Running Back

So it was a relief when we left, retreating to the i

I wanted to feel warm.

Mike, Lauren and I sat on the floor before the fireplace while A

“Aunt Maggie?” Lauren sloppily picked up her cards. I sneaked a look. “Jesus.”

A

“I’m sure she has pictures.” Kate hugged her youngest to her side, her voice just shy of normal. “Of course, she’s suffering her own loss right now, so maybe we should save that for later.”

“I’d think she’d want to look at them. Because Uncle Patrick’s probably in them too, right?”

“Laur, hold your cards closer,” Mike said in a beleaguered voice, like he’d told her time and again.

“Why don’t you just not look at them?”

“Because they’re staring me in the face. Besides, Natalie’s cheating too.”

My head flew up. “That’s not true.”

Mike gri

I narrowed my eyes. His danced. A

“We’ll see.” Kate closed her eyes as she stroked her daughter’s head. “We’ll see.”

The evening went on. Somehow I ended up in involved in an intense discussion with Lauren and A

“Hey,” I tossed at Mike, after we figured out the difference in cookie names came from which of the two Girl Scout baking companies produced it (thus destroying a satisfying and endless argument forever), “isn’t it weird, then, that you ended up playing for the New York Leopards? Didn’t the Patriots bid on you?”

Lauren groaned. “Oh, sore subject.”

“What? They didn’t?”

Mike looked aggravated. “They did, they were just too late. What was I supposed to do?”

My mouth flapped open. “So would you rather be playing for them? Would you leave the Leopards?” I felt personally betrayed.

He laughed. “No. Not anymore. They’re my family.”

“Actually,” A

I excused myself around nine, when Kate started yawning. Back in my room, I spent the next hour writing emails. I started with Cam and Mom, but the O’Co

And then a new email popped up. And I stopped breathing.

The subject line was i

Dear Ms. Sullivan,

I hope you’ve been well. I see you are in Ireland working, once more, on one of Dr. Anderson’s projects. I am about to begin excavating an Iron Age site in Ulster, and I would like to extend an invitation to join me as one of my site managers. I would be happy to meet with you and speak about this opportunity.

Best,

Dr. Henry Ceile

I was still staring at it when someone knocked on my door and it swung open. I looked up to see Mike.

“Hey,” he began, and then stopped and frowned. “You all right?”

I waved at the computer, too stu

“Yeah. From this guy who’s never gotten along with my advisor. He’s trying to poach me!”

Mike couldn’t smother his smile. “Are you interested?”

I almost choked on oxygen. “In working for the devil? No way.”

“Why not? You’d at least get to work on a site in your field.”

“Thank you, for reminding once again that I will never be able to excavate at Kilkarten.”

He stared at me.

I took a deep breath. “Sorry. That was uncalled for. Just—I would never betray Jeremy like that, by going to work for Ceile. That would be tantamount to saying that Jeremy’s crazy, that I agree with Ceile that Ivernis doesn’t exist. Would it make sense professionally? Sure. But—it would make me sick with myself.”

He slowly sat. “You’re still upset you’re not excavating Kilkarten.”

I let out a strangled laugh. “Of course I am. You knew that.”

“I didn’t realize how strongly you felt.” He studied me. “Are you upset with me?”

I avoided his too-clear gaze. “I don’t know. I guess my emotions about you are all tangled up.”

“But that’s the main block between us.”

I shrugged and nodded. “It’s the elephant in the room.”

“Okay. I get that. But—maybe for tonight we can forget it and just be friends.”

I nodded. “I’d like that.”

So for that night, we talked and watched Irish television. He told me about his teammates and I told him about my travels and we made mangled attempts at accents, starting with Ireland and spreading all over the world. He tore apart my fantasy team and I taught him how to write his name in ancient Greek. It was one of the best nights I’d had in a long time, and when he finally slipped out the door, I stared after him for a long, long time before falling into a deep sleep.

Chapter Twelve

When I woke, I threw on my simple black dress and blew out my hair. I left it loose and straight instead of shoving it into my habitual ponytail, and even scrounged up some eyeliner from the black hole of my messenger bag. When I finished, I could see hints of my mother in my reflection. For a moment I just stared, slightly uneasy, before attempting on a whim the look she had been particularly famous for. It was a cross between a smile and sneer, an expression of unrelenting disdain for the mere mortals that wanted her attention.

It looked so ridiculous on me that I laughed, and headed down to breakfast.

Downstairs, the O’Co

We’d already started in on our eggs and hashbrowns when footsteps sounded in the hall. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel Mike’s presence behind me, palpable and elemental as a gust of wind or a burst of light. “Morning, everyone.” He tugged on my ponytail. “Morning, Natalie.”

Kate smiled.

I flushed. “Good morning.” I glanced up, and froze.

He’d put on a suit, his black jacket sharp, his white shirt crisp. His brilliant hair gleamed in sharp contrast. I sucked in a breath. He gri

I blinked at him. “You stole my breakfast.”

He gave me one of his devastating smiles, before turning to his mother. “Wow, Mom. You look great.” He dropped into the chair beside me, angling his leg so his knee brushed mine. I tried to keep from jumping and he tugged the plate of sausages toward him.

Kate O’Co

He gave her a puppy-eyed expression. “I remember flowers and cards at every holiday.”

Kate smiled. “You are always so sweet.”

“This is the problem with my family,” he said to me, sotto-voice. “They say one thing, but I suspect they actually mean two or three other things. Makes conversation very complicated.”