Page 53 of Midnight Mooring

Over the course of the next twenty minutes, Forde grew tense and quiet, which incited my nervousness. I was rarely ever nervous, but if there was one person who could summon that emotion in me, it was Forde Dallas.

It was firmly established I wasn’t the most patient person in the world, but I really tried my best to keep my mouth shut as Forde cobbled together a cheese salad sandwich for us in his kitchen and I sat in his living room with my foot propped up.

Frankly, I’d started to feel woozy at his garage and probably should have eaten before taking the painkillers. Forde had swept me up into his arms again to carry me to his house and I’d seen Caoimhe peeking out from the back doorway, her anguished eyes following us.

I had all the sympathy in the world for her because I knew what it was like to watch Forde Dallas walk out of a room with another woman.

That made me want to harden against him.

But he made that difficult when he gently set me on the sofa and pressed a tender kiss to my temple. When he straightened, announcing he’d make lunch, that’s when I observed the edginess in him, like he was gearing himself up to tell me something difficult.

As I gazed around his living room, at his media wall filled with vinyl and CDs, the cool movie posters he’d framed, the sketches of the ink on his body, my attention zeroed in on the sideboard. It was littered with framed photographs, which I’d always thought was unexpected of Forde. Such a domesticated, emotional thing to do—taking time to print and frame photographs and then display them.

I was in a lot of them.

It used to make me feel cherished and special to see how many photos Forde had picked out to frame that had me in it.

Over time that feeling had turned to resentment and confusion.

It prodded that hurt I’d literally traveled all over Europe to escape. The hurt that made me want to do what I’d promised last night. To block him out. For good.

However, it didn’t seem fair in the light of day. Maybe I was a soft touch. A lost cause when it came to Forde Dallas. Yet he’d believed and protected me in Aberdeen. And he was the first person there last night. Taking care of me. Giving me what I needed, even though I was a stubborn pain in the arse.

“Don’t you think you at least owe Forde a conversation?”

I’d replied with an emphatic no to Tierney.

But that had ultimately come from a desperate need to protect my heart against him. I’d said what I needed to him, but I hadn’t allowed him to respond.

There were years of memories in this room. Between us. And for the past few years, I’d locked out all the good ones.

Maybe I did owe him his side of the conversation. Maybe I owed myself that too.

Therefore, I waited patiently, even though it was against my nature and Forde took way too long to make those sandwiches. Eventually, he strode into the room with a tray and placed it on the coffee table.

He handed me a plate with a sandwich and crisps on it and then he sat opposite me on his worn leather armchair. We ate in silence, studying each other in a way that would have made most people uncomfortable.

After I’d swallowed the last bite, Forde, who had finished eating before me, sat forward on his chair, holding my gaze with his very serious, almost melancholy one.

“I started seeing a therapist after you left.”

His confession made me inhale sharply. “What? Why?” At his answering frown, I hurried to assure him, “I’m not judging you. I’ve been talking with a counselor. I’m a big advocate for mental health support, Forde. I just …” My pulse raced. “What don’t I know?”

When his eyes turned glassy with tears, I swear I experienced an answering crack in my chest because I had never seen Forde cry. “I’m going … I’m going to tell you something that no one here knows. Not even Quinn.”

Dread roiled in my gut.

I was afraid to know.

For his sake.

But for his sake, I nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“I came here to live with my aunt and uncle because …” Forde rubbed his hands together, letting out a shaky exhale. “Because my dad killed my mum while he was high on PCP.”

Oh my goodness. All these years he’d lived with that. And never told us.

My tears were instantaneous. “Forde …”