Page 95 of Two Hit Wonder

"What do you think?"

Mo almost smiled. "Probably not, or you wouldn't be looking like that."

"Looking like what?"

"I don't know. Sad. Tired. Like you've figured something out but you don't know what to do about it."

Maeve blinked. Teenagers were horrifying. They saw everything. Had she been like that? She was beginning to understand why her mother had wanted all seven of them out of the house as soon as it was legal.

"Here's the thing," she said slowly. "Loving someone is terrifying. There's no way around that. But hiding from it is worse. Trust me, I've tried hiding. I've spent years hiding. And all it does is make you smaller. Until, I think, you start to disappear. At some point, you have to let yourself be seen. Even if it means getting hurt. I mean, you have to play to win, right? Even if that means losing some of the time. Most of the time." Her stomach was starting to hurt.

Here she was, telling Mo exactly what she wished someone would say to her, and… it was working. Well, to be fair, she had no idea whether it was working for Mo or not. But her own head was starting to feel clearer.

"Does that actually work, though?" Mo asked.

Maeve thought about it, then shrugged. There was no point holding back now, she might as well be honest. "I have no idea. I've only really been in love once, and it didn't go well. To be honest."

Mo was watching her with an expression that was suddenly, uncomfortably shrewd. "Was it with my mum?"

The question hung in the air. Maeve could lie. Could deflect. Could change the subject and hope Mo let it go. She sighed. "Yes."

Mo nodded slowly, as if this confirmed something she'd suspected for a while. "It's complicated, isn't it?"

"Very."

"Why?"

"Because sometimes things happen. Things you can't take back." Maeve stared at her cooling tea. "I did things. When I was drinking. Things I don't even remember doing, but that doesn't make them less real. And your mother knows about them now, and I don't know if she can forgive them. I don't know if I can forgive them."

"Like running away?"

There was worry in Mo's voice now, and Maeve realized she'd scared her. Mo wasn't asking about Maeve anymore. She was asking about herself.

"Running away isn't unforgivable," Maeve said. "Your mother loves you to death. She'll forgive you anything. I promise."

Mo's shoulders loosened slightly. "You think so?"

"I know so. The way she talks about you, the way she worries about you, the way she lights up when you text her some terrible meme. You're the most important thing in her life. Nothing you do is going to change that."

Mo nodded, and for a moment she looked younger than fourteen, younger than the defiant girl who'd shown up at the gate. She looked like a kid who'd done something scary and was desperate to know it would be okay.

Maeve reached across the table and pulled her into a hug. Mo stiffened for a second, then relaxed into it, her face pressed against Maeve's shoulder.

"My mum would forgive you anything, too," Mo said, muffled. "You know that, right?"

Maeve didn't answer. But something shifted in her chest, some piece of a puzzle clicking into place.

Iona had come to Scotland. Months ago now, to get the band back together. She'd stood in Maeve's cottage and made her pitch and never once mentioned the punch. Never thrown it in her face, never used it as leverage, never even hinted that it had happened. She'd just shown up, sheep bite and all, and asked Maeve to try again.

She'd already forgiven it. Hadn't she? She'd forgiven it years ago, maybe. Carried it quietly and never expected Maeve to carry it too.

Mo's phone buzzed on the counter. Then buzzed again. Then started ringing.

Maeve let go of Mo and reached for it. "Your mother," she said, and answered. "Iona."

"Is she there? Is she safe? Please tell me she's safe." Iona's voice was ragged, thick with tears and relief and barely contained panic.

"She's here. She's safe. She's fine."