Chapter 26

Lucy

The intercom buzzes, and I know it's Janelle even before she announces herself. I buzz her in and open my door to the scent of tomato sauce and fresh basil wafting up from the hallway. When she appears at my threshold, she's holding two Gusto's pizza boxes, a house salad balanced precariously on top.

"Got our faves," she says. She steps inside, kicking the door closed behind her.

"Smells amazing." My mouth waters, despite the turmoil churning in my stomach.

"Caprese for the cheese fiend…" She points to me. "And fungi for the earthy mushroom lover." Janelle smiles proudly as she sets our dinner on the coffee table.

"Perfect." We sit cross-legged on the floor, divvying up the pizzas so we each get half of both.

She watches me over a forkful of salad, her eyes soft with concern. "So…how are you holding up after the whole Jimmy O'Connor bombshell?" she asks.

"Conflicted," I admit, picking at a slice of caprese. "I kept myself busy running errands all day, but I can't stop thinking about it no matter what I do. I mean, he's practically a stranger, yet…" My voice trails off, and I gesture toward an old photo album on the coffee table.

Janelle scoots closer, and together, we flip through the pages. "Was he always…" Her question fades as we come across a picture of my baptism in Dublin. There's Jimmy, lurking in the background.

"Right there, and I never noticed." The words taste like ash on my tongue. "I always thought his presence was just…coincidental. He was a friend of my dad's visiting or here for his work."

"Lucy, look at this one." Janelle points to another photo, taken not long after we'd arrived in Vancouver. A younger me sits on Jimmy's lap amidst a crowd of patrons and friends at my parents' bar. "It's like he's been hiding in plain sight."

"Exactly." I feel the pieces clicking into place, a puzzle I never asked to solve but can't ignore. Jimmy O'Connor, a name that now carries weight beyond any crime headline or family scandal. He's part of me, whether I like it or not.

I reach for the next page, my fingers brushing against glossy memories, and there it is—a strand of truth in a sea of questions. "You know," I murmur, tracing the outline of a woman with hair like spun gold, "I always assumed my red hair was a gift from my father's mother. But she was more strawberry than anything."

Janelle leans over, her gaze following mine to the photo of my grandmother holding me as an infant. "She's beautiful," she says. "But yeah, I see what you mean. Her hair's lighter, not quite the same as yours."

I nod, flipping back a few pages to a candid shot of Jimmy O'Connor. The setting sun casts a fiery glow on his hair, mirroring the color that cascades in waves down my own shoulders. "But look at him," I say, the realization tightening around my heart like a vise. "I got his auburn."

Janelle reaches out, her hand warm and steady on mine. "It's a lot to process, Luce. But it's also just hair, you know? It doesn't define who you are."

"Maybe," I concede, though the thought offers little comfort.

We sit in silence for a moment, and then Janelle shifts, her practicality surfacing as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "So, are you planning to go see the apartment building in Ireland?" she asks.

I sigh, feeling the pressure of decisions yet to be made. "Eventually, yes. But I can't just put my life on hold. It will have to wait for the end of the school year at least. And right now, everything's being managed by a lawyer. It's complicated enough without adding travel into the mix." I give a rueful laugh.

Janelle nods, her expression sympathetic. "Well, when you do decide to go, you won't be alone. I'll come with you if you'd like. We can face whatever's waiting together."

"Thanks," I whisper. In a world filled with unexpected shadows, her friendship is a constant light. I'm grateful. I take another bite of pizza.

"Have you talked to your dad about all this?" she asks. "Have you talked to him since he gave you the letter yesterday?"

I set down my half-eaten slice. My chest feels tight. "We haven't really spoken," I admit. "He's… he's hurting. This whole situation is tearing him apart, and I know he loves me. I mean, he raised me as his own." The words escape in a whisper, and then the tears come, betraying the pain I've been trying to keep at bay.

Janelle scoots closer, her arms wrapping around me. She doesn't say anything, just lets me cry. After a while, when my sobs subside to sniffles, she speaks again.

"What about Chance? Have you spoken to him?" When I shake my head, she continues. "He was at your dad's bar today looking for you. Sat there for over two hours, waiting."

"Chance?" His name is a splinter under my skin. "Why would he look for me?"

"From what he said, he needed to talk to you about Céline, what happened and how it ended between them."

I shudder at the mention of her name. "He's not over her. I saw his face. He was mortified when I showed up while she was there."

"Maybe," Janelle counters, "the look on his face wasn't because of Céline. Maybe he was embarrassed that you had to witness that debacle."

"I don't know," I say without conviction. "That's what he said when I spoke to him after, but I was overwhelmed. He needs to deal with this in the way that works for him. This is all just terrible timing. I don't have the bandwidth to help, and my presence there was only making it worse."

I twist a strand of auburn hair around my finger, the color a painful reminder of truths I'd rather forget. I sigh. "I don't know how this is going to sort out, and it's my fault for getting so involved, believing he could open his heart to me."

Janelle leans forward, her brown eyes earnest. "He was very clear about what he needed to say to you," she insists. "That has to mean something, especially after all these months without Céline."

"Means he's as lost as I am," I murmur, hugging my knees to my chest. "He's not cruel. He wants to let me down easy. He's not over her. I'm just the girl he uses to try to forget."

"Lucy…" Janelle's voice is soft, but there's steel behind it. "You know pain too well. Don't let it cloud everything. Your mom…what happened with her was tragic, but you're not her. You can't live fearing love because of the past."

Tears sting my eyes. "But history has a way of repeating itself, doesn't it?"

"Only if you let it." Janelle settles her warm hand on mine. "Don't give up on Chance just yet. There' s something amazing there, waiting for you both. Just have a little faith."

Faith . A fragile thing, easily broken. Yet I want to cling to it, to believe in the possibility of a different ending.

Night falls, and we shift from the living room to my bedroom, neither of us ready to be alone with our thoughts. We talk about everything and nothing, and eventually, our conversation dwindles into silence.

"Lucy," Janelle murmurs just before dreams overtake her, "it will get better. I promise."

In the dark, with my best friend by my side, I allow myself a small, tentative hope. She's proven I'm not as alone as I felt there for a while. So maybe she's right about this too.