Padraig had heard Sky and Teagan’s story many times before.
“Besides,” Sean added, “there’s nothing better than falling in love with your best friend.” Something Sean would know, considering he’d fallen for both of his best friends, Lauren and Chad. “You and Emmy know each other well. That makes for a strong foundation.”
Padraig nodded. “I’m crazy about her. But I’ve got a lot of making up to do. I really fucked up.”
“There’s nothing you can’t fix,” Ewan interjected.
“Pop Pop said the same thing.”
Ewan wiped his sticky fingers on a napkin. “That’s because it’s true. Love isn’t always easy, but it’s always worth fighting for. I had to fight hard to win Natalie’s heart. And damned if it wasn’t worth it. Fight for Emmy.”
Padraig recalled how he’d promised he would always fight for her the night he’d broken up her date with Joe.
He’d broken that promise…briefly. He wouldn’t do so again.
Padraig appreciated everyone’s pep talk, perfectly aware they were all speaking from experience. The people surrounding him had found and fought hard for their relationships.
After visiting Mia’s grave, Padraig had returned home in the early evening, physically exhausted. While the worst of his cold had passed, the day’s events had worn him out and he’d been dog-tired, so he decided he wanted one more night to fully recover before facing Emmy. Plus, he still wasn’t sure what he could say to make things right…but he had some thoughts.
“I’m going to see her today. Right after work.”
“Perfect.” Riley lifted the tray of doughnuts. “You can have one now.”
He laughed, and then the subject turned to planning the St. Patrick’s Day event. It turned out Teagan was at the meeting because Ewan had shanghaied her into performing. Killian and Sean were there simply because they heard there would be doughnuts.
For the next two hours, they chiseled out all the details, and Padraig had to admit that even with so much still up in the air in terms of his future, he was excited for the holiday. And praying he could talk Emmy into being there.
“Okay—time to get ready to open up for lunch,” Riley said, even though she’d been bouncing back and forth between the kitchen and the meeting the entire time, checking on her specials, taking her baked goods out of the oven.
They all rose, but no one seemed in a hurry to leave. Padraig left his dad chatting with his siblings while he went over to get things rolling on the pub side. At ten thirty, he unlocked the door and returned to his station behind the bar. Squatting down, he checked the connections on the taps.
He heard the bell jingle, announcing someone’s arrival. Rising, he was about to tell whoever it was to grab a seat anywhere…when he saw Emmy, hovering in the doorway.
She obviously hadn’t seen him, stooped down as he was, so her eyes widened when he rose.
She hesitated.
“You coming in?” he asked, giving her a friendly smile, recalling he’d asked her the same question the very first day she’d come to the pub.
“Yeah.” Approaching the bar, she stopped next to her usual stool but didn’t sit down. “I heard you were sick. Are you feeling better?”
He was touched by her concern. “I am.” Then he added, “Kelli texted me this morning. She said you got the results of your second pap smear and it’s all good.”
She nodded. “It is. I know you asked for some time, Paddy, but I—”
“Em. About that,” he interjected.
“No, please,” she said. “Just hear me out.”
He fell silent. The least he could do was give her a chance to speak her piece. She deserved to rail at him, cuss him out, give him hell. Part of him hoped she would, simply to help him assuage some of the guilt he felt. He would take whatever she dished out as his due for his horrible behavior.
“I’ve been thinking about what happened…and I don’t think just taking some time apart will fix it.”
“I shouldn’t have behaved that way, shouldn’t have left the way I did. I’m so sorry, Emmy,” Padraig said, reaching out to place his hand on hers where it rested on the bar.
Emmy pulled it away before he could touch her. He lowered his hand, resting it on the counter.
She was avoiding his touch. And his gaze. Regardless, he could tell she planned to do what he couldn’t on Thursday.
Break things off.
Little did she know, things had changed. He’d fight for her until his last dying breath.
Emmy Martin was his, from now until forever, and he’d do whatever it took to prove his love to her.
Emmy folded her hands in front of her, hiding them behind the bar so that Padraig wouldn’t see they were trembling. The night he left, she’d fallen into her bed, crying inconsolably, hoping against hope that he’d come to his senses, that he’d come back to her.
However, by the time morning came, her tears had evaporated. Because as much as it killed her, she understood. All the way to the depths of her soul. She understood why he’d walked away.
Her girlfriends had shown up last night, armed with margaritas, expecting she would need their help to find her footing. Emmy could tell they’d been surprised to discover she wasn’t in a fetal position in the corner. They’d anticipated needing to bolster her spirits, to dry her tears.
Instead, they found her calm, resigned.
So rather than trying to cheer her up, they’d switched gears, insisting Padraig would come to his senses.
Emmy held no such hope. She had spent the last two years of her life clinging to the hope that he could care for her, that he could love her as much as he did Mia.
What she hadn’t considered, hadn’t realized, was just how deep his suffering went. His actions in any relationship from now on would always be influenced by Mia, and that was something Emmy simply couldn’t live with.
So she was cutting her losses. Moving on.
She cleared the lump forming in her throat, determined to say what she’d come to say and leave. If she was lucky, she’d be able to get through this without falling completely apart. “You said you needed time to think. Turns out, I did too.”
He held her gaze, his expression unreadable, so she forged on.
“Here’s the thing, Paddy. I can’t promise I’m never going to get a sniffle, never going to get sick or injured. And I definitely can’t promise to outlive you. Those are reassurances you seem to need that I can never provide.”
Padraig shook his head. “Jesus, Em. I don’t need that.”
She refused to back down. “You thought you were ready, I get that. But you aren’t, and I can’t keep waiting, can’t keep hoping for something you may never be able to give me.”
Padraig raised his hand to stop her. “I am ready, Em.”
She shook her head. “No. You aren’t.” She couldn’t spend another night like last Thursday. Couldn’t wait around for the next bad or scary news that sent him running.
“Please give me another chance, let me make this right.” Padraig’s jaw was tight, and she allowed herself to look at him—really look at him. He had dark shadows under his eyes, stress lines around his mouth, several days’ extra growth on his jaw that indicated he either hadn’t had the energy to shave or he was growing back the beard he’d sported when they’d first met.