Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk #3) - Samantha Young Page 0,15

and a stylish pinstripe blazer. She wore cute flats that looked like they cost a lot of money. In fact, everything about my sister, from her clothes to her makeup, although casual, hinted at quality and money.

Dad had gifted me his eye color and the dimple in my left cheek, and my paternal grandmother had gifted me her height and curves. Davina (like Dillon had been) was tall like Mom with slender curves. I’d cursed the fates for not giving me my mother’s height and figure.

I took all this in, noting how well they both looked, and pride overwhelmed me. We came from a working-class, Irish-American family—my big brother was now a sports writer for the Boston Globe and my big sister worked in an office in the financial district. And even better they were both happy in their personal lives. All of that filled my chest with something that felt heavily bittersweet. I hadn’t been a part of any of that, and it was my fault.

Darragh put his cup on the counter, and I braced myself as he strode purposefully across the kitchen.

Without a word, he pulled me into his arms, my face pressed to his warm chest.

He was hugging me.

Sobs that had stayed locked inside me for years burst out and I closed my arms around his broad back and bawled.

“Ssshh, baby sister,” he tried to soothe, his arms tightening.

But I couldn’t.

Hard, painful tears wracked me, and they held everything in them. All the pain of the past decade.

“Dahlia, please,” he begged after a while, choking on the words.

I reached for some control, trying to squeeze the sobs back down. Slowly, shuddering, I managed until my tears were silently rolling down my face.

Darragh gently eased me away, and I let go of him to wipe at my face. He reached behind me and took tissues from Dad to hand to me. I wiped at my eyes, which I was sure were now giant panda eyes.

My brother’s expression was strained, his hazel eyes bright with unshed tears.

Mortified by my reaction to his hug, I flicked a glance at Davina and froze. She was crying quietly, but her tears seemed to be uncontrollable too.

More tears slipped down my cheeks seeing her pain. “I’m so sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” She swiped at her face, clearly aggravated.

“For everything.”

“Well, that’s kind of the problem, isn’t it? You blamed yourself for things that weren’t your fault, and you took off. And I do blame you for that, Dahlia. I blame you for missing out on the last nine years of my life and for making me miss out on yours.”

“Let’s all sit down.” Dad pressed a hand to my back.

The suggestion relieved my shaky legs. Dad took the seat beside me, and Darragh sat across from me beside Davina, but not before touching my shoulder in comfort.

God, I loved my big brother.

The ache of missing him swelled inside me.

“Where have you been?” Davina demanded first.

I opened my mouth to tell her, but to all of our surprise, Darragh beat her to it. “Hartwell, Delaware.”

“How do you know that?” Dad was obviously put out by this information.

Darragh glowered at him. “You think I was going to take your word for it that she was okay? I love you, Dad, I respect you, you know it … but she’s my baby sister. You should have known I needed to know for myself that she was okay.” He turned to me. “I hired a PI. Found you in Hartwell, knew you were okay, and left it at that.”

I was shocked. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I was afraid if I told Dad I knew where you were that he’d tell you and you’d up and move.”

Ashamed that he’d think that, I shook my head. “I wouldn’t have done that, Darragh. Hartwell started out as a hiding place, but it became more than that. It’s my home.”

“This is your home.” Davina’s hazel eyes flickered with fire as she turned to our big brother. “You didn’t think maybe I’d want to know where she was?”

“You would have gone there.”

“Of course I would have.” She turned to me. “I would have dragged your ass back home!”

“Davina,” my dad warned.

“Stop protecting her,” she hissed. “She’s a grown woman, and she can speak for herself.”

“Davi,” I whispered in sorrow.

“Don’t call me that.”

That was like a punch to the gut.

Davi was my nickname for her. I was the only one who called her that.

“Christ, Davina,” Darragh said. “We said we wouldn’t do