“I meant albums of Reeve,” Dillon clarifies.
I twist my head to look at him, frowning. “Why would you want those?”
“I want to get to know the real Reeve.” He runs his tongue over his teeth. “My therapist thinks it will help.”
“I have albums I can show you.” I’m not sure I’ll be able to look at them, but who knows, maybe they will help me too.
“Great.”
“Mommy.” Easton swims up to us. “Can I get on your back and you pretend you’re a sea dragon?”
Dillon chuckles while Easton crawls onto my back. “Hold on tight,” I say before swimming away with my son clinging to my back.
“I’m exhausted,” Dillon says, an hour later, when we’re seated around the table enjoying a few drinks. Easton is sprawled out on a blanket on the grass behind us, doing a jigsaw. “I don’t know where he gets all his energy from.”
“He’s a livewire for sure. Wait until he’s bouncing on your bed at six a.m. full of the joys of spring. It’s especially awesome when you have a hangover.”
“I can’t wait,” Dillon says, yearning clear on his face, and it’s a strong reminder of how much he’s missed out on and how badly he wants to experience everything with his son.
I know he’s eager, but I’m not ready to let Easton have sleepovers with Dillon by himself yet.
Awkward silence descends until Ash breaks it as only she can.
“Aw, fuck it. Let’s not do this. There have been enough secrets and lies. There is no point ignoring the elephant in the room. Shit happened.” She eyeballs her brother. “You missed out on the first few years of his life, but you’ll get to experience so much more going forward. And you, my friend”—she turns to me, squeezing my hand—“you have nothing to feel guilty about. It is what it is, and you both need to stop pussyfooting around it.”
“I love the fuck out of you,” Jamie says, leaning in to plant a hard kiss on her mouth.
“You owe one dollar to the jar, Uncle Jamie,” East calls out without lifting his head from his jigsaw.
“Damn. He’s one shrewd little hustler,” Jamie says after dragging his lips from his fiancée.
“Make it two!” Easton adds, and Dillon’s lips pull into a proud smile.
“We should be careful what we say,” I murmur, not wanting E to overhear something he shouldn’t.
“When are you going to tell him?” Jamie asks.
“Mate. Don’t.” Dillon shakes his head.
“It’s too soon, but I won’t leave it indefinitely.” I look at Dillon through my sunglasses. “I know you must be dying to tell him, and I’m glad you’re not pressuring me.”
“I am, but I would never do that. It’s about what’s best for him.” Dillon is trying so hard. I cannot deny that, and it gives me hope we can make things work.
“Aw, this is too much.” Ash hops up, rounding the table and hugging Dillon. “I’m proud of you, dumbass.”
“Do you have any photos of your daughter?” I ask Ronan, needing to switch the direction of our group conversation. He’s been extremely quiet with me, and I wonder if I’ve done something to offend him.
“I do.” He squirms in his seat, looking uncomfortable.
“Have I done something to upset you?” I ask, my honesty spurred on by the liquid gin sloshing through my veins.
“Why would you ask that?” His piercing blue eyes lock on mine briefly before flitting away.
“Because you can hardly look at me.”
“I’m just not sure what to say. I don’t want to upset you.”
My brow puckers. “You and I never had an issue talking to one another. I thought we were friends.”
“We were. We are.” He drags a hand through his messy brown curls. His hair is much longer now, curling around his ears and the nape of his neck, but it suits him. Ronan has grown up in the years we were apart, and he’s lost that boyish look from his face. “I was trying to be sensitive. You’ve just lost a baby. I didn’t want to be parading pictures of my daughter in your face.”
The O’Donoghue men are really wowing me with their thoughtfulness today.
Ash crawls into Jamie’s lap, wrapping her arms around him. “That’s my fault.” Her gaze bounces between Ro and me. “It was hard for me after we lost our baby. Clodagh was pregnant, and I had to avoid her because it hurt so much I usually ended up in tears.” Jamie runs a hand up and down her back. “That made me feel so guilty because it wasn’t poor Clodagh’s fault.”
“It wasn’t your fault either,” Jamie says, kissing her temple. “You couldn’t help how you felt.”
“Clo never held that against you, Ash.” Ro lights a cigarette. “She was upset for you.”
“I know.” Ash reaches out, brushing Ro’s arm. “Are you sure you two can’t make a go of it?”
Ash had explained Ro was sullen because his fiancée—the mother of his daughter— broke their engagement off two months ago. She has been in Ireland for the past five months while Ro has largely been stuck here.
He shakes his head. “She doesn’t want me anymore.”
Visceral pain underscores his tone, and I feel for him. “I’m sorry to hear that. It must be so difficult being away from your daughter.”
“It’s killing me.” He takes a long drag of his cigarette, blowing smoke circles into the air.
“Fuck, this conversation is depressing,” Dillon says. “We all need cheering up. Jay, put on the music. Ro, come with me to get the meat for the barbecue.”
Ro unlocks his cell, pulls up some photos, and hands his phone to me. “Those are the most recent ones Clo sent me.”
Emer is sitting on a blanket on the ground, giggling at the camera, looking happy and content. She has a shock of thick dark curls and the biggest blue eyes. “She’s beautiful, Ro.”
His smile is sad, and my heart hurts for him.
Dillon slides his arm around his brother’s shoulder, squeezing him. “We’ll knock the rest of the album out in the next couple of weeks, and then you can go home to see her.”
Ro nods, shoving Dillon’s arm off before wandering into the house to get the meat for the grill.
“Can I help?”
“Nah. We’ve got this. Keep your pretty arse on that chair and have another cocktail.” Dillon puts his fingers in his mouth and whistles. “East! You’re on barbecue duty with me.”
Easton hops up, wrecking the jigsaw he so painstakingly made. “Fiddlesticks.”
Jamie snorts out a laugh. “Let me guess, that one’s all you?”
I flip him the bird when I’m sure E isn’t watching. “Damn straight it is, and I’m not apologizing. I’m not having my son go around cussing like a sailor.”
“Girl, good luck with that plan,” Ash says, swiping my empty glass. “You have zero chance of protecting those sensitive little ears around us lot.”
30
Dillon