Wild Embrace (Wilder Irish #11) - Mari Carr Page 0,70

to like it.”

Darcy closed her eyes because she knew what was coming.

“Patience. You’re going to have to let Ryder figure this out and come to you. If you keep pushing, Darcy…”

“I’ll push him away.”

Chapter Sixteen

Ryder opened the front door just as Padraig reached the top step. He’d heard the car pull in the driveway. He’d expected it to be Darcy, so he was surprised when he saw her cousin climbing out of the vehicle.

“Let me guess. I’m banned from the pub,” Ryder said, still struggling to believe last night was real. It had felt a little bit like an out-of-body experience. He could see himself storming across the bar, throwing the punch, losing his shit, breaking Darcy’s heart, but he couldn’t quite connect the dots, make that man fit with the man he was today…who just felt numb.

“You’re not banned. I was hoping maybe we could talk for a few minutes.”

“Did Darcy send you here?”

Padraig rolled his eyes. “Gonna let you answer that yourself because it’ll tell me how well you know my cousin.”

Ryder shook his head. “No. She didn’t. Darcy fights her own battles.”

“Good answer. Is this a bad time?”

“No. Yvonne, Leo, and the kids went to brunch with your uncle Ewan and aunt Natalie.”

Padraig grinned in such a way that Ryder knew he’d already timed his visit based on that intel.

“Which you knew.”

Padraig didn’t deny it.

Ryder sighed as he stepped aside, gesturing for Padraig to enter. “Your family has issues, man.”

Padraig laughed as he walked in. “Probably, but you’ll never hear me complain.”

The two of them walked to the living room, Ryder making a detour by the kitchen to grab them both a beer. Of all Darcy’s cousins, Ryder figured he’d probably spent the most time with Padraig, though only because the man served him drinks whenever he stopped by the pub for a beer with Leo or a happy hour with Darcy. They’d never had a serious conversation, their past chats limited to bourbon, sports, and the weather.

“Guess it’s pretty obvious why I’m here,” Padraig started once they were settled in the living room, Padraig on the couch, Ryder on the recliner.

“I’m sorry about last night, starting that shit in the pub. Let’s just say that wasn’t my finest moment.”

Padraig shrugged and grinned. “It’s an Irish pub, man. Believe me, yours wasn’t the first fist to fly in there, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

Ryder took a sip of his beer. “Even so, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, the apology wasn’t necessary, but it’s accepted just the same. Debated whether or not I should come over because I know what’s going on between you and Darcy is none of my damn business. It’s just…I’ve always sort of felt a kinship to you. If that makes sense.”

Ryder nodded. While he didn’t know Padraig well, he felt as if he knew him too. They’d both been widowed when they were young men. “It does. I’ve felt the same.”

Padraig picked at the label on his beer bottle for a moment. “Everyone grieves differently, Ryder. And you can’t work off anyone’s timeline.”

“I’m not still grieving for Denise.”

Padraig looked up and studied his face—really studied it—and Ryder recognized the moment Darcy’s cousin realized that was true. “Good. That’s good.”

And while Padraig acknowledged Ryder’s misery had lifted, Ryder could also see Padraig was still swimming in a sea of it. Still devastated over the death of his wife, Mia.

“I didn’t break things off with Darcy because of Denise’s death. I broke them off because of her life. Our life together. I wasn’t a good husband, Padraig. I worked long hours and even when I was home, I wasn’t really here—always working on the house or zoned out in front of the TV. I was distant and cold and stressed out all the time. No romance. No flowers. No sweet words. I shut Denise out because I thought my damn paycheck and the fact I was home every night was enough to prove that I loved her. That I shouldn’t have to say it all the time. Darcy deserves better than that.”

Padraig tilted his head. “How old were you when you married Denise?”

“Twenty-four.”

“And when did Clint come along?”

Ryder gave him a rueful grin. “Six months after the wedding.”

“Do you think you would have married Denise if she hadn’t gotten pregnant?”

Ryder had had a lot of years to consider that question, but he’d never spoken the answer aloud. Even now, he couldn’t make himself say it. “I really liked Denise when we were dating, but