I make my way to my childhood bedroom with Hazel in tow. The same bunk bed I shared with Branagan is still in there, still freshly made because Mam has a thing about always saving a place for us. These bedrooms are a shrine to our teenage selves. They even still have clothes in them.
“This will be big on you,” I say, pulling a sweatshirt and sweatpants from the drawers. “But it’ll keep those lecherous scumbags at bay.”
“Thanks.”
I offer her a smile as I hand the clothes to her. “It made me crazy seeing the way they were looking at you out there,” I whisper, swallowing hard as my eyes drift over her supple body. It’s hard for me to leave her, but for the sake of decency, I press a kiss against the top of her head then wait outside the room so she can change.
It’s not until a good ten minutes go by that I start to get concerned.
“Hazel?” I tap on the door lightly before I push it open and find Hazel fast asleep on my old bed in the sweats I gave her, her body curled onto its side as she snores softly. My chest squeezes as I grab a blanket and pull it over her, picking up her discarded dress and hanging it over the back of the chair. It’s when I look at her again, soft and vulnerable in her sleep, that I realize I’m a goner over this girl. I love her. As unconventional as this relationship is, I want her, I need her. That’s all there is to it.
Hazel
When I open my eyes, it takes me a moment to sift through the aching in my head and figure out exactly where I am. In Cillian’s old room, the room he probably slept in when he was my age. Fitting in a way, but also oddly intimate. It’s like a time capsule of who he was, and it makes me feel closer to him, even though we’re years apart.
Forcing myself to sit up and look around, I take in the neat and tidy room, decorated with heavy oak furniture stained a golden brown with emerald green and navy quilts and matching curtains. The walls are decorated with posters of cars and fighters, as well as a pin board with random photos and awards pinned to it. I catch Cillian’s name on an award for a geographical cake competition. Next to it is a photo of him, smiling with this thumbs up as he poses next to a cake decorated to look like a map of Ireland. He was serious when he said he’s been working toward his dream for as long as I’ve been alive.
I run my finger around the edge of the picture, my lungs filling with affection for this man who already feels like such an intrinsic part of me. I don’t know how something like that happens so quickly, but there’s a little voice inside me that whispers of destiny and hints at soulmates. Does that just make me sound silly?
Needing the bathroom, I make my way out of the bedroom, hoping I don’t run into anyone other than Cillian on my way out of here. As much as I like the rest of his family, I kind of made a bit of a fool out of myself last night, and if Mr. or Mrs. Kelly realize I was in their bar drunk, they may decide to banish me from ever coming here again. And I wouldn’t blame them. What I did last night was reckless. And I guess it just highlighted my immaturity, when at the time, I was trying my best to look more grown up. Why can’t this love stuff be easier?
After relieving myself and splashing some fresh water on my face, I take a moment to study my reflection in the mirror, my fingers gently brushing over my lips as I note how swollen they are. When I press them together, they’re a little tender too. The sensation makes me smile. My first kiss was rough and hungry, and I loved every moment of it. I’m in love with him.
Smiling to myself, I place my hands against my cheeks, feeling a little giddy over the things that transpired in this room last night. If Cillian hadn’t stopped things when he did, I’m pretty sure I would have gone all the way with him. And I wouldn’t have regretted it for a second.
Being with Cillian in a biblical way is something I’ve thought about non-stop since I met him. It seems odd to me because I’ve never been the kind of girl to go all ga-ga over a guy. But I’d give it up to him in a heartbeat. I feel like I won’t be complete until we do. Isn’t that strange?
“Morning, lass,” Moira Kelly says, surprising the crap out of me as soon as I step out of the bathroom. “Cillian said you’d be waking soon. Can I get you some breakfast? Or perhaps a spot of tea?”
“Um, I should probably get home. I fell asleep without texting my dad, and he’s probably apoplectic by now.”
“I doubt it. Cillian sent him a text from your cell so he knew you were safe and sound. Come. The boys are all downstairs, so it’s just we girls.” She takes a mug out of the cupboard and pours black tea inside it. “Milk and sugar?”
“Yes, please,” I say, moving to sit across from her. The apartment is small and cozy, and it’s hard to imagine a family of six living up here on top of each other. No wonder they’re all so close.
“Drink up. It’ll help you feel better. I hear you had a bit of a tipple before coming here last night.”
I wince as I take a sip of the milky tea. “I’m sorry about that. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I’d guess you were trying to show Cillian how much fun you’d be having without him. We’ve seen many a girl do the same thing over the years. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. Men are strange creatures. Most don’t do well with change.”
“I don’t think Cillian liked the dress I was wearing,” I say, pulling at the gray sleeve of the oversized sweatshirt. “He made me put this on.”
She releases a soft chuckle. “Maybe he liked what you were wearing too much.”
“So, you’re not angry with me?” I ask, finding it so odd that she’s laughing about my antics with me. “I thought you’d be upset.”
“If you’d been caught, this would be a different conversation. But the boys handled it well, and the bar is safe. Although I will ask you to refrain on doing that again. At least for a few years.”
“Oh, I promise. With the way my head is feeling this morning, I think it’ll be at least a few years before I’m ready to drink again.”
“Well, I’m glad you’ve learned your lesson. Although I do have something alcohol related to give to you. It’s all cleaned out though, so no hair of the dog for you,” she says, turning around and rummaging in a cupboard for a moment before coming out with an empty beer bottle and a bright smile.
I look at it for a moment, confused as to why I’d want it.
“It’s for your collection,” she explains, handing it to me. As I take it, I remember how I tried to convince Cillian I wasn’t following him and was actually rummaging through the dumpster looking for empty beer bottles. “I figured if I keep them for you, you won’t have to dumpster dive for them. I’ve been keeping an eye out for any that look special or different, so you’ll have to tell me what you have.”
She seems so pleased with herself that I don’t have the heart to tell her it was a joke. “Thank you,” I say, studying the gold lettering on the label. “This is perfect. I’m touched that you remembered.”
“It’s nothing. I could just see how special you were to Cillian, and well, I wanted to make sure you felt welcome and wanted. He’s not the most forthcoming with his feelings, my son. But he dotes on those he cares about, and a mother just knows these things. He cares about you a great deal.”