C.D. Brennan's Blog, page 5

IN TOUCH release day!

In Touch - New Adult rugby romanceAvailable in digital through Amazon worldwide. Available in print through participating Amazon retailers.
AMAZON


Sexy. Passionate. Fierce.
Irish rugby star, Padraig O’Neale, has fecked up his life and is one angry man. When caught using a banned substance for his back pain, Padraig is excused from both his provincial club and the Irish International team. Right before World Cup selection. Out of choices, his agent convinces Padraig to play for a small American club in Michigan. Just until things settle down. But when Coach asks the team physical therapist, Gillian Sommersby, to help the newest Blues player with his issues, Padraig finds himself trying every wacky treatment out there from stinky salves to music to yoga. Like her therapies, the therapist herself is a bit…odd. The cute college grad in Converse and glasses doesn’t seem all that impressed with Padraig’s celebrity status, nor gives a shite about his excuses. As it turns out, she might be exactly what he needs…
Don't forget to ENTER to WINGrand prize:
1. Signed print copy of In Touch
2. Traverse Bay Blues rugby T-shirt (size L)
3. Traverse Bay Blues screw-top water bottle
4. 15$ Amazon gift card

Each entry for a newsletter signup and every correct guess for the tournament winner will go into the draw. Winner chosen by Random.org after the tournament final on Saturday, October 31st.

TEAM Choices (Who ya think is gonna win? :-)

Pool A Pool B Pool C Pool D AustraliaEnglandWalesFijiUruguay South AfricaSamoa JapanScotlandUSA New ZealandArgentinaTongaGeorgiaNamibia France IrelandItalyCanadaRomania

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Who's gonna win the RWC 2015?

As part of the release of my rugby sports romance, I'm running a rafflecopter competition for a great bit of swag!

Grand prize:
1. Signed print copy of In Touch
2. Traverse Bay Blues rugby T-shirt (size L)
3. Traverse Bay Blues screw-top water bottle
4. 15$ Amazon gift card




Each entry for a newsletter signup and every correct guess for the tournament winner will go into the draw. Winner chosen by Random.org after the tournament final on Saturday, October 31st.


TEAM Choices (Who ya think is gonna win? :-)

Pool A Pool B Pool C Pool D AustraliaEnglandWalesFijiUruguay South AfricaSamoa JapanScotlandUSA New ZealandArgentinaTongaGeorgiaNamibia France IrelandItalyCanadaRomania

a Rafflecopter giveaway

In Touch available for pre-order

So my next baby is out there  smile emoticon  IN TOUCH is up on Amazon for pre-order. Digital only at this point, but if you pre-order, you get it for only 99cents! The book will be up for pre-order on different Amazon sites globally within 48 hours. Print will be ready by September 1st.


AMAZON



Sexy. Passionate. Fierce.
Irish rugby star, Padraig O’Neale, has fecked up his life and is one angry man. When caught using a banned substance for his back pain, Padraig is excused from both his provincial club and the Irish International team. Right before World Cup selection. Out of choices, his agent convinces Padraig to play for a small American club in Michigan. Just until things settle down. But when Coach asks the team physical therapist, Gillian Sommersby, to help the newest Blues player with his issues, Padraig finds himself trying every wacky treatment out there from stinky salves to music to yoga. Like her therapies, the therapist herself is a bit…odd. The cute college grad in Converse and glasses doesn’t seem all that impressed with Padraig’s celebrity status, nor gives a shite about his excuses. As it turns out, she might be exactly what he needs…

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NEWS!

G'day folks!

I'm joining the ranks of author newsletters. It's the easiest way to reach my readers for new releases, special giveaways, book sales, deleted scenes, competitions and all fun stuff like that!

But I promise you, I won't be slamming your inbox every day. I'll be lucky to get one of these bad boys out once a month!

Anyone who subscribes to my newsletter by August 8th will go into a draw for an ARC digital copy of IN TOUCH.

Go on, then! :-)

COVER REVEAL – In Touch

Coming September 1st…





Sexy. Passionate. Fierce.


Irish rugby star, Padraig O’Callaghan, has fecked up his life and is one angry man. When caught using a banned substance for his back pain, Padraig is excused from both his provincial club and the Irish International team. Right before World Cup selection. Out of choices, his agent convinces Padraig to play for a small American club in Michigan. Just until things settle down. But when Coach asks the team physical therapist, Gillian Sommersby, to help the newest Blues player with his issues, Padraig finds himself trying every wacky treatment out there from stinky salves to music to yoga. Like her therapies, the therapist herself is a bit…odd. The cute college grad in Converse and glasses doesn’t seem all that impressed with Padraig’s celebrity status, nor gives a shite about his excuses. As it turns out, she might be exactly what he needs…

COVER REVEAL - In Touch

Coming September 1st...


Sexy. Passionate. Fierce.
Irish rugby star, Padraig O’Callaghan, has fecked up his life and is one angry man. When caught using a banned substance for his back pain, Padraig is excused from both his provincial club and the Irish International team. Right before World Cup selection. Out of choices, his agent convinces Padraig to play for a small American club in Michigan. Just until things settle down. But when Coach asks the team physical therapist, Gillian Sommersby, to help the newest Blues player with his issues, Padraig finds himself trying every wacky treatment out there from stinky salves to music to yoga. Like her therapies, the therapist herself is a bit…odd. The cute college grad in Converse and glasses doesn’t seem all that impressed with Padraig’s celebrity status, nor gives a shite about his excuses. As it turns out, she might be exactly what he needs…

Character Intros – Padraig

Meet Padraig from IN TOUCH



I’m Padraig O’Callaghan from Cork, boyee, but don’t call me Paddy. Jaysus, I feel like I’m at some group anonymous session. I fecked up my life, got busted for using a banned substance in rugby, and now I’ve been excused from both my provincial club and the Irish International team. Right before World Cup selection. Feck. My agent convinced me to play for a small American club until things settle down. So here I am in Michigan with a half-arse team and a physical therapist with some wacky treatments. Like she plays music while we train, has us do yoga every week, and her stinky salves? Don’t get me started. Gillian Sommersby is a bit of an odd bird. And she doesn’t give a shite that I don’t want her help. Something deeper is compelling our Miss Sommersby, and it’s not her daft ratty shoes she wears every day either. So how has this strange wan captured my interest more than my beloved rugby?

Character Intros - Padraig

Meet Padraig from IN TOUCH
I’m Padraig O’Callaghan from Cork, boyee, but don’t call me Paddy. Jaysus, I feel like I’m at some group anonymous session. I fecked up my life, got busted for using a banned substance in rugby, and now I’ve been excused from both my provincial club and the Irish International team. Right before World Cup selection. Feck. My agent convinced me to play for a small American club until things settle down. So here I am in Michigan with a half-arse team and a physical therapist with some wacky treatments. Like she plays music while we train, has us do yoga every week, and her stinky salves? Don’t get me started. Gillian Sommersby is a bit of an odd bird. And she doesn’t give a shite that I don’t want her help. Something deeper is compelling our Miss Sommersby, and it’s not her daft ratty shoes she wears every day either. So how has this strange wan captured my interest more than my beloved rugby?

Deleted Scenes 2: In Touch

Another one outa the park! 
Sometimes it's hard to  scratch scenes like this, yanking words that you spend time and energy to create, but if it doesn't work in the story - it needs to go.
Currently writing the new scene to take its place. I hope its better! :-)
* * * *
He opted for the couch, pulling the coffee table closer to set his mug on an old newspaper. Only bullshit morning shows on, so he dug through Del’s DVDs until he found an old New Zealand versus Ireland Rugby League video. There was always something to learn about rugby, even if it wasn’t the same code as Union, the League players had their own style—and speed, lots of it.The Irish players were unknown to him, the sport nowhere near as big as Union in Ireland. Concentrating on the forward pack movements, he didn’t hear Del come down the stairs.“G’day, Irish.”Padraig jerked around to look behind him, spilling hot tea on his shorts.Del perched himself on the arm of the couch. “Sorry, mate, didn’t mean to startle ya.”Fuck, his nerves were shot. “What’s the story, Del?”“Yeah, good mate. Had a great time at the races. You should’ve come with us. Staying here the long weekend must have been boring as bat shit.”Del’s voice was full of gravel. It sounded like he’d had a good weekend. Padraig had barely slept, tossing and turning without Gillian there to ease him from his agitation so he’d heard when the boys had come in late, whispering in the loud way lads did when they tried to be quiet, but only made it worse.“What did ya get up to?”His time with Gillian was private, so he didn’t indulge. “Not much. Did you win big money?”“In fact, mate, I did. Got that lucky Maori thing going for me after I approached the spirits.”Padraig couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. Even after a month, Del was a conundrum, happy-go-lucky one minute, contemplative and moody the next. “Fuck off. How much?”“Twenty big ones.”“Serious?”“Yep, honest truth.”“Nice. How about Rory?”“That’s another story. Poor kid lost most of his savings, I reckon. He talked about getting a job when we got back.”“No shit.”“Probably be good for him anyway. Too much time on his hands outside the rugby. He’s obsessed and needs to live a little. Ya know, get more out of his time here.”“Nothing wrong with being focused.”Del raised an eyebrow at him. “Sometimes there is. Sometimes, if you can only see one thing in life, you don’t see any of the rest. And there’s a big world out there.”Padraig nodded. It was as if Del spoke of Padraig and not the young Scottish player. He’d been the same as Rory so it was hard for him to argue. Had been or was? He’d lived and breathed rugby for as long as he could remember. There was no other option for him in life. That was it. Some of the other lads on the Munster squad did university on the side, gaining qualifications in this and that, preparing themselves for the one day when they no longer donned their boots for a paycheck. Padraig hadn’t bothered. It was rugby or nothing. And that’s why the cut had hurt all the more. It wasn’t just about the stupid pills, nor about his dream dying right in front of his eyes. He hadn’t a clue what he was going to do with his life from that point. And it was that fear that had caused him the most sleepless nights.The film ran in his head constantly, and even though he knew how the memory ended, he couldn’t help but watch.Del slapped his thigh hard and broke Padraig of his reverie. “Gonna get me a cup of coffee. You want another one, Irish?”“Yeah, that would be good.” He handed his mug over to the Kiwi.“Sweet, be back in a mo.”As Del made his way into the kitchen, Padraig spoke up. “I didn’t peg you for a League liker.”Del paused at the doorway. “A good mate of mine played for the Kiwi International squad.”“But it’s nowhere near as popular as Union, is it?” Padraig shouted to Del, immediately regretting it when he remembered Rory still slept.Del stepped back into the living room, two mugs of steaming coffee in his hands. Handing one to Padraig, he moved to the telly. “My mate is number six, the big fella…there,” he said pointing out a bald, dark man. The close-up shot revealed tattoos the length of both of his arms, up the one side of his neck in a weaving tribal pattern to end just below his ear.“You guys sure like your ink, eh?” Padraig asked him.“We loved the ink before it was popular to like tattoos. For the Maori, it’s called Ta Moko and it’s part of who we are, not a fad. We wear ancestral and tribal messages on our bodies. Like this one here.” Del pulled up his shirt sleeve up past his armpit. The sea turtle represents fertility and long life.”
“I’m thinking of getting another one.”“Yeah? You should. What of?”Something for Gillian, but he wasn’t about to say.When Padraig hesitated, Del asked, “Are you up for a run?”“I could do with one. But are you up for it?”“Irish, I’ve gotta sweat out some of the alcohol my cells soaked up this past weekend.”And Padraig needed to get his mind off the pain killers and run off the pent up aggression the withdrawal was causing. Padraig raised his mug. “Let me finish this, get some gear on, and I’ll be ready.”“Cool, cool.” The antipodean grew quiet as he focused on the game, so Padraig slipped upstairs to grab his running shorts and shoes. By the time he’d returned, Del was in the same position on the couch, but had already donned his own shoes, a water bottle hanging fisted in his large hand.Padraig was happy to let Del lead, following as he ran them out of the cul-de-sac and headed for the lake. When they met the road that ran the shoreline, Del barely hesitated before stepping off the curb and dodging through traffic. While honks sounded, Padraig waved apologies for both of them.When they reached the other side, Padraig punched Del in the shoulder. “You got a death wish or what?”The Kiwi stopped long enough to take a long drink of his water and pull off his shirt. He tucked it into the back of his shorts and nodded at Padraig as if asking if he wanted to do the same. When he hesitated, Del gestured with his bottle. “C’mon, mate, we’ve got to give the ladies something to look at.”Although Padraig was in shape, he was no Del. Built and tatted like The Rock, he turned most heads wherever he went. With more urging, Padraig ripped his off too, doing the same and tucking it into the back of his shorts like a duck tail. Never had he ran out in public without a shirt. It was unheard of. Not only would the rest of the team have given him grief for years, but the media would have had a field day. Here, they were nobodies.And bloody hell, did they get attention. Tourists making their way to the beaches gawked and side-stepped from the sidewalk as Del and him barreled down the pavement that followed the curve of the waterfront. Padraig was the taller of the two, but Del was built like a brick shithouse, to use the Yankee turn of phrase. Next to Del, Padraig looked paler than a white beluga whale, his fair Irish skin in complete contrast to Del’s Maori blood. They even got some beeps and shouts out from girls that passed in cars. Del loved it, waving at each one of them, calling out to them, air-kissing back to their hoots and calls.A set of steps ran up to a posh hotel on the water that Del took two at a time and did a Rocky celebration dance, then skipped back down again by the time Padraig met him at the other end. He laughed hard, because it was funny as hell and offered Del a high-five. And that simple gesture was the world to him, for he had little to feel good about the last six months. Much too long.When they got as far as the Grand Traverse Yacht Club, Del slowed and took them around the front to a grassy area by the water. He stopped and Padraig did the same, heaving to catch his breath. No words, only the sound of the lap of the water against the hulls of the boats. The water sparkled from the midday sun, popping in and out of the waves.It was strange not to have the taste of salt on his tongue or clinging to his skin. Every time he looked at Lake Michigan, it seemed to him a sea, not a lake at all. The first time he swam in it was even stranger, the buoyancy of the ocean missing,“You ready to head back?” Del asked.“Can I ask you something?” Padraig couldn’t meet Del’s eyes, so kept his gaze on a sailboat that had tacked about 100 yards away and headed back out again. “Why are you here?”“Didn’t we already go over this?”Padraig nodded. He remembered their drinks at the pub after his first practice. “I don’t buy it. Why, really?”Del moved closer and slapped Padraig on the back. “That’s a story for another day.”Unlike women, men knew when to let it go. If a person wasn’t going to answer, no prying would convince them otherwise. Or if a woman somehow dug her claws deep enough, she was only going to get an answer she didn’t want to hear.“The more important question is why are you here? It’s obvious you don’t want to be. And you’re the lucky bastard that has a passport and everything.”“My dad is American, but he won’t admit to anything but Irish now. He was born and raised in Boston where he met my mum when she was over on a J1 visa.”Padraig could have lied, could have made up some half-arse story how he ended up in Michigan playing for the Blues, but he was done with it. With everything. The same as purging the pain killers from his body, he needed for someone on the team to know the truth. Like Gillian had shown him, the boys deserved better than what he’d given.“I had some trouble with my club back home.”“Trouble, eh?”He chanced a glance at Del, but nothing showed on his face. No judgment. No expression. “Or I should say I was the trouble at my club. Munster. Have you heard of it?”“Fuck, yeah, mate. All Kiwi rugby players don’t have their heads up their asses.” He laughed to show Padraig that it was okay. Whatever he had to say was okay.“About a year ago, I got a serious back injury during a big match against Leinster for the European Cup. I’d had a protruding disc for ages, but I kept playing. Then, after that last game, the disc herniated. I went in for a Medrol dose pack, but it didn’t work and I ended up having surgery. At the time, I was at the top of my game. Played for the Irish team, was a starting player every game. But I couldn’t play through my recovery, the pain started to peripheralize so I went to see my family doctor, an old guy who only saw a few clients, but a friend of my ma’s who I’d seen since I was a kid. I convinced him to write me a script for OxyContin.”“That’s the same as oxycodone, right?”“OxyContin is just the brand name, like Tylenol for paracetemol. What do they call it here? Acetaminophen.”“Shit.”“You could say that. But you see, the old man would have done anything for me. Everyone was so proud of how far I’d gone, and you know how big rugby is in Ireland.”“Not as big as in New Zealand, mate.”“No, nothing can compare to you zealots down under.”Del laughed.“So I started taking the meds before matches and my performance came back up. Then I started to take them for training until I was popping them every day, often two or three times a day.”Del was silent so Padraig continued. “I got busted during a random drug screening after a match against Leinster for the Pro12.”“Do they normally test for pain meds?”“Not usually, or maybe not previously, but there’s this whole new push for clubs to test for pain killers as a boosting agent for performance.”“Yeah, they already do it back home.”“Well, I got sanctioned, my club dropped me, coach for the international team wouldn’t even return my calls, and no other European club would touch me.”“Fuck.”“You can say that.”“So you still on the Oxycodone?”Padraig drew a deep breath and slowly let it out through rounded cheeks. “I’m off now.”“Any help from a certain lovely lady we all know?”Padraig pinched a smile and acknowledged the wise Del with a nod. The man seemed to know everything. No wonder he was a good leader for the Blues. It was almost as if he sensed emotion off others. Or maybe his skills of observation were comparative to a touch judge, but the Kiwi was never blatant about it. Somehow he was able to remain best mates with all the guys on the team, but still command the respect that was needed in a captain.“So how are you doing now?”“Not sure, but…my happiness is slowly creeping back.”“Yeah, that’s good. That’s real good, Irish. Haven’t I heard that line before?”Padraig laughed with Del. “Powderfinger. They’re an Aussie band I got hooked on when I was down watching the World Cup in 2003.”“Ah yeah, I know the song.”“When you don’t have your own, might as well borrow from someone else, eh?”“No worries, bro.” Del had started walking back toward the yacht club to cut through the parking lot to the sidewalk. “C’mon, I’ll race you back.” And without waiting for a reply, he was off.What the feck? The Maori was crazy.

Deleted Scenes 1: In Touch

I am currently in an intense editing cycle, and the book is going through some mighty changes, but all for the good!

I'll be posting some scenes that didn't make the final cut. Here's the first. I hope you enjoy!

At the furious rapping on the window, Gillian swept the last of the dirt into the dust tray and slid it into the rubbish bin on the way to unlock the door. She glanced at her watch. Right on time.She opened the door wide and stepped back to allow the pram through. Junette pushed it over the door jamb, talking as she came inside. “I can’t stay long. Bubs needs a bottle and bed in half hour.”“Couldn’t you leave him with Matt?”“It’s darts night at the bar.”“Ah yes, I forgot about Matt and his delusions of dart grandeur.”Junette shrugged. “Who am I to tell him that if he can’t hit the bull’s-eye, he most likely won’t win the local dart championships?”Gillian laughed with Junipers before she continued. “Ah well, it gives him a night to believe in something. We all need that, don’t we, Gill?”Gillian pinched her face in faux anger. “Don’t start.” Then she lifted the cover of the stroller and bent to kiss Charlie who was sucking hard on a pacifier, his eyes wide in interest of his new environment. “God, he’s a cutie. I could use one of these some days myself,” Gillian said, tugging at the nookie in his mouth.“Not bad, Gillian, the room looks great.” Junipers turned around in a circle, perusing the front room, but there wasn’t much to see.“It used to be an office out here, and the back room, the therapy area, but I turned that into my apartment.” To get Junette’s attention as she pressed down to check the cushiony-ness of the massage table, Gillian spoke up. “Well the palace is right through this door. Here, let me take the pram and you go on ahead so you can get the full effect of its brilliance.”“Of course, nothing less for our Gills.”“Too true. I’m the Madonna of this block.”When Junette hadn’t moved far enough into her living room, Gillian rammed her with the wheel of the pram to nudge her forward. “So what do you think?”“I liiike it.”“Yeah?”“Yeah, it’s cute and cozy. Trendy worn wooden floors, although I don’t think you meant it that way. I love the print on the big wall. And you know what the best part is?”“Let me guess. No 80s posters.”“Bingo.”“I had them up until today, actually.” And had torn them down in a fury, ripping and shredding them into strips, which she then had crumpled into small balls and spent the better part of an hour trying to make baskets into the garbage bin from the couch.“Oh yeah? You come to your senses and take them down? Must have been my kind and supportive influence from the other night.”Gillian averted her gaze from Junette’s probing question. “Something like that.”Charlie started to kick and squirm in his pram, saving her from expounding on her answer. Junette undid his straps and set him down on the living room carpet, which caused Gillian to flashback to the night before. Padraig and the hottest sex she’d ever had. So unlike her, but totally what she wanted more in her future. But with the Irishman? It could only lead to heartbreak. He was a testosterone turd, a stud muffin, a jocko. They always took sex where they could get it. She wanted an intellectual, a kind, sensitive man, someone in touch with his emotions. Not doped up on drugs. That’s the last thing she wanted.But he’d been jealous of Dick. She hadn’t expected that. Thought he would have been happy with the one-night stand. Huh. But she’d be opening a whole barrel of worms with that one.The baby knocked the drink coasters onto the floor, which jerked Gillian from her reverie.“Sorry about that, Gill.”“Jeez, no worries. He’s a baby. Here, I’ll watch him and you go take a peek at the rest of the place.”Junette disappeared down the hallway while she shadowed Charlie around the room as he picked up everything not nailed down, examined it, and then nonchalantly tossed it to the floor.When Junette reemerged, Gillian asked, “Do you want a quick cuppa tea?”“That would be great. What flavor do you have this month?”“I’m really on a pomegranate kick at the moment. Lots of antioxidants.”“That’ll do.” When Gillian rose from the couch where she was letting Charlie play with a Rubix Cube she had picked up at a second-hand store, Junette waved her back down again. “I’ll put on the kettle. You play with Charlie. Making tea is a break for me.”The faucet turned on and she could hear Junette filling the old red teakettle she’d used in college, then the clunk on the stove top.“How do you light this damn thing, Gill?”“Oh yeah, you have to turn on the gas, then use a lighter. The ignition thingy doesn’t work.”“Where are your matches?”“All out but there is a clicker lighter in the first drawer there.” The one she had used last night. And again, memories stirred from the previous evening with Padraig. Maybe he wouldn’t mind getting together every once in a while. He was lovely, she had to admit. Way different than the jocks she’d known before, the ones she’d helped at university for her course. After those assholes, she was determined to only help the elderly and pregnant women. Except for the Blues. And that’s where Padraig came in again. He had awakened a whole new animalistic side to her sexuality that she never knew existed. Like mating with him was pre-destined by pheromones or stars—or something!“So how is the car coming?”“Yeah, good. I think I’ve found the problem. I’ve ordered the part, so hopefully that beauty will fire right up, fingers crossed.”Junette lifted down two mugs from the cupboard, Gillian noticing she hadn’t chosen a mug from her 80s collection, just two red and white striped mugs, the last two left of the set her mom gave her for college. When she sat the cups onto the counter, she yelped, “What the hell is this crap on the counter? It smells like shit.”“That’s a new salve I’m working on. I met up with Dave last week.”“That old guy from the hippy shop?”“From Rainbow Wonders, yes. He’s got lots of great experience with herbs and oils.”“He’s a fruitloop, Gill.” Junette, a million miles an hour, switched again. “What is that Charlie has?”“A Rubix Cube. See all the pretty colors, Charlie?” she cooed to him. “It’s perfectly safe. He can’t fit it into his mouth.” Gillian laughed but Junette did not.“One of those old gimmicks from ages ago?”“What’s your damage, Junipers?” Gillian had meant for it to come out lighthearted and like a joke, but there was a bite to it. Of all people, she wanted Junette to understand. Or if not understand, at least to accept.“That’s exactly what I mean.” Junette was leaning against the counter with her arms crossed.“What’s that?”“All this eighties garbage. Your change in appearance. This isn’t you, Gillian.”The kettle whistled, the shrill sound peaking fast. Junette lifted it away and the screaming died immediately. She poured both mugs, dipping each tea bag in and out. It reminded Gillian of the MSU football team that she’d helped in her last year in school. Part of their initiation was something called “tea-bagging,” where they got the rookies drunk and then set their balls on the guy’s forehead when he passed out, taking pictures, of course, and humiliating each one. She’d heard a couple of the boys talking about it when she’d taped their wrists. Another reason she stayed away from the jockos. Undignified and lame.“Gillian, are you listening to me?”“Yep, I heard everything.”“Oh yeah, what did I say?”“You said how wonderful the tea tasted.”Junette made a face at her and set both mugs on the island. “I’ve added cold water so they’re drinkable. Over here, though. I don’t want Charlie to get into them.”Gillian left Charlie pulling the tips of the leaves off of her spider plant. It would grow back. It was one of the few she was able to keep alive. Sturdy buggers, they were. She plopped onto the stool opposite Junette, who still stood in the kitchen.“I was saying how you never used to be this way in high school.”“What way?”“You know. All weird into retro shit.”Gillian shrugged and sipped her tea. She’d heard this argument from Junipers before. “Maybe this is the right me, and in high school, I was the wrong me.”“No, I don’t think so. You loved sport and being active. Not that you aren’t now, but you’d lived for doing fun things. Something happened after Andrew, and you went all—”“Stop right there. I love you, but I don’t want to hear it.”“You have to hear it from someone.”Gillian plugged her ears. “Blah, blah blah. No, I don’t. I can’t hear you.”“That’s real mature, Gill.” Junette walked around the island, picked up Charlie, and buckled him into his stroller. He bucked and screamed, not happy with his mommy’s decision.“Seriously? You’re leaving? You haven’t finished your tea.”Junette shrugged. “Charlie needs a bottle and you’re not you anymore. We’ve got to go.”Wow. “Okay, I’ll walk you out.”Gillian held the door for Junette to push the pram through. They had never fought, for as long as they’d known each other, and Gillian’s face burned with the rush. She’d badly wanted some girl time, to tell Junipers about Padraig and ask her advice, but somehow, it had all turned sour.Once Junette had cleared the pram from the doorway, she circled back and eyed Gillian. “Sorry, I haven’t had much sleep lately. No one ever told me how having children would directly correlate to sleep deprivation, which in turn leads to madness.”“I took down the posters,” Gillian blurted out.Junette backed the pram out the front door. “It’s a start.”