Professor's Kiss_A Second Chance, Bully Romance.

by Sienna Blake

  This is what I reminded myself every time I was tempted to call her. Knowing that she was better off without me gave me enough courage not to hit the call button.

  Soon, her text messages asking if I was okay stopped.

  “You’re sure you’ll be alright,” Rickie said as he leaned against the hood of his red BMW.

  “Fine, asshole. Dillan’s on his way.”

  I still hadn’t taken to calling him Da. He was back in Limerick at his mansion, recovering. He’d offered to put me up at the mansion. I’d appreciated the offer but I thought we were best taking our reconnection slowly.

  He’d called a few times since he got out of hospital to see how I was doing. I’d called him a few times. Most importantly, he was coming here to Rickie’s house so we could spend Easter together.

  I was expecting his chauffeured town car any minute now.

  Rickie left after one more hug and I went inside to wait for Dillan.

  Several hours later he still hadn’t arrived.

  I rang Dillan’s phone as I paced the floor, wincing when I turned too quickly. I was mostly healed but was still tender along the surgical scar.

  “Eeeello,” Dillan’s voice slurred into the phone.

  I froze, my hackles rising.

  “Are you…drunk?”

  “Aww, sshon. Wasssh the craic?”

  The fucking asshole. The fucking piece of shit asshole. He was less than three months from having had a kidney transplant because he’d fucked his up so damn much and he was drinking.

  “Where are you?” I demanded.

  “Jusssh here with a few friendssh.”

  A few friends. I could hear voices in the background, music, laughing. He was having another one of his parties.

  “Did you forget you were supposed to come and be with your son for Easter?” I spat out through gritted teeth.

  “Itssh Eshhster?”

  He didn’t even know what fucking day it was. Jesus Christ. How long had he been drinking?

  I rolled the dice for this second chance and lost.

  I let myself believe in happy endings and I was wrong.

  “You…” I growled into the phone, disbelief like icicles all over my body. “How…how could you?”

  After what I’d done for him? Even after what he put me through.

  “Come onnnn, Danny boy. Ye can’t begrudge a man a drink or two.”

  A drink or two? He sounded legless three ways from Sunday.

  “No. No,” I repeated into the phone. “You can’t do this to me.”

  Dillan snorted into the phone. “Ye fockin selfish cunt. Itshh not all about you, ye know. Fock.”

  Every stitch across the wound over my heart ripped open as fresh as the day the first cut was made. I sucked in breath hard, my lungs feeling like they were squeezing closed.

  “I gave you a fucking organ,” I yelled. “All I ask in return is for a piece—just one tiny slice—of a fatherly relationship. Just a shred. Just give one shit about me.”

  “Jaysshus, yer being overdramatic, boy. Ssshite. Yer like yer damn mother.”

  That was the final knife in my chest. The final one. The last time I’d ever let him hurt me again. My heart frosted over, one dead frozen thing in my chest.

  “You’re fucking dead to me, you hear me? Don’t ever, EVER call me again!” I hung up, stabbing the End button with my finger.

  A surge of rage came over me. I threw the phone across the room. It smashed into a thousand pieces of plastic and glass.

  I grabbed a chair. A vase. Anything I could get my hands on. I wasn’t angry, I was rage. A quivering, vibrating ball of fury. I broke and kicked and punched until my knuckles were bleeding and my surroundings reflected the inside of me.

  When I’d run out of things to destroy, I sank to the floor.

  Where I stayed.

  Where I’d always been.

  Where I’d always be.

  Alone.

  68

  ____________

  Ailis

  I read in the papers just after Easter that his father had gone back to the drink. My heart ached for Danny when I read the piece.

  I sent Danny one last message telling him I was here if he needed me. But I didn’t hear from him.

  The number of unreturned messages that I’d sent to Danny was embarrassing.

  Days turned to weeks turned to months.

  Now it was the end of the college year.

  I would soon graduate from the Dublin College of Music. I’d leave this world behind and Danny in it.

  I made myself a promise that I would delete all his messages and his number if he hadn’t contacted me by now. And he hadn’t.

  But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t erase him. Not yet. I still held hope.

  I still lifted my head every time our teacher walked into the lecture hall, hoping that today it’d be Danny instead.

  I still snuck into the college practice rooms at night, letting the ghost of Danny barely keep me company as I strummed my guitar.

  I still walked the streets of Dublin remembering his voice in my ear, letting the echoes of him haunt me.

  But I missed him most when I was onstage, like I was now at the DCM end-of-year concert.

  As I curled over my guitar, eyes closed, I sang for him. I imagined his lips curling slowly into a knowing smile and the way his blue eyes smoldered with intensity.

  But when I opened my eyes, my heart broke all over again because he wasn’t there.

  The applause washed over me, almost drowning out my heartbreak. Almost. Several people in the audience stood up clapping, then a rush of them did.

  I stood up, lowering my guitar to the floor and leaning it against my side. My eyes searched the crowd. I spotted my family and waved.

  Then I bowed, a small bittersweet smile on my face. I performed well, I knew I did. I only wished that he could have seen it.

  The other students all wanted to celebrate the end-of-year concert at The Jar, but I wasn’t feeling it. I went and had a celebratory dinner with my parents before I trudged home, my heart somehow feeling lighter and heavier at the same time.

  Something wonderful had happened after the concert. And my head was whirling when I reached my apartment door.

  I started at the unexpected figure standing at my front door.

  Danny.

  Looking more gorgeous than ever.

  His name released from my lips in a breath. Emotions hit me from all sides, crashing inside me so that it was hard to breathe. It felt like I was drowning. And yet, I’d not felt so alive in so many months.

  “Hey, Dearg.” His voice was deep and lush and it hit me in the solar plexus, making me feel like I was tumbling underwater, drowning in the bluest sea.

  I finally found my voice. “I tried to ring you.”

  “I broke my phone. Have a new number. I lost yours.”

  “Oh, okay.” There was a long pause. “How are you? After the surgery…”

  “Fully recovered.”

  “I was there when you came out,” I said. “I don’t know if the nurse told you. I tried to stay. But they kicked me out when visiting hours were over.”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  “I tried to come the next day, too,” and the day after and the day after, but I wouldn’t admit it, “but the guards weren’t letting anyone in.”

  “It was probably best that you didn’t see me then. I looked terrible.”

  I hesitated. “I…I heard about your da. I’m so sorry.”

  His face darkened and he shook his head. “Yeah. Well. I guess people don’t change. Some people don’t deserve in second chances.”

  Danny had already been a cynic before, but now the darkness in his voice was overwhelming. I wanted to run to him and throw my arms around him. To convince him that there still was light in the world. That people were mostly good and could change if they wanted to. That everyone—even he—deserved a second chance.

  “You performed really well tonight,”
he said.

  “You…you were there?”

  He nodded, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “I had to come see my star pupil perform.”

  I swallowed a knot in my throat. He had been watching, listening. Did he know I played for him, sang every note for him?

  “That means a lot to me that you came.”

  Danny took a step towards me, but stopped, hesitant. This great big awkwardness hung between us like an invisible curtain and I hated it. Why couldn’t we go back to the way we were, all teasing and bickering and comfortable as warm socks on a winter’s night?

  “I need you…” he spoke so softly I almost missed it, “to write with me again. I can’t write without you.”

  That’s why he came back. Not for me. But for his work. He wanted to use me. Again.

  He didn’t need me. He needed a muse.

  “Danny, you haven’t spoken to me in months. You haven’t returned any of my phone calls, no texts, no nothing. Not even to tell me you were okay. And now you waltz back into my life and expect me to just drop everything to work for you again?”

  “With me.”

  “No.”

  I watched the surprise bloom in his eyes. He obviously thought I would jump at the chance to work with him again. That I’d come running back at the click of his fingers.

  “You’d turn down this opportunity? Just to spite me?”

  “I got a job offer. They want me to be a backup singer to Laura Hannigan for her upcoming tour.”

  He started. “You’re not serious?”

  I bristled. “You don’t think I deserve the job?”

  “You deserve more than to be someone’s fucking backup. You should be out there centre stage just like you were tonight.” He took a step towards me. “Write with me. I’ll help you kick off your solo career.”

  Me? Launch a solo career? It wasn’t ever something I’d seriously considered for myself. I mean, sure, every musician dreams about making their own music and being centre stage, but only a few had enough star power to get there and even fewer could stay there past one album. I never believed that I was one of them.

  I shook my head. “I’ve already said yes to this job. I leave in four weeks.”

  “Tell them you’ve changed your mind. Stay here,” he said, his words so soft I could barely hear them. “With me.”

  “If I stay…” I asked, “what would I be?”

  “What?”

  “Your songwriting partner? Your fuck buddy? Or…” your girlfriend?

  His face twisted. “Nothing’s changed, Ailis. I can’t be your boyfriend. I can’t be anyone’s boyfriend.”

  I love you.

  You shouldn’t.

  Rejection flooded through my veins.

  Four months apart and nothing had changed. Danny was still broken, still putting up the same old walls.

  I loved him. But he didn’t love me. He could never love me.

  “I can’t, Danny,” I said, a rock caught in the base of my throat. “I’m sorry.”

  His lips pressed together. “You’re not going to throw this opportunity away.”

  “You just want me to stay so I can help you with your next album.”

  “That’s not true. You’re avoiding the fact that you don’t believe in yourself. Don’t be a coward, Ailis. That’s not you.”

  “A coward? Look at you. The most talented songwriter this country has ever known and you can’t write without me. I’m just a crutch to you. I won’t be used anymore, Danny.”

  The old familiar anger bled into his features. Hatred etched into the creases on his furrowed brow. The Danny I’d fallen in love with was gone. “Fine. Go. Be backup to Hannigan. I don’t fucking need you. I don’t need anyone.”

  He shoved past me. I stood there, stunned into silence, until he disappeared down the stairwell.

  I crumpled to the ground.

  He’d made his choice and it wasn’t me. Deep down, I knew I’d done the right thing.

  It was finally over. Here was the bang I’d been waiting for.

  69

  ____________

  Danny

  “Fine. Go. Leave. I don’t fucking need you. I don’t need anyone.”

  I knew I was being an asshole, but I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t stop the rage flooding through my veins. I knew I should go back there and apologise to Ailis. But the sight of her face might do me in right now.

  I wasn’t good enough for her.

  I had never been good enough for her.

  She’d finally figured it out.

  I kicked open the door to my apartment and stormed into my small home gym, needing to punch the shit out of something that wouldn’t get me thrown in jail.

  I didn’t bother with the boxing wraps. I just stripped down to my pants and stood barefoot and shirtless in front of the bag.

  Here, my world became simpler. Just me and the bag and the storm inside me.

  I began to smash my fists into the thick canvas, the bag swaying dangerously, the chain attached to the beam above creaking.

  When would I be good enough?

  When would it be enough?

  I needed to get my head down. Work on my music. Take this fucking world by storm and own it. I would smash every record, break the music charts, send this music industry to its fucking knees.

  Then I’d be enough.

  70

  ____________

  Ailis

  Four weeks later I stepped into the small theatre hall in southwest London. The place buzzed like a hive, people rushing around with headsets and clipboards, uncoiling wires and setting up the stage. We were rehearsing on this stage in London for the next month before we set off on tour, the company putting up the non-local musicians in the apartment block down the road. For the next eight months I would eat, sleep, and breathe Laura Hannigan.

  I hoisted the belt holding my pants up as I glanced around, my nerves like electricity under my skin. I’d lost weight over the last few weeks. I’d barely slept, barely ate.

  My ma and sister showed up at my apartment to take me home after Anna called them behind my back because she was so worried about me. Slowly, with the love of my family around me, I’d managed to piece myself together again.

  “You look lost,” a warm male voice said.

  I turned to find a man standing by me. He was cute in a typical muso way, rusty hair tied in a messy bun, hair on his face between stubble and a beard and beautiful hazel eyes rimmed with chocolate lashes.

  “I am,” I said. “I’m not sure where I’m supposed to be.”

  He nodded. “Grant. Bass guitar. Third tour with Laura.” He held out a hand.

  I shook it. “Ailis. Backup singer. Newbie.”

  He laughed. “I figured. Come on, let’s get you checked in with Sam and I’ll introduce you to the rest of the guys.”

  I followed him, thankful he’d taken pity on me and was able to breathe a little easier.

  The day flew by in a blur of faces and names, rules and schedules. We were handed sheets with rehearsal times and sheet music of all the songs that we had to learn backwards, sideways and inside out so that we could perform them in our sleep. We were shown the break-out room and toilets and taken on a tour of the rehearsal space. Then we met Laura Hannigan, who came in briefly that afternoon. Then it was measuring for costumes.

  It was only when I got back to my room that evening after a group dinner of takeaway pizza and fell onto my bed that the feelings I’d buried crept up.

  I missed Danny.

  I missed him so hard that it ached.

  Missed him like a hole in my soul.

  I curled into a ball and let my tears soak my pillow. Tonight I could fall apart. Because come morning, I had to get on with my new life, my new job, my new career. I had to let go of him.

  I just wasn’t sure that I could.

  71

  ____________

  Danny

  Six months later…

  “Number fuck
ing one!”

  My manager’s excited voice blared through the phone I’d accepted a call on just to stop the damn ringing.

  I squinted, peering at the early morning light coming in through the curtains.

  My album and first single dropped yesterday, and I’d been out celebrating. I may have had a glass or two to drink. My mouth was dry but thankfully my head was okay. I didn’t get drunk last night. I hadn’t been drunk since that night Ailis had to tuck me into bed. I refused to be like my father who was still battling the booze the last time I heard. He and I had not spoken since Easter, when he forgot about me.

  “Jesus, what time is it?” I muttered, rubbing my eyes.

  “Time to fucking celebrate, Danny. “Miss You”, hit number fucking one on the Billboard charts.”

  I sat up, his words like a bucket of ice water poured all over me. “It…what?”

  “Number. Fucking. One.”

  After a few more congratulations, I ended the call with my manager, exhilaration bubbling up inside me. Number fucking one. I had to tell someone. To share this moment.

  Ailis.

  I wanted to call her. To tell her. To share this news with her. She’d understand what it meant.

  But…

  I didn’t have her number. I lost it when I smashed my phone. Besides, why would she care anymore?

  I’d ruined things between us, I knew that now.

  I sat in my messy bed, staring at the naked limbs among the sheets. Her hair was too blonde. Her skin too tanned. Her arse too skinny.

  I’d give anything for that to be Ailis.

  I would surprise her with breakfast in bed. To let her know that I learned how to cook scrambled eggs. And pasta. Stir-fries. I even attempted a lasagna the other week. It was a disaster. But I was learning.

  Ailis was still on tour with Laura Hannigan. I’d kept tabs on them. Where they played, where they were headed next. I sat at night alone on my phone, looking up the cities she was visiting, imagining her climbing the Eiffel Tower in Paris, biking the canals in Amsterdam, diving into the blue sea off the Italian Amalfi coast.