot weird,” I finally replied, after swallowing. “It's nice, that you can havethatkindarelationship with the father of yourchild.”
“Wouldyou have divorced your wife if it hadn't been for the miscarriage?”
Thequestion felt abrupt and startled me. I choked on nothing, coughing andsputtering, and she apologized with a smack of her palm against her forehead.
“I'msorry. That's none of my fucking business. Let's just blame the booze andforget—”
“We’dalready been in the process ofdivorcin' when shefound out she was pregnant,” I found myself admitting, a truth I hadn't eventold my father. “Wehadnaebeen happy for a verralong time, and I knew Icouldnaestay with her, notwith a good conscience. But then, after one fuckin' night ofdrinkin', she got pregnant.”
Rosie'scheeks puffed as she blew out a breath. “Shit.”
“Indeed,”I snorted, nodding slowly, as I faintly remembered that fated night of drunkensex and the gut-wrenching moment in which she had told me she had gottenpregnant. “It felt like it might have been a second chance,y’ken?Like, even though I had expressed notwantin’children, it still felt like what we had beenlookin'for to fix our shite marriage. So, we decided to give it another go, and threemonths later …”
Myshoulders shrugged against the grief of losing my only chance of being afather, and I grabbed the bottle of whisky to refill my glass. I listened toRosie breathe at my side, as the amber liquid sloshed against the crystal, andthen, she sighed.
“Iwish we could go somewhere else,” she muttered. “Like, a bar or something.”
Ialso wished as much, as I felt the walls of the kitchen move in to crush theair from my lungs, while the dreaded memories threatened to consume my mind.But even though the bars and pubs were still open, and they would be for hours,too much was at stake, and a change of scenery wasn't worth the risk.
Butjust because we couldn't leave the premises, didn't mean there was nowhere togo.
Grabbingthe bottle and my glass, I stood from the table and headed for the doors to theback of the kitchen. Rosie asked where I was going, and I simply replied,“Somewhere else,” before opening one of the doors and stepping into the dark,misty night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ROSIE
