A Secret Between Friends: A New Zealand Sexy Beach Romance (Treats to Tempt You Book 6) (2 page)

“Sorry. I didn’t want to say anything. But maybe it’s best if you don’t go, eh?”

Despair swept through her. “I have to go. In spite of the fact that my eyeballs are hanging out on my cheeks, I won’t be able to sleep until I sort this out.”

“How do you plan to sort it out, exactly? It’s hardly the time or place for a yelling match.”

She glared at him, hurt by his insinuation that she was going there to spoil the evening. “That’s not fair. I just want to talk.”

“Sinead doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“Well, she’ll have to when I’m standing in front of her.”

“Don’t bet on it.” His voice was harsh, but his features softened as she winced. “Look, she’s lost her only daughter and she’s hurting. The funeral was fucking awful, and this is supposed to be an upbeat celebration with it being Ciara’s birthday and everything. It’s not the right time to confront Sinead.”

“I don’t want to confront her,” Genie said hotly. “But I need to see her. I can’t believe she blames me. She’s like a mother to me—always has been.” Resentment ran through her, raising her heartbeat, warming her cheeks. “For Christ’s sake, I lived with her for twelve years. I can’t believe she’s turned her back on me because of what’s happened.” She stopped for a moment and fought to stop the quiver in her bottom lip. Lifting her chin, she said, “I need to speak to her and hear it from her own lips.”

Even as she said the words, though, a shiver of unease slid down her spine. Deep down, she knew Jonah spoke the truth. Sinead didn’t want to talk to her. She hadn’t called Genie while she was in hospital, had made no attempt to contact her at all. That made Genie both upset and mad. Had Sinead stopped to think how much she was hurting too? Genie had lost a friend who was more like a sister. They’d been inseparable. Like a phantom limb, Ciara’s presence lingered, reminding Genie of what she’d lost, and she ached with sorrow.

“I’ll be there.” Her brother spoke firmly. “If you’re determined to do this, I’ll be there with you, and so will Beck. The important thing is that you’re still alive. That, if nothing else, deserves to be celebrated today.” His jaw knotted with held-back emotion.

Even though Jonah was two years older than her, Genie had always treated him like a younger brother because of his boyish nature, his irreverent attitude, and his refusal to settle down. Suddenly, though, she saw how deeply her injury and Ciara’s death had affected him. In hospital, she’d imagined the accident like a massive earthquake that had destroyed her life and undermined her relationship with Ciara’s parents. She’d not realized how aftershocks would shake the rest of her friends and family.

She cleared her throat, desperate to voice the question she’d been itching to ask since she got into the car. “What about Niall? Does he blame me too?” It was tough even to say his name. The thought that Ciara’s big brother might also bear hatred toward her made her feel as if a huge weight was crushing her chest.

Although Genie had two brothers of her own, when she was six—shortly after their mother died—Beck and Jonah had moved farther north with their father, who’d had to relocate because of his job. Sinead—a close friend of their mother—had offered to have Genie live with her and her husband, Garret. The two girls had already been inseparable, and Sinead had suggested it might give Genie some stability. Genie had kept in close contact with her real brothers, but she’d grown up with Ciara, Niall, and Finn, and she’d idolized the two boys, Niall especially. Gorgeous, full of life, and with a wicked sense of humor, Niall Brennan had been the subject of a childhood crush she’d not really grown out of, although she’d never told anyone about it, least of all him. The thought that he might now resent her for causing Ciara’s death made her want to bawl her eyes out. Did he blame her?

Jonah signaled to take the turn off to the seaside town of Paihia, part of the Bay of Islands. “Difficult to say. I haven’t spoken to him about it yet. He’s only just come back.”

“Back?” Her eyebrows rose. “Back from where?”

“Didn’t Beck tell you? After the funeral, Niall took himself off. I’m not sure where he went—Australia, I think.”

“Did Tamsin go with him?”

“Jeez, you’re out of the loop. He and Tamsin broke up.”

Genie pressed a hand over her heart, her jaw dropping. “Broke up? Oh my God, seriously? When?”

“Ah…four or five months ago, I think.”

The news genuinely shocked her. Niall had started dating the red-haired Aussie girl when he was eighteen, had continued through university, and after they’d graduated they’d bought a house. They’d been together forever.

“What happened?”

“I dunno,” Jonah said unhelpfully.

Genie shook her head. “I can’t believe it. Why didn’t he tell Ciara?”

“Maybe he did, and she didn’t tell you.”

“Ciara tells me—told me—everything. She wouldn’t have kept that a secret.” The news unsettled her. Everything seemed to be changing. The tectonic plates of her life were shifting and producing deep rifts in some places and insurmountable peaks in others, as if she were still stuck inside the dream, rolling, rolling, and she didn’t know which way was up and which was down.

Jonah slowed as he came to the roundabout where the road split, the left turn leading to the Waitangi Treaty Grounds, the right to Paihia and
Between the Sheets
. “You sure you don’t want me to take you home?”

Ahead of them, the Pacific Ocean glittered in the late evening sunshine, a beautiful deep blue. A few families were still on the beach, kids playing in the water, and boats sailed across the water to the picturesque town of Russell in the distance.

But she couldn’t enjoy being home, couldn’t think of anything but getting over the obstacle that lay in her path. “No. Let’s get it done.” She gestured toward Paihia, her heart hammering. She needed to see Sinead, and Niall.
Please don’t let him hate me.
Having Sinead angry with her would be bad enough. But if Niall hated her too… She didn’t think she could bear that.

“I can’t believe Genie’s not here yet.” Beck shook his head, obviously exasperated at his sister’s tardiness. “Honestly, that girl’s going to be late to her own funeral.”

Niall paused in the process of taking an olive from the dish in front of him and caught his breath. Ciara had been gone forty-eight days, and yet he still got a jolt inside every time someone mentioned a word like ‘funeral’ and reminded him he’d never see her again. When did that stop? Did it ever?

Beck’s eyes widened as he realized his faux pas. “Shit, sorry.” He retrieved a bottle of beer from the fridge, cracked it open, and slid it across the bar to his best mate as a peace offering. “That probably wasn’t the best analogy under the circumstances.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Niall toasted his friend in thanks and took a swig of the beer, enjoying the slide of the icy liquid down his throat on the warm evening. “It might be best to refrain from that sort of comment when you’re talking to my mother though.”

Beck’s forehead creased with concern, and he leaned on the bar, scratching at his beard. He’d grown it, and the accompanying mustache or ‘mo’, for Movember, a charity event that raised money and awareness for men’s health issues. He loved it so much he’d yet to shave it off. In the spirit of collaboration, Niall had also grown a big handlebar mustache, but he’d removed it at midnight on the last day of November, glad to be able to drink without soaking up half the liquid before it reached his mouth.

Only an hour later, he’d received the phone call. At the memory, another jolt inside made his stomach clench as if he’d gotten a shock of static electricity.
Jeez
.

Beck glanced across the room, and Niall followed his gaze to where Sinead Brennan stood by the front entrance, her husband’s arm around her while they greeted their guests. Always slender, today she looked almost frail, dark rings marring the skin beneath her eyes.

“Is your mum still struggling?”

“You could say that.” Niall’s gaze slid past her to the view outside. The tarmac shimmered in the heat, and beyond it the Pacific Ocean glittered in the rays of the evening sun. It was hot for January, the humidity already climbing to nearly unbearable heights, but Niall didn’t mind as he spent most of his days in the water, swimming with dolphins.

Summer in the Bay of Islands, New Zealand. What could be more idyllic than that? And yet it had been an awful Christmas. The news of his sister’s death in Afghanistan had arrived on the first day of December, putting paid to any notion of festivities.

After their first wretched month without her, he’d taken himself off to Australia for New Year, needing to escape the oppressive atmosphere at home. A shroud of grief hovered over his parents, heavy enough to crush him whenever he visited them. He missed Ciara, of course he did, but his loss wasn’t marred by the black anger that surrounded Sinead, the urge to punish someone for taking Ciara away. He sympathized with his mother’s need to assign blame, but whereas her loss manifested as a horrendous thunderstorm with torrential rain, his was more like a misty, melancholy day, the sun blotted out by dull gray clouds.

His older brother, Finn, had phoned him in Australia a week into January.

“She’s going to implode,” Finn had said when describing Sinead’s sorrow. “We’ve got to do something.”

So Niall had returned, and he and Finn had concocted a plan. January sixteenth would be the anniversary of Ciara’s birthday. She would have been twenty-five. In celebration, Niall and Finn had planned a gathering for their family and friends at Beck’s bar,
Between the Sheets,
for a drink in her honor.

Their hope had been that it would prove a more uplifting affair than the funeral. They’d adhered to their mother’s wishes on that day, but Niall knew his sister would have hated the formal, miserable event. Everyone had dressed in black and spoken in hushed voices about the tragic circumstances of her death while his mother had sobbed loudly the whole way through. He’d been determined to make this gathering the kind of thing Ciara would have loved—bright colors, loud music, flowing beer, and lots of laughter, with the aim of lifting spirits and focusing on all the good things she’d brought into the world.

Unfortunately, his mother appeared to have other ideas. Although she’d finally exchanged her black attire for a pale blue dress that was almost as somber, the way she greeted everyone so forlornly was having a distinctly depressing effect on everyone present. After all, how could anyone appear to be celebrating when the girl’s mother looked as if she was about to burst into tears at any moment?

“It’s understandable though, right?” Beck gestured at her. “Sinead being so sad, I mean. It has only been six weeks.”

“Yeah. It’s perfectly reasonable.” Niall hesitated and met Beck’s gaze. The bar owner’s worried face reflected his concern.

“I should have told Genie to go straight to the house,” Beck said. “I honestly thought she was coming home next week.”

Niall pushed aside his own misgivings and shook his head. “She was Ciara’s best friend. Of course she should be here.”

Beck’s lips curved a little, but the wariness lingered in the blue eyes that were so like his sister’s. Niall couldn’t blame him for being worried. They were both concerned what his mother’s reaction would be when she saw Genie for the first time since the death of her daughter. He’d been shocked by the way Sinead had focused her grief—as if directing the sun’s rays through a piece of glass onto an ant—on the young woman who’d been like another daughter to her. Her anger had been—still was—vitriolic. In her view, not only had Genie talked Ciara into signing up when they were eighteen, but she’d been ungracious enough to survive when Ciara had died.

“What time did her plane land again?” he asked.

Beck glanced at the clock on the wall above the large photographs of men and women caught in mid-surf. “Forty minutes ago. She should be here by now.”

“Perhaps the plane was delayed.”

“Perhaps. Or maybe she changed her mind and decided not to come.”

Niall raised an eyebrow. “You’ve told her how Mum feels?”

“Yeah.” Beck adjusted the angle of the dish of olives. “I wanted her to be aware what kind of reaction she might receive when she walks in. It seemed unfair not to warn her.”

“I guess.” Niall didn’t want to discuss it now. Thinking of Genie made the knot in his stomach tighten, and he didn’t need that tonight.

Pushing himself off the bar stool, he gestured at his father by the door and caught his eye. Garret steered Sinead over to the bar.

Beck tapped on a wine glass to attract attention, and Niall held up a hand and smiled as everyone turned to look.

“No big speeches,” he promised, glancing around at his friends and family. “But I think Mum would like to say a quick word.” He gestured to Sinead.

She nodded and cleared her throat. “I just wanted to say a huge thank you for coming here tonight to celebrate Ciara’s birthday—I know she would have appreciated it. She was a lovely girl, taken from us far too early, and we all really miss her…” Sinead’s voice turned husky, and she paused to gather herself.

Keep it light, Mum
. Niall studied his shoes. It was supposed to be a celebration.

“She was such a bright spirit,” Sinead continued, “and she meant so much to us. We’ll never forget her, and I hope wherever she is, she knows how much she…” Her voice trailed off.

Niall looked up, fearing she’d subsided into tears, but she was staring across the room at the front door. He glanced over and inhaled sharply when he saw who stood there.

Jonah was leaning against the door jamb, but for once his hands weren’t in the pockets of his jeans. Instead, he had one arm around his sister, giving Niall the distinct impression he was holding her up.

Genie stood by his side, leaning against him, although as people started to follow Sinead’s stare, she pushed herself off him and waited, her spine stiff.

She’d been taller and curvier than his tiny, waif-like sister from about the age of eleven, but she’d lost weight since the last time he’d seen her, and her jeans hung loose on her hips. Her hair was tucked up under a blue cap—unless she’d had it cut; he hoped not as he loved her blonde curls—and she wore a navy vest that clung to her now-slim curves. She looked tired and pale, but even so, the inner light she’d always possessed still radiated from her as if she’d swallowed a candle. She was easily the prettiest girl in the room.

Niall’s gaze fell to the cane in her left hand. Her jeans hid her damaged knee. She had great legs, slim and shapely. The thought that she’d been wounded gave him a pain in his chest.

She was looking at Sinead, but at that moment she glanced over at him. She lifted her chin, her eyes daring him to accuse her too, but he knew her well enough not to miss the way she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, the whiteness of her knuckles where she gripped the cane. She was terrified.

It must have taken a huge amount of courage to walk in there, knowing his mother bore such resentment toward her. His lips curved up a little, and he gave her a small nod.
Kudos, girl.

Relief flooded her face, and she inhaled visibly. Beside him, Sinead twitched, and Niall looked down to see her face pinched, bitterness drawing her features together as if someone had sewed a thread around her hairline and pulled it tight. If he didn’t do something soon, disaster would ensue.

He cleared his throat and raised his voice. “So we want to say thanks for coming, and I hope you’ll join us in raising a glass to my sister. She’ll be sorely missed, but tonight is for celebrating her wonderful life, so drink and be merry, and remember her as she was—to Ciara!”

“To Ciara.” Everyone toasted and sipped from their glasses.

Niall nodded to Beck, who turned up the music—
Everlong
by Foo Fighters, one of Ciara’s favorites, and gradually the conversation rose to a normal level. Some of Ciara’s old school friends started dancing, and one of them pulled a party popper, spraying streamers across the room. Smiles appeared on people’s faces. It was going to work, he thought.
Hope you enjoy it, Ciara, wherever you are.

Sinead caught her breath, and he looked around to see that Genie had crossed the room to stand before them.
Shit.
But it would have been impossible to keep them apart all evening. Was his mother going to make a scene? The men hovered around the two women like spectators at an arena about to watch gladiators in combat. Niall, his father Garret, his brother Finn, Jonah, Beck. All waiting with baited breath.

“Hi, Sinead,” Genie said.

“Genevieve.” Sinead’s eyes were cold.

Genie gave a small, tight smile. “Wow, I’ve been full-named. I must be in trouble.”

Sinead said nothing. Niall waited, appalled that his mother was making no comment about the fact that although Genie had been wounded, she was alive, and that—at least—should be worthy of celebration.

Genie swallowed, glanced at him, then looked back at his mother. “I’m so sorry about Ciara,” she whispered.

His mother’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know how you have the cheek to offer sympathy. It’s your fault Ciara’s dead.”

“Mum!” Niall was horrified. “For Christ’s sake.”

But his mother just turned her back on the girl who’d been like a daughter to her, and said to Garret, “Can you take me home, please.”

Genie’s white face went even paler, but she didn’t object to the accusation.

“Mum…” Niall’s words trailed off as Sinead turned pained eyes on him. He wanted her to stay, but equally he knew he was asking too much of her. She needed to grieve, not celebrate.

She shouldn’t have thrown that accusation at Genie, but he wasn’t going to reproach her about it in front of everyone.

Garret hesitated, his eyes showing pity, his smile carrying a brief flicker of regret, but he put his arm around Sinead and led her to the door. She gave everyone a last wave, without casting another glance at the girl who’d lived with her for twelve years, and left the room.

Was it his imagination, or did everyone breathe a sigh of relief?

“Come here, you.” Beck moved around the bar to his sister and enveloped her in a bear hug.

She clung to him for a moment, burying her face in his chest. Niall heard her mumble, “You’ve got a beard.”

Beck grinned. “I think it makes me look distinguished.”

“It makes you look hairy.” She pulled back with a sniff, rubbing her nose.

Finn hugged her too. “It’s good to see you.” A couple of years older than Niall, he’d always been fond of Genie, and he’d borne her and his sister’s teasing with inimitable patience, unlike Niall, who’d always had to respond with an even better prank.

She hugged him back, her stiff spine finally relaxing, clearly relieved that Finn wasn’t angry with her either.

Beck returned to the bar to fetch her a drink, and Jonah shook hands with Niall before perching on a bar stool. The four boys were as close as if they were all brothers.

“She okay?” Niall asked Jonah in a low voice while she chatted with Finn.

Jonah took a swallow of his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “No. I tried to get her to go straight home, but she wouldn’t have it, sorry. She was terrified you’d be mad at her—not that she’d ever admit it, of course. But I think she needed to confront you, you know?”