Quiet Longing (Quiet Love #2)

19.

Charli

Sixteen years later.

There was a time when I’d planned to come back to Ireland regularly. I’d imagined myself spending a few weeks every summer with the family I’d spent far too little time with when I was young. Then I’d gone to college and met Jesse, and everything had changed.

The bright future I’d imagined for myself never materialised.

Don’t get me wrong, it didn’t happen overnight. It had been more of a slow, gradual process. Before long, I was living in a cage, cut off from the outside world, isolated and alone, held away from family and friends and reliant on only one person. I’d been trapped by a manipulative abuser who had complete control of me, mentally and physically.

When I’d first met him, Jesse was charming and intelligent. He’d been a scholarship kid like me and come from a working class background in Philadelphia. We’d bonded over our similar upbringings. I’d felt like he’d understood me in the way I needed to be understood at the time. I’d been an emotional wreck; an eighteen-year-old freshman who’d just discovered the mom who’d raised her wasn’t her birth mother, who’d been pretty much in love with a boy who was setting off on a dangerous path, and who’d been cripplingly terrified of succumbing to a condition that had taken her birth mother long before her time.

I’d been ripe for the picking. Maybe Jesse had seen it in me from the very start, how much I’d needed to latch onto someone who would keep me afloat. In the end, he wasn’t a buoy. He was an anchor pulling me down.

And I’d almost drowned.

Having struggled to the surface, I could finally breathe again. I was starting over fresh in a country far away from him. A country that held a large piece of my heart. Perhaps I’d left that piece in Ireland all those years ago.

I opened the curtains and peered out into the dark evening sky. This was the very same guest room I’d slept in during that summer right before college. Another lifetime, another me. I wasn’t the same girl.

I was a thirty-four-year-old woman with haunted shadows and ghosts in her eyes.

Unlike the last time I’d come to stay with my aunt and uncle, it wasn’t summer. It was late-January, which meant pitch blackness outside at only 4 p.m. I’d arrived yesterday afternoon and hadn’t left the room since. Jet lag had a part to play, but that wasn’t the only reason I’d slept for a day and a half. I felt like I could finally rest since I was no longer on the same soil as Jesse. I could sleep after years of anxiety, tension, and fear.

“Charli, are you awake?” came Aunt Jo’s gentle voice.

The house, once a hive of activity, was much quieter than it had been when my cousins were teenagers. They’d all flown the nest, forged lives for themselves.

“Yes, I’m awake,” I called back, and she poked her head in. Her hair was shorter than before, with a few greys peppered through the blonde. She still had that effortless style, though, in her sleeveless silk blouse and beige capri pants.

“Hello, darling. It’s so good to see you up. Shall I run you a bath? I bought some essential oils.”

“A bath would be heaven. Thank you, Jo.”

“Great. I’ll get it running for you. Oh, and everyone’s coming over for dinner later. I’m not sure if Nuala mentioned, but we tend to get together most Fridays. Derek and Tristan will be dropping over, too.”

“Sounds good,” I said while my belly twisted with nerves at having to interact with other humans. I was out of practice, hadn’t spoken to my cousins in person in years. Nuala and I had only gotten back in touch a couple months ago, our interactions either through email or phone calls. “It’ll be good to see everyone.”

Aunt Jo smiled then went to run my bath. She and Uncle Padraig knew a little about the reasons for my divorce, but not everything. I’d given Nuala a rundown, too, though I’d asked they not spread the information to Derek and Tristan. I wanted as few people to know about my troubled, abusive marriage as possible. Starting over would be easier without everyone thinking of me as a victim, looking at me with pity.

I wouldn’t be able to stand it.

The only person who knew the full truth was my mom. She was the one who’d nursed me back to health, pumped life back into my lungs. Jesse had tried his level best to alienate me from her, but he’d underestimated my mom. She was a fighter, and she didn’t give up on me, not even after so many years of struggle. Thinking of her brought on a fresh wave of emotion because she was the reason I was still around.

She was the reason I had this second chance.

And in her own life, she was thriving, which gave me immense happiness. She’d remarried when I was in my second year of college to a great guy named Michael. He was a divorced grocery store manager, with three grown-up kids and a bunch of grandchildren. Mom adored being part of a large family, and she got along with Michael’s ex-wife, so the whole set up was drama free.

I stood in the bathroom, lavender-scented steam filling the room as I stared at myself in the foggy mirror. I looked tired . It was difficult to stare at my unclothed body after all it had been through. Several broken bones, infections, bruises, and scars that had healed, but I still felt their presence. They made me think of a boy I knew, a boy who bore similar scars at a time when my own skin was unmarred by such things.

When I returned to America and started college, Rhys and I had exchanged regular emails. He didn’t have any active social media since that wasn’t his thing, but I’d received an email from him at least twice a month. Then one day a couple months in, the emails had just … stopped. I’d spent weeks re-reading the last email I’d sent, fearing I’d said something wrong, but I couldn’t find anything that might’ve stopped him from replying. So, I’d reached out to Nuala. She’d told me Derek and Tristan had stopped hearing from Rhys, too, and they’d suspected his training had intensified, that he might’ve been deployed somewhere with little to no telecommunication and probably wouldn’t have the means to email or call for a while.

So, I’d waited.

I’d made some friends at college and attended classes, but I’d also developed an obsession, relentlessly researching schizophrenia and worrying I was going to develop it. I’d started questioning everything I did. Analysing my thoughts and fretting that I was growing increasingly paranoid, which was also a symptom of the condition.

I’d stopped attending classes, retreating into my shell. Mom had grown so worried about me that she’d insisted I start seeing a psychotherapist. I’d agreed to go mainly so I could be evaluated for schizophrenia. I’d received a diagnosis, but it’d been for depression instead. It had almost been a relief. Depression had felt manageable. It’d felt like something I could tackle or at the very least live with. I’d returned to college and started going to classes again. I was taking some mild anti-depressants and having regular therapy sessions.

And that was when I’d met Jesse. We’d shared some classes and quickly become close. I’d spilled my guts to him, told him all about Rhys and how long it had been since I’d last heard from him. He’d been a shoulder to cry on, a great listener, and I’d valued his advice. He’d convinced me to move on, that holding out hope for Rhys was a fruitless endeavour. He’d showered me with so much attention and care at a time when I’d been vulnerable and in need that I’d started to believe I was in love with him. It was only in hindsight I saw it wasn’t love at all but love-bombing .

When Nuala had eventually sent word that Rhys had come home to visit his mother and asked if I wanted her to ask him to call me, I’d been mad and infuriated that he hadn’t thought to call me himself to let me know he was okay.

So, I’d done something incredibly selfish and said no, I didn’t want her to speak to him for me. He could have written me an email explaining the reasons for his silence, but he never did. Then after a year or two, I’d lost touch with Nuala. I’d allowed Jesse to take over my life. I’d let him push everyone away until he’d had complete and total control over me. Sometimes, I’d mentally berate myself for being so weak, for letting things happen when I might’ve stopped them. But it didn’t feel that way when it was happening. It had just felt like a relationship until one day I’d realised it wasn’t.

It had been a prison.

I often wondered what had become of Rhys. When Nuala and I got back in touch, she hadn’t mentioned him, and I suspected she and her brothers had simply lost touch with him over the years, too. It happened. People grew up and went in different directions.

Well, wherever he was and whatever his life had become, I hoped he was happy. The old hurt and rejection was gone. It barely registered after all I’d been through with Jesse. And besides, Rhys had his demons to fight. I was certain that whatever his reasons had been for cutting off contact, they weren’t malicious or heartless. That boy had the biggest heart of anyone I’d ever known.

When Aunt Jo had heard from Mom that I’d left Jesse and was back living with her, Jo had suggested I come to Ireland, that the head accountant at Padraig’s city hotel was retiring and the position was mine if I wanted it. I’d been in similar roles my entire career, but I hadn’t worked in almost three years, and I was rusty. Still, the idea of moving an ocean away from Jesse, with bed and board and a job and relatives I adored all waiting for me, was an offer I couldn’t refuse.

I stayed in the bath until my fingers turned to prunes. When I got out, I dried off and dressed in some black leggings, a long grey cardigan, and a loose camisole. Staring at myself in the mirror once again, I noticed how drab and washed out I looked. It was like I’d become a ghost, too checked out to even care about my appearance anymore.

Well, I’d had a haircut at least. Jesse always insisted I keep my hair long, and I’d obeyed. Now, it only reached my shoulders. The layered cut was vibrant and fresh, and I’d felt a hundred pounds lighter as soon as the stylist had chopped it all off.

Hearing the front doorbell ring, my heart lifted. Nuala and I had been texting back and forth and talking over the phone, but I hadn’t seen her since I’d landed. She worked as a school teacher, just like my mom before she’d retired last year, and had been busy getting settled back in after the Christmas break.

Eager to see her, I hurried downstairs and went in the direction of the voices. I found her in the dining room, and Nuala let out a squeal as soon as she saw me. It made me smile because she was thirty-three but had hardly changed since she was a teenager. She was simply more elegant and beautiful, if that were possible.

“Charli, I’m so happy you’re finally here!” she exclaimed.

“Me, too. It’s so good to see you.” I hugged her tight and let her warm, loving embrace seep into my bones. I had a lot of guilt and regrets about the way my life had panned out, and allowing Jesse to alienate me from my family was a big one. I reprimanded myself all the time for not being stronger and fighting for my freedom.

I did fight for it in the end, and I won, but the win wasn’t so sweet when it came over a decade too late.

I’d missed out on so much.

Letting go of Nuala, I realised Tristan was hovering behind her, his gaze soft as he took me in.

“Tristan, oh my God, look at you,” I breathed.

Nuala’s twin had certainly grown up. He’d always been tall, but now, he’d broadened, too, barely a trace of the boy left behind. His hair, a shade darker than Nuala’s, was stylishly cut. He wore slacks and a fitted shirt and tie like he’d come straight from the office. I knew he worked for his father and that he and Derek had been tasked with launching a brand new Balfe Hotel down in Cork. According to Nuala, they’d been flat out working on the project, driving back and forth to oversee the construction.

“Hi, Charli,” he said, hugging me almost as tightly as Nuala had. “We’re all so happy you’re here. Nuala and I were just talking about that summer you stayed with us. What a fun time we all had.”

“It was a good summer. Feels like forever ago,” I said, my heart once more giving a pang for the girl I’d been. If only I could time travel and start over. I never would’ve given Jesse a second glance.

“Where’s Derek?” I asked.

“Oh, he’ll be here soon. You know he’s got kids now, right? Teenagers, no less. Gigi is thirteen, and Pablo will turn fifteen in a couple weeks.”

Nuala had told me about her niece and nephew. I’d known by the way she’d spoken of them that she absolutely adored Derek’s kids. It was too bad his marriage hadn’t worked out. I’d been surprised to hear he’d married a woman he’d met after he’d finished college and went travelling for a year. She was from Spain and had moved to Ireland to be with him. Unfortunately, he’d gotten divorced, too, a couple years ago, and he was currently sharing custody with his ex-wife.

I’d been a little sad that it had never worked out with Milly though I did like to imagine she’d become a doctor just like she’d wanted to back when she was a teenager. I made a note to ask Nuala if they were still friends just as more people arrived. Derek entered with a boy and girl, both with dark hair and eyes. I could see the part of them they’d inherited from their Spanish mother and the parts that had come from my cousin.

Again, I received a warm hug, with Derek looking me over. “Charli, you look well,” he said while I studied the changes in him. Derek’s face had aged, the distinguished lines somehow enhancing his handsomeness. Man, why did my cousins all have to look so great, while I looked, well …

“You don’t have to lie. I know I look like crap.”

“I never lie. You’re gorgeous, Charli. Just a bit tired, I’m guessing?”

He could say that again. Before I could respond, he ushered his kids forward, and I smiled as I greeted them. Something like longing squeezed my chest. I’d always wanted children of my own. I’d thought Jesse did, too, but every year, he’d make an excuse for why it wasn’t the right time. Then a day had come when I’d realised I didn’t want his children nor any lasting connection to him. I hadn’t been able to fathom bringing a child into our home, the fear of him directing his rage at them, too. It didn’t bear thinking about. And at least, without kids, the divorce had been a clean break. There were no children to get caught in the crossfire.

Jo filtered in, saying hello to her grandkids and rounding them up to help her set the table. I took a seat next to Nuala, letting the warm, congenial conversation drift over me. I was at peace, or at least I felt like I could be with time. Everything was going fine until Tristan sat on the free seat next to me.

“Nuala told me about your divorce. Sounds like that Jesse was a right prick,” he said, and I tensed. Exactly how much had Nuala told him? I glanced at her, and she gave me a very subtle shake of her head, indicating she hadn’t told her brother very much.

“He was a prick,” I agreed, my hand shaking a little as I picked up my glass and gulped back some wine. “He was the absolute worst.”

“Exactly, you’re well rid,” Tristan said, unaware of the tightening in my chest, my head swimming as I felt a panic attack hurtling forth. Abruptly, I rose from my seat.

“Sorry, I … I need the bathroom. Be back in a minute.”

Pulse racing, I hurried out into the hallway, aware of the concerned look both Tristan and Nuala shared at my departure. But I couldn’t worry about that right then. I just needed to get away. If Tristan tried to keep talking about the divorce, I feared my anxiety would become too much. I was just about managing to hold it together, but if people began interrogating me about why I’d left my husband, I wouldn’t be able to handle it. The panic attack I was trying to keep at bay would overtake me.

I’d become prone to them over the years, and my therapist had prescribed medication alongside my regular anti-depressant, which I took daily. I still planned to keep up my sessions with her until I found a suitable replacement in Ireland. We were scheduled to talk over video call twice a month.

Maybe I needed to increase that to weekly, especially if I could barely make it through the first few minutes of dinner without falling apart.

I walked out into the hallway and went to stand next to a side table, pressing my hand to it for balance. I inhaled deeply in, then out, focusing on my breathing when someone slotted a key in the front door.

Looking up, I expected it was Uncle Padraig home from work, but then a stranger stepped through the door. I was about to ask the man who he was and why he had a key to my aunt and uncle’s house when recognition hit.

Rhys.

Oh my …

Goodness.

What on earth was he doing here? And why hadn’t Nuala or Aunt Jo mentioned he was coming to dinner?

I stared at him, stunned, as my gaze traversed his tall, broad frame. Gone was the puppy fat. He was all hard lines and muscle, with a very small gut that hinted at the fact he still loved to eat. He wore dark jeans, a black shirt, a leather jacket, and boots. His brown hair, once a little shaggy and unruly, was cut in a neat, trim style.

I was still gaping at him, my pulse racing as he shoved his keys in his pocket and turned around. He startled for a second, obviously not expecting anyone to be standing in the hallway suppressing a panic attack. I was currently experiencing another, entirely different, sort of panic. One where I encountered the boy I’d lost my virginity to, a boy who was presently a very hot, very sexy leather jacket wearing man .

I flushed just looking at him.

“Bloody hell, you gave me a fright,” Rhys exclaimed, his voice deeper but still achingly familiar. Just hearing him speak was a strange comfort. It felt like coming home. He ran a hand through his short, cropped hair, then started to smile as he took me in. One thing was evident, he wasn’t as shocked to see me as I was to see him. He knew I was coming, whereas I had no clue he was still a part of my relatives’ lives. So much a part, in fact, that he had his own key to let himself into my aunt and uncle’s house.

That was a lot to absorb.

“Charli,” he said, shaking his head as he continued smiling, and my heart proceeded in its efforts to pound its way out of my chest. “It’s been a long damn time. How are you?”

I swallowed thickly, my inner voice yelling at me to find some words. “Y-yes,” I said at last. “It has. Hello, Rhys.” A pause before I continued, “I’m well, and you?”

“I’m good,” he answered, still taking me in. “It’s really great to see you.”

Was it?

Maybe he’d forgotten about how he’d just stopped contacting me all those years ago. From the warmth of his expression, he really did seem happy to see me.

He took a step forward as though to embrace me just as my cousins had. I flinched a little and shuffled back, all skittish. Rhys was a big guy, much bigger than Derek or Tristan. Jesse had been a big guy, too, and something about their similarity in size caused a tendril of fear to take hold as I gripped the edge of the side table.

Rhys stilled, then frowned, taking me in again. His eyes ran over me, brows drawn like he was trying to solve a puzzle. I couldn’t stand the intense inspection and took several more steps away, heading back in the direction of the dining room.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” I mumbled. “You’re here to eat, right?”

“Right,” he said, still frowning as I hurried away from him.

“Rhys is here,” I said as I re-entered the dining room. Nuala’s eyes immediately found mine, a look of apology in them as she realised she’d failed to mention he was still very much a part of their lives. I retook my seat, trying to focus on the heady aroma of the stew Jo had made. It smelled delicious. I grabbed a piece of bread, my head down as I buttered it. I was aware of Rhys taking a seat on the opposite side of the table that was thankfully not directly across from me. Derek asked him how things were at the hotel that day.

Wait a second, why was Derek asking Rhys about the hotel?

“It was quiet enough. Nothing big to report,” Rhys replied, grabbing a large hunk of bread, too. His eyes flicked to mine, catching me looking at him, and I anxiously lowered my gaze. A minute or two went by before I glanced his way again, and my chest lurched because his eyes were still on me, filled with curiosity and interest. A little confusion, too. It was understandable. My personality had changed over the years. I’d gone from a confident, well-adjusted girl with a good sense of humour to an anxious, jumpy mess who couldn’t accept friendly hugs from men who bore even a fleeting resemblance to her former husband.

The conversation drifted over me, and I knew Rhys was studying me from time to time as I dug into my stew. My skin prickled in awareness. Aunt Jo’s cooking was just as delicious as I remembered, especially since I hadn’t eaten a whole lot in the day and a half since I’d landed.

“It’ll be just like old times for the two of you,” Uncle Padraig said, drawing my attention.

“Pardon?” I asked, embarrassed that I’d been too wrapped up in my feelings and anxiety over seeing Rhys for the first time in so many years to listen to what was being said.

“You and Rhys,” my uncle replied, and my eyes instantly went to the man in question. He was already looking at me, his expression unreadable. “I said it’ll be like old times. Remember when you worked for me at the hotel when you came to stay that summer? You and Rhys were both working there in the kitchen, and now, you’ll both be at the city hotel. Rhys is my head of security. The accounting office is just across the hall from his.”

I blinked, my pulse ratcheting up a notch. So, that was why Derek had asked him about the hotel. Rhys Doyle, the boy, now man, who I’d lost my virginity to and whom I’d had all my formative sexual experiences with, was going to be working in the office across the hall from me. My new office was going to be across the hall from his, and I wasn’t prepared for it. Not at all. When I’d arranged to move to Ireland after the divorce, I hadn’t factored in getting reacquainted with Rhys.

I’d simply been eager to see the Balfes, live with my aunt and uncle, and make up for lost time. I hadn’t anticipated Rhys working for my uncle, and I certainly hadn’t expected to feel such a strange mix of attraction and anxiety in his presence.

A presence it seemed I was going to be bumping into often if we were to work in the same building. No, not merely the same building, but right across the hall.