Entanglement: Turbulence Series, #1

By Lilly K. Cee

LOVE. REJECTION. OBSESSION. BETRAYAL.

 

Brit Delany found some semblance of peace by ignoring the pain of her past. 

 

An American photojournalist working on the international stage, it was easy to distance herself from her traumatic childhood. But she is now heading back to Ireland, home of those turbulent memories. 

 

Thankfully, there are friendly faces waiting for her. Two men await her arrival, though last she saw them, they were the kindhearted boys who shepherded her through the worst of her dark and tumultuous days. Both look forward to her homecoming, but for far different reasons. 

 

Secrets await in the Emerald Isle, and they will threaten everything Brit thought she knew. Love. Rejection. Obsession. Betrayal. All she's survived will act as her emotional armor for what is to come.  

 

This story is not intended/appropriate for readers under 18 years of age. Be forewarned that the Turbulence Series addresses a range of traumatic issues. Entanglement ends with a cliffhanger. Tranquility is the conclusion to Entanglement.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Turbulent Press, LLC
• Release date: Nov 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223575559

Book preview

ENTANGLEMENT

Turbulence Series Part One

Lilly K. Cee

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Turbulent Press LLC

Copyright © 2021 by Lilly K Cee

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely coincidental.

Lilly K. Cee asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

Cover design © by Cover Couture www.bookcovercouture.com

For my Special Ks, Katie and Kate!

Always, my dears,

for your continued love and support.

And The Joneses, for being another safe place.

 ***

 "Think where man’s glory most begins and

ends, and say my glory was I had such friends."

-William Butler Yeats

Contents

1.THEN

2.BRIT

3.BRIT

4.BRIT

5.BRIT

6.SEAN

7.SEAN

8.BRIT

9.BRIT

10.JASPER

11.BRIT

12.SEAN

13.BRIT

14.SEAN

15.BRIT

16.BRIT

17.BRIT

18.BRIT

19.BRIT

20.SEAN

21.BRIT

22.BRIT

23.BRIT

24.SEAN

25.BRIT

26.BRIT

27.JASPER

28.SEAN

29.BRIT

30.BRIT

31.SEAN

32.BRIT

33.BRIT

34.SEAN

35.BRIT

36.BRIT

37.BRIT

38.BRIT

39.SEAN

40.BRIT

41.SEAN

42.BRIT

43.JASPER

44.BRIT

Glossary

Acknowledgments

Afterword

Also By Lilly...

About Author

Chapter one

THEN

D o you think we’ll get our arses reddened for taking the wood?

The boys turned away from the trees they were standing in front of and looked at her. She sat on a pile of wood swinging a hammer, a toolbox beside her.

Sean raised a shoulder and gave a lopsided grin. Bit late to be worried about it now. He was the older of the two boys by just a few months. At fifteen, he was tall and lanky, his blue eyes startling in the gray and foggy Irish afternoon.

Jasper made a funny face at Brit. He was a hazel-eyed sprite with red hair more shocking in hue than her own. The idea was yours; your arse reddens first.

Sean looked at him, his humor intact, the chilly wind lifting his brown hair. It was yourself who lifted the wood.

Brit giggled.

"Besides, it was our idea, Sean insisted, looking back at the giggling girl. We were after needing a place to go, isn’t that so, Brit?"

That’s so! she said, her smile faltering, but she looked back at him with appreciation.

So it is, Sean echoed, then playfully struck Jasper in the arm.

Jasper stuck his tongue out at Brit; she giggled again and stuck her tongue out back. Jasper pretended offense and loped across the small clearing toward her. She gave a playful shriek as she fled the pile of wood with a spring, knocking it over. The toolbox landed with a bang and scattered the contents across the soft ground.

Jasper, no! she screamed laughingly, running from him, the anticipation of being caught and the ensuing tickles already paralyzing her; she almost gave up before she put up a fight.

Jasper quickly caught her, grabbing her more petite frame up from behind, taking her feet off the ground. She cried out and laughed at the same time. He bore them both to the ground as she kicked and giggled even though he had yet to start attacking her with his tickling hands; she knew what to expect. They’d been through this exercise too many times.

Effortlessly straddling her, having three years on her, he attacked her ribs. She shrieked and bucked against him, wildly fighting his hands as she kicked. Her gasping pleas for mercy and belly laughs echoed in the woods, mingling with his laughter.

Finally, gasping for air, Brit shrieked out, I’m going to pee! Jasper, you’re going to make me pee!

Both boys laughed.

Sean! She begged for help, casting a wild glance around.

Jasper, that’s enough. We’ve work to be done, Sean intervened.

Jasper stopped tickling her reluctantly. He smashed his hand over her face, forcing it to the side. Bratty Brit! But he relented, getting off of her. He stood and then reached down a hand to her.

Brit took his hand, allowed him to help her up, and then danced a bit away. As soon as her nervous giggles subsided, she walked up to him and delivered a punch to his arm. Eejit! You almost had me peeing myself!

He punched her back.

Sean stopped them again before they disintegrated into a brawling match next. "Stad! Brit, clean the tools. Jasper, climb up and measure that off; see can we go between these two trees."

Jasper and Brit gave each other playfully wary glances, but they did as Sean bade. Although Jasper was only a few months younger than Sean, Sean’s more serious demeanor made him the natural leader. Left to themselves, Jasper and Brit would either fight or laugh all day. Sean was their guiding force.

Chapter two

BRIT

Brit’s earbud fell out, alerting her to the sounds of gasps and muffled shrieks, pulling her from her dream state. She shifted in her seat, looking around at the mass panic when the plane dropped and bumped beneath her. She gritted her teeth, and her hands tightened on the arm rest.

Leaning over, she lifted the blind and peered out at a starry night sky. Clear air turbulence. Not pleasant, but as long as the plane was well-engineered, not deadly.

She shoved her earbud back in place, blocking out the sounds of prayers and whimpered moans as the plane continued to roll and pitch around them.

Staring ahead at the blue seat back in front of her, she absently replaced the tray table that had fallen. She tried not to pay attention to the unsettling sensation of the rocking vehicle that was hurtling through space. After all, she’d been on similar, maybe worse, flights. A conversation with a pilot about turbulence had enlightened her that the ride was just as rough for them. She’d never thought about it before, assuming they’d been somehow immune.

Perhaps they were like she now was; not immune, just numb to it.

In an attempt to take her mind off the jaunty ride, she concentrated on the memories stirred by her dream state, revisiting her childhood home in Ireland, going back to Jasper and Sean, her boys—her friends—her only friends. Still, even after all this time.

It had been magical, living there with them, compared to the existence she had known before she came there. Her childhood in the States was a nightmare she willfully suppressed.

In truth, the nightmare had been her mother.

And that was all the energy she needed to expend thinking about her.

Sean and Jasper—cousins—had been shocked by her arrival. Remembering, she smiled. She’d been dropped into their world, a little American girl with a strange accent, scared, big green eyes, and softly curling red hair. Jasper had been visually repulsed. Sean was disinterested. But they were the only other kids around, so she had shadowed them. At first, she sought them out to keep out of her mother’s way.

When they were in the library reading, she would sit in the corner and do the same. If they watched television, she would hang out in the background and watch. If they played chess, she would study the board and follow their movements, and so forth. When they went to the lake and skinny-dipped, she watched from the bank a few times and then decided to join them one day.

She remembered Sean’s shock the first time he realized she had followed them onto the dock. She had done it before without being noticed, watching them shed their clothes like it was second nature to do so and run down the dock to jump in the water. Having watched their ritual before and wanting to fit in, she had followed suit. Sean had looked up, his blue eyes growing wide as saucers as he stopped her with a shout.

Jasper had hooted a laugh and encouraged her on.

I want to do what you do, she had called after Sean in pleading fashion, her top already off, her shorts on their way.

Get your top back on, girl! And keep your kacks on, he insisted. You don’t come in otherwise.

Brit had grinned. She had been invited.

From that day forward, that was the way with them. Brit tried to be one of the boys. Jasper dared her to the point of impropriety while Sean attempted to manage them. After being in Ireland for a year, it was as though they had never lived another way.

Unfortunately, the boys realized soon enough that hers was not a nurturing mother. It couldn’t be missed, really. The adults became quiet, not commenting on the amount of drink that Brit’s mother consumed or the rages she went into that were directed toward her daughter. Brit bore them because they were normal for her. Sporting bruises the next day, she ignored the horrified looks in the eyes of her friends as she went on as though nothing was amiss.

She hated making them feel bad. She hoped that if she went on as though nothing was wrong, it would make it easier for them to do the same. It was her way of silently letting them know everything was okay.

But being observant boys, as many children are, Sean and Jasper became adept at guessing when Maggie Delany would most likely unleash her demons on to her daughter. As they grew older, they must have determined that even though the adults appeared to be paralyzed, they were not.

Brit remembered being woken with a hand over her mouth on one stormy night, which was almost more frightening than the dramatic slamming open of a door from a drunk. Sean was leaning over her, urging her out of bed. She had blinked owlishly at him, disoriented. Then she heard her mother’s curses in the hall, making her staggering way toward them.

Brit’s eyes had gone even wider, and she pulled his hand away from her mouth, sitting up. You need to go, Sean! I’ll not have her hurtin’ you!

He had looked back at her like she was crazy. "And I’ll not have her hurtin’ you!" He pulled back the covers and grasped her around her waist, pulling her from the twin bed in her flannel nightdress.

But she’s in the hall, Brit had whispered in fear, already clinging to his arm, her nine-year-old mind struggling with hope, knowing it was futile.

Sean slipped his hand into hers and pulled her after him. The window.

Brit moved stiltedly with him, her terrified eyes on the door, hearing her mother approach, while Sean jumped up on a window seat and proceeded to unlatch it. She was almost hyperventilating when she heard someone else in the hall howling.

Argh! Oh, Miss Delany! Feck! It was Jasper, making a fine racket. I don’t know what happened, but me balls be on fire!

What?! came the startled, drunken response.

Can you fetch Mammy? A wail, a thump; she assumed there was a dramatic slump against the wall. Me balls!

Sean couldn’t hold back the laughter as the window swung wide. He grabbed Brit’s hand and pulled her up on the window seat. Tomorrow, it’ll be his arse. Out! He handed her out the window onto the patio and then jumped out himself into the cool rain. He paused to close the window, Jasper’s dramatic wails silenced.

Brit turtled her shoulders against the rain, watching Sean for what to do next. He took her hand, and they ran away from the lake manor, through the woods, and into a boat house. They had crouched there, shivering, looking at each other in the semi-dark.

Brit had asked, When do we go back?

Sean had blinked at her. He hadn’t thought about that.

Brit had sat on the wooden floor of the boat house and smiled. Thank you.

"We stick together, caílin."

That night, he and Jasper had saved her from what would have no doubt been a severe beating.

Sean had tried to talk to Brit about it over the years. She refused. She merely pushed his face away good-naturedly and accused him of being morose. Finally, she’d jokingly indicated that if he wanted to build her a place to go, she would settle for a treehouse.

So they built one.

Brit pulled one earbud out of her ear and listened to the barely audible voice of the pilot informing them they had about another twenty minutes of their bumpy ride and apologizing for it. She rolled her eyes and replaced her earbud again. She wondered why, on every flight, the messages from the pilots were worse than trying to hear the workers at a drive-through.

I’ll take a dark roast.

Cinnamon toast?

No, I said dark roast. Dark! Roast!

Right, cinnamon toast.

Fine, fuck it, I’ll take the cinnamon toast.

After another scary lurch of the plane, Brit ran over the memories from her last year in Ireland; they all changed so much in that year. By the time she had left, the boys were eighteen and had eased into manhood. Not that she had noticed; they were simply her boys. They were taller, muscled, handsome, their features matured, their voices deepened. But Sean maintained his quiet self-assurance, and Jasper his quirky humor.

One of their favorite pastimes in the summer, of course, was swimming in the lake. Ever since that day when she was seven, and she started stripping to join them, all three had adjusted their swimming attire. The boys kept their underwear on; Brit kept her underwear and shirt—then eventually, her bra—on. When Sean had raised a dubious eyebrow at her bra, she had pointed out that a bikini would show more. He couldn’t argue with her logic. Besides, none of them looked at each other that way.

The only time she found the boys staring at her would be to look mournfully at bruising. Then they dropped their gazes in embarrassment because she never asked for or wanted their pity. If they could intervene and help her, she would let them help, but they couldn’t do more than they were already doing. As for a rescue, she never asked for it, and she never talked about it.

She knew Sean had watched her play fighting with Jasper, both the tickling, as well as the all-out brawls they had, and wondered if the violence that came out in her then was from what she had experienced. Jasper let her wail on him, although he also gave as good as he got; he was usually the one to start it. Brit now wondered if he realized it was a sort of therapy for her, to be able to rage herself.

The last summer she’d been there, Sean had watched her more closely. She could pinpoint it to the day when his blue eyes started to follow her with more care. They went to the lake; Jasper ran ahead gleefully and stripped as he headed down the dock, hollering as he leaped into the water. Sean had been more reserved, as usual, hanging back, removing his shirt. Brit stood at the edge of the dock, hesitant.

You comin’? Sean asked.

She had blushed, shook her head, and looked down, hugging herself.

Sean had turned toward her, concerned. He reached for the hem of her white cotton shirt. Let me see.

Brit shrugged away from him. Isn’t that. She looked over at Jasper frolicking in the water, flicked her gaze up at Sean, and then said in high embarrassment, It’s a girl thing.

Sean had frowned at first, and then understanding dawned as he looked her over as though seeing her for the first time. He smiled gently. Are you telling me you’re after being a woman now?

Her cheeks blazed bright red as she half turned away. It’s not a big deal.

"Caílin, I knew you when you were a wee thing, and here you are, a woman now." He grinned as though she should be as thrilled as he.

I wouldn’t‘ve told you if I knew you would turn into a girl more than me over it, she said miserably.

He chuckled. It’s nothing to be embarrassed by; simply nature.

Jasper called from the lake, What’re you two hens after cackling about? You comin’ in?

Brit looked at Sean in panic. Please don’t tell him. I’ll never hear the end from Jasper.

Sean reached out and caressed her arm reassuringly. He turned toward the lake. Brit’s stomach isn’t well; I told her she mustn’t swim.

You’re a doctor now? Jasper called out sarcastically.

Sean shrugged. He looked back at Brit. But you can sit on the dock, stick your feet in?

Brit had done just that, watching them with envy as they rough-housed in the water. If she hadn’t been a girl, she could have joined them; it felt as if she had been dealt a rotten card when she was born a girl.

After that day, Sean had become more protective of her, maybe even possessive. At the time, Brit hadn’t known what either of those actions was or what could have motivated them. Only after years of separation could she see it for what it was.

Secretly, it pleased her that he may have looked at her differently. But she’d been just as quick to shove aside those fanciful musings. She’d been fourteen, he was seventeen. And she’d been nothing but a tomboy to them. And then, she certainly hadn’t been preening for male attention.

But later that same summer, in another race to the lake, things changed. Brit and Jasper were about ten minutes ahead, having raced each other to see who could get there the fastest. Brit had won, but only by about a leg. They both cannonballed into the water, coming up sputtering.

Jasper had cleared his eyes first while Brit fought her long strands of clinging red hair. She’d heard Jasper’s gasp, then his chuckle of, Janey Mack! not knowing why. Just as she’d cleared her eyes, he grabbed her up, allowing her to slide down him back into the water.

Brit had hit his shoulder, thinking nothing amiss because this was Jasper. She hadn’t noticed that his play those few minutes before Sean joined them involved more hands, more body touching; she hadn’t noticed his eyes dropping every time she surfaced from the water. He tickled her, which would cause her to arch laughingly against him.

Their howls of laughter echoed over the water, the dock. Sean had arrived, maintaining a measured approach, casting watchful looks as they played. He slipped into the water.

Jasper laughed, turning Brit in his arms so she faced Sean, and he called out, Cousin! He slipped his hands under Brit’s arms and lifted her a bit out of the water, pulling her backward; she looked over at Sean and laughed, using a leg to splash water toward him.

Sean’s gaze had dipped; he froze. He flushed, stared for a moment at her as she reached up to grasp Jasper’s hands. Let go! she fought him half-heartedly, wriggling in his grasp. Sean, come help!

Aye, cousin? Jasper asked jovially.

Let her go, Sean ordered sternly, expression hard, no trace of humor.

Brit stilled in the water, curious at his tone. Jasper chortled behind her.

Sean was trying not to look at her; he was failing. He finally barked, Get out! Get out of the water!

Brit frowned and turned her perplexed gaze to Jasper. He shrugged innocently. C’mon, he’s in a mood. We’d be after eating something anyway. Jasper placed a hand on her waist and propelled her toward the shore.

Sean had watched them go, his face still red; Brit had looked back in confusion several times. He had moved back toward the dock. She couldn’t place the expression on his face, as she’d never seen it before.

Brit slipped into her shorts, confused by the polar opposite moods of her friends for no reason at all.

Jasper, I’ll batter you, Sean threatened.

Jasper challenged, Come on out and batter me, cousin.

Sean started to hoist himself up onto the dock, his movements aggressive.

What’s going on? Brit asked, too naïve to realize this may be about her. She was holding her shirt, ready to put it on.

An eye on Sean’s progress, Jasper grabbed her shirt out of her hands and held it up, just out of her reach. "Come get it, cara!"

Brit laughed. Eejit! She jumped for it.

Backing up, casting a triumphant glance to Sean, Jasper kept grinning. C’mon, girlie.

Jasper! Sean barked. He was striding angrily down the dock.

Jasper held his arm in the air, Brit leaping for her shirt. Then he turned and took off.

Arse! Give it over! she demanded laughingly, racing after him.

Jasper had teased her almost to the house, where he had finally relented and let her retrieve the shirt and tug it back into place. Then he had thrown his arm over her shoulders, and they walked into the kitchen. He sat her on the counter despite the side-eyed looks from the cooks, declaring he’d make her a sandwich.

Brit couldn’t remember what they had been laughing over when Sean had stormed into the kitchen, Jasper in his sights. Jasper stepped away from Brit on the counter, his hands up in a sign of surrender, a sneering grin on his face. Sean hadn’t paid the gesture any heed as he knocked Jasper’s hands away and landed a solid punch on the younger boy’s face. Jasper had stumbled and sprawled backward; Brit let out a sharp, startled scream. She had never seen Sean violent.

Jasper told her, years later, what set Sean off was that her bra had become transparent in the water. If Brit had known then, she would have been mortified and would have joined Sean in beating Jasper. But, with time, she laughed. And she thought the gesture of Sean defending her virtue was sweet even though at the time, it looked like Sean had just lost his mind. And it had scared her, seeing that touch of violence in him.

It hadn’t been the last time she’d seen that volatility.

Brit turned to stare out the window at the stars as they continued to fight their way through the sky. She could see her reflection; the interior cabin lights turned off so the passengers could get some sleep. Usually, she would be one of those travelers, but her mind was spinning with memories, going perhaps as fast as the metal container in which she rode.

Though the color of her eyes was not reflected back in the plastic, the contemplative slant of her dark eyebrows was clear. Her gaze followed along her jawline profiled against the darkness, her chiseled cheeks, pert nose, and full lips. Her forehead was slightly rounded, not too high. The strawberry red hair of her childhood had darkened to a full, deep red, and she wore it shoulder-length now, just long enough to be able to pull it back into a ponytail. She usually shoved it up under a hat with a red tail pulled through the clasp. It kept her hair out of her eyes.

She needed her eyes. And she needed them free from distraction. She had started taking pictures when she’d been returned to the States, and she’d kept taking them. Nothing was too mundane for her to shoot or too dangerous. She had been in the right place at the wrong time when a shooting had occurred at an outside eatery. She had stayed amongst the commotion and aftermath with her camera throughout. Her photos ended up being purchased and published. She had been offered a job.

Since then, she traveled where she was sent, or where she wanted to go. It was a surreal experience for her, her job. Other photographers would express how connected they were to their subject, their work. For her, it was the opposite. Once she was looking through the lens, she no longer existed; it was like she was watching a movie. Maybe that was why she felt no fear.

She had been told more than once that she belonged in front of the camera. The comments made her uncomfortable; being noticed wasn’t what she wanted. Her camera was her shield. It prevented anyone from looking at her too closely. And it protected her from the violence she surrounded herself with.

Logically, she knew it didn’t. Nothing could really protect her from violence.

As she studied her reflection, she thought about her mother. Her mind lit on her as it always did; fleetingly, in acknowledgment of the woman’s life. Then it flitted away again, not wanting to look too closely.

The beatings stopped when she was fifteen. Sean delivered the news to her. Brit had been lying in the treehouse on a cool, rainy spring morning, watching a trickle of water break through the roof they had made. Maggie had been on a tear the night before; Brit had the bruises to show for it. Afterward, Brit had cleaned her mother up and put her to bed.

Sean climbed into the treehouse, although he’d been tall enough by that time to see onto the platform. Brit had automatically scooted over to make room for him, still watching the leak warily. He sat there for a moment, watching her quietly. She’d felt his eyes travel over her, noting the bruises from the night before—the ones she hadn’t covered with clothing, anyway.

After a while, she’d prompted, You’re making me think I’ve grown a second head.

Sean reached out and lightly touched a bruise on her arm. She shrugged away from him. He said, She won’t be after doing that again, Brit.

Brit had cast him a hurt and angry look. You don’t mention it again.

He shook his head. You misunderstand me. Your mammy… your mammy… can’t do that again.

She’d sat up, looking at him quizzically. What do you mean?

He cupped her face in his hands, delivering the news solemnly, Your mammy… she’s gone. She’s done herself in.

Brit had looked back into his sad, concerned eyes. His sadness wasn’t for Maggie Delany, but her. She’d asked, afraid of the answer, Are you joshing me? It would be the cruelest prank.

I amn’t.

She’d taken a deep breath and leaned forward, letting him take her into his arms. She exhaled heavily, hugging him. Her cheek on his chest, she blinked, wondering where the tears were. She wondered at the sense of relief, the overwhelming exhaustion. She was a little apprehensive, afraid of the torrent of emotion she expected to take her by storm.

But it never came. If Sean had thought it was odd that she hadn’t cried and wailed and beat her chest, he hadn’t said anything. They had just sat in the treehouse while it rained, the leak forgotten, as he held her.

Days later, she found out she had a family in the States, and she was being sent back to them. She had cried then, not wanting to be parted from the only family she knew. Her boys had tried to argue on her behalf, but their parents weren’t hearing it; it wasn’t up to them. Brit’s family wanted her back.

Her last moments with her boys had been awful.

Jasper had come into her room, all swagger and smiles, trying to cheer her up. She had been sitting on the bed, ignoring Mrs. Madden’s summons to the car, looking around the room that had been her haven and her hell for the past eight years. She hadn’t been one to decorate her room with fanciful posters, nor would she have been allowed any, but it had been pink, and it had been hers. She knew this place and these people, and she was about to go to an entirely different country that she didn’t remember, to live with people she didn’t know.

Jasper had pulled her to her feet. She couldn’t remember what he had said to her; something to the effect of wanting a proper goodbye, a goodbye worth sobbing into her pillow over. She had laughed at him; the context completely lost on her. But he had pulled her to him, lowered his mouth to hers, and forced her mouth open with his.

She’d never been kissed like that and had not thought about being kissed by one of her boys. She had trained herself to force romantic notions aside because the boys never spoke about them, so she followed suit; she wanted to be like them. That Jasper had taken the initiative, the liberty, to kiss her was shocking. She’d frozen, not knowing what to do. Not moving his mouth from hers, his tongue coaxing hers into a response, she felt his hand lift her arm to his neck. She just stood there.

He parted briefly. Kiss me back.

I don’t know how, she’d said dumbly.

Do what I do, he instructed, and he lowered his mouth again, pulling her even closer.

Embarrassed, feeling like she was going to suffocate, she tried to figure out what he was doing, his lips an open gaw over hers, shoving his tongue into her mouth. Was she supposed to shove her tongue into his mouth? Then what? It seemed a wet, awkward, ridiculous ritual; she didn’t like it. Why did people think this was so grand?

She didn’t find out.

She heard an angry curse, felt her arm grasped in a painful vice, and was roughly pulled out of Jasper’s grasp. As she stumbled backward, her cheeks flaming, she realized Sean had jerked her away. He didn’t hold on to her long enough to even see if she stayed on her feet after he grabbed and flung her away, as he was already on Jasper, again with a fist flying.

She’s a babe! Sean was shouting.

Jasper was laughing as he tried to block Sean’s blow. Spring lamb!

Sean landed a blow, the two of them going down on Brit’s bed. She had moved further back, her hands over her mouth, horrified. Sean was enraged; Jasper laughingly, tauntingly fending him off.

Finally finding her voice, she yelled, "Sean, stad!"

The fear, the uncertainty in her voice, stopped him. Fist raised, ready to deliver another blow, he lurched off the bed, his eyes blue fire as he glared down at Jasper. Jasper remained on the bed, still chuckling, hands up in a gesture of surrender.

Sean’s angry eyes turned toward her, swept over her, then he approached her briskly. She tensed, pulling herself inward as she had done in the past for another person in the face of her anger, flinching when he grasped her arm and dragged her from the room. She had stumbled after him hesitantly, expecting him to turn that anger on her at any second. She’d never been afraid of him before, and now she was quaking.

Away from her room, he had turned and seen the look on her face. His expression fell, and he reached to comfort her. Brit.

She’d fought his hands, escaped him, and ran through the halls and out the front door to the waiting car. His parents hadn’t questioned her hasty departure from the house and assumed her sobs on their way to the airport were because she was leaving.

With the benefit of hindsight, Brit didn’t understand why it had to be so dramatic. She and Jasper had re-connected a few years later and kept in touch; it was made easier with the various social media platforms. Jasper had gone into journalism ahead of her and became a reporter in Cork. Although she was a photojournalist, she and he had media in common. He told stories through words; she told stories through pictures.

Sean, however, wasn’t interested in social media, so it was harder for her to keep in contact with him. She wrote to him; sometimes, she would receive a brief note back. She tried to understand that medical school had been demanding on him, so he didn’t have much free time. But she thought if she could drop a postcard from Myanmar, he could bother with an email from his dorm room.

So now she was enduring a bumpy trans-Atlantic flight, surrounded by many first-time fliers who were praying and crossing themselves at each pitch and dip, returning to Ireland, back to Lis Manor, to see her boys.

The invitation had been Jasper’s. He assured her that Sean was as eager to see her as anyone; they all were. He’d told her that those last moments were forgotten, water under the bridge. They’d grown up, moved on from that, and had been happy to receive news from her in the States, hearing how well she appeared to be adjusting.

She hoped the state of the flight didn’t portend the visit. Although the boys seemed to have moved beyond eleven years ago, she hadn’t changed much at all. They would be shocked by how much she clung to memories of her time in Ireland. How every day, she thought about them, dissected every second with them, and imagined them with her on her journeys. They would be concerned by her need to go back in time or dwell in a time past when her boys were still her boys.

Their lives had progressed normally, and she felt like a pretender.

Chapter three

BRIT

Lis Manor was a sprawling Victorian-styled home and property on a lake in Cork, just outside the city. It had been in the Madden family for over a century. The family had occasionally opened up the property to tourists and rented out the main house for special events. The second-story ballroom and balcony were perfect for weddings and big parties, and the kitchen was known for its chef, allowing a five-star dining experience for those who could afford it. The manor home itself had been completely renovated and modernized.

Brit looked out the car window, drinking it in. She didn’t remember the lodges to the right. She didn’t remember the long drive. She only remembered the boys, the house, the woods, the lake, the boat house, and the dock. These were the things her mind had clung to. Those little houses? she asked the driver.

Always there, ma’am.

How could I forget so much? I was grown, she said in wonder.

Our minds play tricks, ma’am, he replied, maneuvering the vehicle in front of the manor doors.

The lodges were all attached in one continuous building, with separate doors leading to what she assumed were their individual rooms. The woods blocked the lake from view, but Brit knew it was there, just beyond the trees, along with the quiet little boat house.

To the left were the garages; six of them. Behind the garages was a separate path that led to the stables. The driver confirmed that these, at least, were new since Brit had lived at Lis Manor.

As the car slowly approached the manor on the gravel drive, Brit—gawking from the back seat—pressed, Is that really all that’s changed? It seems so much bigger.

The driver chuckled. Only the stables, ma’am.

Brit struggled with her seat belt, a rush of excitement sweeping over her as the vehicle halted. She unclasped it and had the back door open before the driver could exit to assist her.

As she was bolting from the car, the front door swung open, and a tall, slim man with bright red hair and a gaping grin stepped out. He threw his arms wide in the air for a hug, his stance exaggerated with a comical air about him, as he announced, The return of the prodigal daughter!

With a shriek of delight, eleven years evaporated at the sight of him, Brit ran across the gravel and launched herself at him. He caught her up in a bear hug, her arms and legs wrapping around him to fiercely return the gesture. He exaggerated a stagger back against the door molding.

You’ve put on a few stones! He slapped her butt.

Brit squeaked at the sharp sting and then smacked him on the side of his head. Jasper! You’re still an ass!

You’ve lost your accent! he pointed out, setting her on her feet, his flushed smile still intact.

She laughed. If you remember, I’d originally come without one.

It’s true, it’s true. He stood her back and looked her over. You look smashing. Being a daredevil agrees with you.

Brit dismissed the comment. I’m not a daredevil. She missed her camera, which was usually treated as part of her hand, and she glanced behind to monitor the unpacking of her items from the car.

You’ve been to places I’d never go, sure, he said seriously.

She let out a ha as she absently smacked him on the stomach, not taking his concern seriously.

Jasper grabbed her hand. He’ll take proper care of your things. The family’s waiting for you. We have tea. Come on, then.

Brit gave a last look at her items; her camera bags. She felt anxious separated from the device. But she relented, allowing Jasper to pull her into the manor. I’ll be in my old room?

You won’t, he answered as if she had asked if she was sleeping in the dungeon. We have you in the lodge. Sean moved out there ages ago. It’s the most private with all the nosy people around.

You’re out there, too?

Jasper grinned back at her. I grew up; I’ve a flat in Tivoli. Not living off of auld Mammy any longer.

Brit shook her head, her smile still on her face. It was shade thrown at Sean.

Jasper led her through the massive, open foyer and into a bright parlor, the ceilings high and the windows arching to allow in whatever light was to be had on that day.

Today, it was bright. The furniture was modern but Victorian in style, just to give a nod to the home’s architecture. Most of the guests probably weren’t savvy enough to realize they weren’t antiques.

Brit’s gaze swept over the people gathered, her heart sinking as she realized Sean wasn’t among them. Of course, she should have expected it since he hadn’t greeted her at the door with Jasper, but it was still a let-down. She forced a smile and greeted the adults, Mr. and Mrs. Madden, and Mrs. Dunne.

Her connection to these people was not as close, although she spent her formative years with them. She had learned early on to shy away from adults. Her mother had been with the adults, and she had made herself as tiny a target as possible. She had been polite, done their bidding, sat at their table, conversed with them, and shared tea with them. But if pressed, she would have said the boys had raised her.

Mrs. Madden came forward, her dark hair swept up on top of her head, peppered with gray. Her thin cheeks were becoming papery with age, but she was still beautiful, her eyes the same blue as her son’s. She wore a simple gray dress with white piping tucked in at the waist and one-inch heeled gray pumps. My dear, you’re lovely.

Brit gave her a small smile, dropping her gaze. Thank you, ma’am.

Dear, she said, taking Brit’s hands and pulling her in for a hug, just Biddie.

Brit was passed to Dougal Madden, Sean’s tall, stalwart father with brown hair and pale blue eyes. He was as formally dressed in beige slacks and a vest with shirt sleeves. After a quick hug, she moved on to Peg Dunne, Jasper’s red-haired mother, who was the youngest of the lot, also wearing a dress and heels. Jasper’s father had passed away a few years back, but as insubstantial as he’d been then, Brit couldn’t help but notice the sadness in Peg’s eyes.

Finally released from the greetings, she self-consciously ran her hand over the front of her t-shirt and blue jeans. I’m afraid I didn’t dress for the occasion. I feel shabby.

Jasper smiled devilishly. You do look rough. He was wearing slacks and a polo shirt.

Jasper! his mother chastised, which only made him grin wider.

Biddie dismissed her concern, reaching for the tea pot. We wouldn’t expect anything else; you’ve been traveling. Sit, dear.

Brit glanced over at Jasper. He smiled and moved to sit on a loveseat nearby; tea was a ritual no one avoided. He reached over and took up a cucumber sandwich, popping it into his mouth.

Dougal asked, How long are you staying, then? Did I hear a fortnight?

Brit nodded. That’s right; thank you again for letting me stay here.

Biddie shook her head with a bemused smile. Where else would we have you stay, child?

Brit smiled and lapsed into silence for a few moments. She waited as long as she could bear before asking, Where’s Sean?

Jasper rolled his eyes.

A small, proud smile touched Biddie’s lips. He’s at hospital. You’ll see him in the morning.

Brit relaxed; he wasn’t avoiding her for some reason, holding on to grudges from the past. He was busy. She looked back at Jasper. I guess I’m stuck with you today then.

Jasper’s head dropped back as he made the exaggerated response, Damn the luck!

Jasper! his mother scolded again.

Brit laughed.

Jasper took her out to the stables, telling her that trails had been cleared in the woods for the occasional guests to wander the property. He didn’t seem pleased with the addition, but he said it helped with the upkeep of the property. They revisited the treehouse. Brit laughed when she saw it—it had been far more grand in her memory than it was: a base floor with a flat roof over it, four posts in the corner. For some reason, she had remembered walls.

Climbing up into it, taking out their cell phones and snapping photos of themselves in their childhood construction project, they posted the photos online for anyone who might be interested. Brit showed him additional photos she hadn’t posted to any of her accounts.

He took the phone, mesmerized by her shots of lines of desperate refugees, staring at her camera—her—as though it was salvation; of a group of murdered nuns, their devastated priest sobbing as he held one to his breast; of a band of militants giving her the side-eye. He praised her daring, expressing awe at her fearlessness.

And minutes later, Jasper had her laughing until her stomach hurt with stories of his adventures in university, the pranks he and his mates had played on unsuspecting fellow students. He said he’d perfected his breaking and entering skills to set up the most elaborate schemes. Only got nicked once, he said proudly.

Toward dusk, they walked to the dock. They both stood on it, quiet for a moment, looking out over the orange reflecting off the water, both lost in different memories.

Brit laughed softly to herself and said to Jasper, I can still remember the look on Sean’s face when I came down here and started taking my clothes off.

Jasper chuckled with her. Hm, himself’d be the proper one about it, sure.

She looked up at him. You were egging me on. She turned toward him, returning the grin on his face. "You called me a daredevil. Maybe I can be, but