He stared at me and asked disbelievingly, “Now that shit’s my fault?”

“It was always your fault,” I retorted haughtily then I cried out when he reached out and yanked me to him.

I landed on his chest. He curved an arm around me as he rolled into me and yanked the covers from under me. He then flicked them over, moved to his back and turned out the light, then rolled my way and gave me his weight when he reached out to turn out mine.

He then arranged us tangled in the middle of the bed.

“I take it discussion of Boston Stone is over,” I remarked.

“That name said in this bed again gets my woman spanked.”

I shut up.

For a second.

Then I asked, “Can we finish this discussion in my bed?”

I heard the smile in his voice as he muttered, “Smartass.”

I smiled right into his chest as I cuddled there.

We were snuggled, quiet and I was drooping when Mickey called, “Amy?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“You find out boys did that to my girl, you don’t tell me that shit. You sort it. You dig deep in there with her and you dig it out. You get her to share it with her mother. But you do not bring that to me.”

I knew what he was saying.

“Mickey,” I whispered.

“She’s beautiful,” he stated.

“I know,” I replied.

“Gotta be responsible. That’d make me not be able to be responsible.”

Yes, I knew what he was saying.

“Okay, Mickey. But, just to say, honestly, I don’t think that poster would be on her wall if that actually happened.”

“Right,” he grunted.

“Right,” I repeated.

“Okay, Amy.”

“Let that go and go to sleep, baby.”

He drew in breath, drawing his arms closer around me as he did.

He let the breath go but not me.

“’Night, babe.”

I kissed his chest and replied, “Goodnight, Mickey.”

It took me a lot longer to get droopy because I spent a lot of time hoping in all that was happening with Rhiannon and Aisling that I hadn’t lied and the Donovan family could bounce back.

And be happy.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Luck o’ the Irish

The next day, late morning, I knocked on Ash’s door.

“Yeah?’ she called.

I opened it and stuck my head in, seeing her on her side in her bed, earbuds in, book open in front of her, still in her shapeless PJ’s, thus no shower.

At her dad’s call, she’d come out for breakfast, ate it with us, then went right back in.

“Hey,” I started. “We’re about to go outside to toss around the Frisbee. It’s chilly but it’ll be fun. Wanna join us?”

“Naw,” she replied. “I’m into this book and I’m almost done.”

I looked to the book she was reading and saw this was not a lie.