He took his first sip, passing the lovely liquid over his tongue to bite on it with his back teeth. Heaven in a glass.

“Why are you helping Gleann?” he gently fired back. “For real? I asked you once before, in the barn. You want to talk about deflection?”

As she lifted her glass to her lips, she never removed her eyes from his.

“I mean,” he said, because he knew she was buying time and he wanted to get in all that he could, “I’ve only seen how you live here in the city for about an hour now, and I can tell you get energy from it. You carry that to Gleann, yeah, but a little, nonpaying gig like our games shouldn’t mean anything to you. Not after you left.”

Glass still in front of her mouth, she lifted one finger from its curved surface and pointed at him. “But they mean something to you.”

She knew him. Only one other person knew him better, and he was gone. Leith stared into his swirl of whiskey. “Of course they do. They’re some of my best memories.” He lifted his eyes to trap her gaze. “Along with you.”

She didn’t respond with words—and he didn’t expect her to. There it was, that hot, intense shock widening her eyes and making her mouth go soft. Then she looked toward the bar where the two suits had now become five and the noise had increased exponentially. Setting her glass on the armrest of her chair, she said, “It’s my best memory, too.”

“The games? Didn’t you used to think they were a little hokey—”

“No.” Her finger made a slow circle around the rim of the glass. “Not the games. I meant Gleann. I’m doing this for Gleann because that place means everything to me. I’m not sure if I realized the depth of that until I went back.”

She started to play with her hair, plucking at the back pieces and rearranging it around her face and ear. Her glance at him—holy shit—was fleeting and wet, like she was holding back tears. Never had he seen her that way.

“Did you ever wonder why I was in Gleann every summer?”

That confused him. “No. Should I have? Bev just always said her nieces were coming and left it at that.” He leaned forward, placing his glass on the table. “You never let on there was any reason more.”

Her voice drifted distant. “I was really good at that, wasn’t I?”

She had been. She really had been . . . up until the day she’d come back and he’d finally been grown-up enough to notice there was something more. “Jen, whatever you want to tell me, whatever you feel like you have to say, I’ll listen. You know that.”

The impending tears disappeared, just like that. She sat up, her posture rigid. She took a deep breath. “Going to New Hampshire every year wasn’t my choice. At least, not at first. Aunt Bev brought us there, insisted on it and paid for it. Anything to get us out of Iowa. She couldn’t stand the thought of us growing up in her sister’s home with my mom’s asshole boyfriend any more than we could stand to be there.”

Leith’s stomach dropped. The whiskey in his hand was easily the most expensive he’d ever had, and the thought of tipping it down his throat made him nauseous.

“Did he . . .” Oh God, he couldn’t get it out. “Did he . . . do something to you? To Aimee?”

She laughed, loud and short and harsh. “No. He didn’t do anything to us. Neither did my mom. And that was the thing. They didn’t do anything, period. They sat on their asses, with a bottle in one hand and the other held out for a government check. They’d follow me around the house, drunk, calling me names and screaming that I thought I was God’s gift. They called me ugly and nerdy and so many other names I’ve blocked out.” Jen took a pretty big gulp of her drink and didn’t even wince. “But no, there wasn’t any sort of physical abuse, nothing Bev ever reported to the police or called social services about. I think she was scared we’d be put somewhere where she really couldn’t help us.”

He sat perfectly still, only partly aware that more people had started filing into the lounge, scared that if he moved a muscle Jen would realize she was telling him her secrets.

She finished her whiskey and frowned into the empty glass. “I’ve always believed in helping others out if I had the means to do it. I don’t know, that part has always been in me, even when I was really young. But my mom . . . my mom made every excuse in the book. She sat around, waiting for handouts and hating the fact that I wanted to do more with my life. Hating that I wasn’t like her. There was no pride, only jealousy, and the fact I was making her look bad, calling out her own faults. So she tried to call out mine even louder.”

So it wasn’t the boyfriend so much as the mom. No wonder Jen had never spoken of her.

“Or she just made them up,” he offered.

“The sad part was, I didn’t understand how bad it was until Bev brought us here that first summer. From that year on—I was, what, eight?—I realized the toxic world my mom had created in that house. And I vowed to do everything in my power to get the hell away from her. To not be her in any way. To be her complete opposite. Aunt Bev helped me. She saw what I was doing and felt responsible for me. Then I felt responsible for Aimee.”

“That’s why you took all those jobs every year,” he said, piecing it together. “But not Aimee. She was pretty crazy when she was here.”

Jen nodded sadly. “She didn’t want to come. While I was saving every penny for college, I knew Aimee was going to end up like Mom. I tried to change that, but she never listened.”

“Bullshit.”

That got a big response, a nice emotional glare. Good.

“Excuse me?” she said.

“Aimee would’ve stayed in Iowa if it weren’t for you, for your example.”

“But she ran away and got pregnant.”

“And now she has Ainsley. Who is amazing.”

Jen blinked at him. Once. Twice. “She really is, isn’t she?”

He let all that soak in. Jen was the kind of person who needed tangible proof for everything, but she was missing the biggest evidence right in front of her. That Aimee had an incredible daughter and had inherited a business that might go under through absolutely no fault of her own.

“Do you see,” Jen asked, “why I’m such a control freak about her? It’s killing me she won’t talk to me about Owen.”

“Because she and Owen have it under control. And she wouldn’t have that kind of control if it weren’t for all that crap you and she went through. Didn’t we go through this in the park?”

At great length Jen nodded, but he wasn’t convinced it was in agreement. She let out a long breath, like she’d heaved something invisible off her back and now had full range of and control over her diaphragm again. “So,” she said in a hollow tone. “Yeah. Now you know that Gleann was pretty much the only good thing in my life for a really long time. And you . . . you were a huge part of that.”

The old anger and frustration he’d once felt toward her seemed like it had happened to someone else. Those particular emotions were no longer hammering against his heart and mind, but her words, combined with the recollection of their last incredible summer, sliced open an old wound.

He had to ask. “If it was so wonderful, if Gleann changed you and healed you, and then we found something really powerful together, why did you leave? Why didn’t you consider going to school here?”

She closed her eyes, and he couldn’t recall a time she’d ever done that.

“We have to talk about it,” he said, when she still didn’t say anything. “We’ve been dancing around it for days now. I mean, I know we never made any promises to each other, but can you finally tell me why you left?”

When she opened her eyes, they were dry but sad. “It was only ever about college. About creating my own future. Somewhere else. But then you came along and, you’re right, we found something together. It scared me so much, that I was even considering staying. But the thought of picking my place in the world before I ever got to see the whole thing, before I ever knew what I could become . . . The thought of staying in—”