by Tessa Bailey
He waits until he reaches the end of a chorus before pointing me out on the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, joining us all the way from the Unites States…Beyoncé!”
I’ve never seen so many people disappointed to see me. It’s a little demoralizing. Enough to make me wish, just for a second, that I look sexy shaking my ass. I don’t have too much time to think about it, though, because I’ve just spotted Faith. She’s talking to some dude who has handed her a drink. Alarm bells begin clanging in my head. I can hear Ginger’s drawl, reciting the lesson she’s repeated too many times to count. Willa, never, ever take a drink from anyone with a penis. He’ll only ever want two things. To sleep with you, or drug you and then sleep with you.
Ignoring Patrick’s request for me to join him on stage for an Irish rendition of “Crazy in Love,” I stomp toward Faith and pluck the drink from her hand before it can reach her mouth.
“Willa! I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Nice try, slick. I’m on to you.”
Faith acts like she’s just been struck deaf, leaning toward me and squinting. Her companion puts a hand on my arm. “Get you a drink, love?”
“Here, take this one,” I say wearily, handing him Faith’s drink. I’m not getting her out of here unless I club her over the head and drag her. It’s there in the stubborn set of her chin. For the first time, I can see a resemblance between her and Shane. I squeeze between two girls to get to the bar and order two fresh drinks for us. When I turn around holding our beers, I stop short. Faith is dancing near the stage, looking as though she’s just gotten out of school for summer. And found out she’s won the lottery. Hands above her head, she twirls in a circle and sends me an exaggerated wink.
I can’t help it. I laugh.
It feels really fucking good to laugh.
Chapter Five
By my third drink, I’m battling the foreign urge to sing. Loudly. However, compared to the pace with which the people around me are drinking, I’m sober as Judge Judy. With Faith picking a new dancing companion every ten minutes, I’m staying sharp to keep an eye on her, but I’m starting to loosen up a little and have a good time. O’Kelly’s, while definitely rough around the edges, is humming with energy and packed full of colorful characters. Sure, I may have been required to dodge another fistfight since arriving, but I’m starting to become fascinated by what starts the arguments. How once the fight ends, the participants go back to their pints like it never happened. A planned part of the evening.
As Faith dances to the final song of Brian and Patrick’s set, I lean back against the bar and let the music beat through me. In the dimness of O’Kelly’s, with a buzz singing in my veins, I feel calm. Thoughts of Evan have receded for the first time in weeks and while I know it’s thanks in part to the beer, I decide not to give myself a hard time. For tonight, I’m not worried about nudging my alcoholic gene to life. A million miles away from my past, the warning I’ve always lived with in the back of my head doesn’t seem quite so glaring.
Not that I’ve ever been worried about turning into my mother. Nothing, no amount of pain or disappointments in this lifetime, could turn me into Valerie Peet. But growing up in the same house with her, witnessing her behavior while under the influence, removed the appeal of getting drunk or stoned. At the odd high school parties I attended, people were always shocked when I rejected beer or the joint they were passing around.
It had slowly dawned on me that my clothing, the way I hid under piles of black, created the assumption that I was a user. Like Valerie. While I found that ignorant, I still hesitated when it came time to redye my hair. My hand became a little less heavy when applying eyeliner.
I don’t like being anyone’s assumption.
I snap back to the present when Brian and Patrick set their instruments down on the stage, bowing dramatically to the raucous applause. Flushed and goofy-smiled, Faith pats the dancing partner warmly on the shoulder and skips her way back to me. She looks so damn pleased with herself that I raise my beer in salute and she curtsies in response. I hand her my beer and she downs it in one swallow. When she comes up for air, we both laugh.
“Did you see me out there, Willa?”
“I did. You’re a regular Colin Farrell.”
Her tinkling laugh draws interested looks from the same male customers I’ve been warning away from me with dark looks all night. Faith isn’t nearly as intimidating. In her current bubbly, bright-eyed state, she’s effervescent. I shouldn’t feel proud, but I can’t help it. Someone plays a pop song on the jukebox, and Faith jumps up and down, obviously recognizing the song. I’ve never heard it.
Patrick and Brian approach us, and Patrick throws a wiry arm around my shoulders. I roll my eyes at the gesture, but my good mood lets him keep it there. “Brian, have you ever seen two more beautiful women grace the four walls of O’Kelly’s?”
“None beside our ma, Pat.” He smiles rather charmingly at Faith. “So, Beyoncé, are you going to tell us your friend’s name?”
“Gentleman, meet Celine Dion.”
“Celine, you dance like a dream,” Brian says without missing a beat. “I could barely concentrate on my fiddle playing. It takes a certain kind of woman to distract me from my strings.”
Faith cocks a hip and bats her eyelashes. “And just what kind of woman is that?”
“The right kind, love.”
Oh boy. “Celine, this is Patrick. And Brian is the one not so subtly trying to pick you up.” I shake my head at the brothers’ pleased grins. They really didn’t have the ability to feel shame. “These guys have an interesting busking act on Grafton Street.”
“Do you?” Faith breathes. “I bet you meet loads of interesting people.”
“Loads,” Brian confirms, visibly delighted to have Faith’s full attention. “I’m willing to bet none of them are half as interesting as you, though.”
Faith turns red. “Ah, go away of that.”
I watch carefully as the bartender slides a round of drinks in front of Patrick. He hands one to each of us, then holds up his pint. It’s so full that foam washes down over his calloused hand, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Here’s to the fine balance of the universe.”
My drink pauses halfway to my mouth. “Huh?”
“The balance of the universe,” Patrick explains with a wink. “No other way to explain us being kicked out of our flat this morning, then find ourselves sharing drinks with the two most beautiful women in Dublin that very same night.”
“To balance,” Brian toasts, then drains half his glass.
Right now, that absurd explanation is making complete sense to me. In fact, as I take a long sip of my drink, I wonder if that practical outlook isn’t the answer to everything. Just look at me. I wouldn’t be here shooting the shit with pickpockets if I hadn’t gone through a draining break-up.
“To balance,” I repeat to myself. “So what did you do to get kicked out?”
Brian laughs. “It was a long time coming, I’m afraid. But the final straw was last night. Patrick came home piss drunk, put on his headphones, and blasted his stereo as high as it would go.”
“And what’s wrong with that?” Faith asks curiously. “He was wearing his headphones after all, wasn’t he?”
“I forgot to plug them into the stereo.” Patrick takes a quick sip of his beer and sets it on the bar. “Nearly blasted the bloody building to the ground. Here’s me, thinking all that racket is inside my headphones, when they can hear it ten roads away.”
Brian leans in and interrupts Faith and my laughter. “Down the stairs comes our landlord in nothing but his jocks, pounding on the door to shut it off, but by that stage Patrick is passed out under the coffee table. And a cheese toastie burning on the stove.” The brothers exchange a laugh of recollection. “You’re lucky I came in when I did or they’d be digging your arse out of the rubble.”
Patrick throws a hand over his heart. “Brother.”
Brian shakes his head, but there’s a sparkle
in his eye. “You’re a menace.”
I open my mouth to ask where they’re planning on staying, but I feel a shift in the bar’s energy. It’s swift and I appear to be the only one who feels it. The other three continue their conversation unfettered, but I rub my arms and search for the source of disruption.
I see Shane. He’s a head taller than most people in the bar and he’s looking directly at me, prowling toward us in a manner that all at once offends me and renders me breathless. Who does he think he is, moving like that? Women turn as he passes, possibly feeling the same surge in energy I did. It irritates me even more when he doesn’t pay them any notice, as if he’s so used to female attention, it’s a foregone conclusion.
As he comes closer, I notice his glacial gaze is locked on Patrick’s arm, thrown innocently around my shoulder. Without thinking, I slip from beneath it.
Faith is chattering away beside me, her voice full of youthful enthusiasm I’m kind of beginning to envy. I’ve gone this far in giving her a night of freedom, so I decide to salvage it before Shane blows my efforts to hell.
“Brian, if you don’t ask Faith to dance soon, she’s going to spontaneously combust. Then you won’t have a place to live, or a bar to drink in.”
No sooner are the words out of my mouth than Brian shoves his drink into Patrick’s hands and twirls a squealing Faith toward the dance floor. I throw a quick, “I’ll be right back,” at a curious Patrick and move to intercept Shane. We meet at the center of the bar, and I try to ignore the sighs of obvious disappointment from the women around me when they assume I’m his girlfriend. I almost laugh at how far off they are. His disdain for me is written all over his face. It’s in every line of his hard body.
“Are you daft, girl?”
I have zero patience for questions like that. There really is no acceptable answer. My options are either No, I’m not daft, which will be unsatisfying for us both. Or Yes, in fact, I am daft, which will required a lot more explanation. “How did you find us?”
His jaw tightens when I don’t address his question. “It hardly matters.”
“Does to me.”
Over my head, he watches Faith dance and I see a strange look enter his eye, before it vanishes. “You left the address on a note, stuck to your nightstand. I put two and two together.”
My mind races with the implications of that. I can feel my neck getting hot, my temper beginning to make an appearance. “You went into my room?”
“I had no choice. Kitty saw you two leave together, and Faith won’t answer her bloody phone.” He shrugs his broad shoulders impatiently. “It’s not as if I went through your underwear drawer.”
“I’ll never know for sure, will I?”
“If I wanted to see your underwear, there are more creative ways to accomplish it.”
If I still had a beer in my hand, it would now be sloshing down over his dark head. The comical image is not nearly enough to satisfy me. Not at all. I get right up in his face, swallowing my nerves when his eyes land on my mouth and darken imperceptibly. “If you seeing my underwear was the only thing preventing the destruction of planet Earth and the end of mankind as we know it, I would still have to think about it.”
Shane clucks his tongue. “That’s selfish, now, isn’t it?” He leans in close to speak right beside my ear. My hair shifts with each movement of his lips. “I’m not nearly as selfish. Not when it counts. Bear that in mind next time you’re deciding which panties to wear under those damnably tight jeans.”
Something heavy moves in my belly, twisting and expanding. I suck in a quick breath. Doing my best to ignore the uncomfortable sensation, I jerk back. “Did you come here just to comment on my choice in undergarments?”
“No,” Shane bites out. The sensuality in his eyes is gone, replaced by irritation once again. His moods shift so fast, even my own volatile temperament is having a hard time keeping up. He’s knocking me off balance and I resent him for it. Possibly because I’m usually the one doing the knocking. “I’m here because this hellhole is no place for my sister. Don’t let this go to your head, but I pegged you as smarter than to bring her somewhere like this. Somewhere that could send her out a different person than when she walked through the door.”
His barb hits the mark, because I know he’s right. Mostly. But it’ll be a cold day in hell before I give him an ounce of satisfaction. “Last time I checked she was old enough to make her own decisions.”
He shakes his head, a humorless smile on his face. “God, I saw this coming. You just couldn’t leave her alone, could you? You made it all of one week before blowing off my simple request.”
“Look, she begged to come with me. It’s no wonder, the way her entire life is devoted to the inn. One night isn’t going to bring on a Full Lohan.” I throw a glance over my shoulder to see a laughing Faith being spun by Brian, her feet completely off the floor. When I turn back around, Shane has already started moving toward the dance floor, obviously intending to retrieve his sister, mortifying her in the process. Can’t let it happen. Quickly, I put a hand on his chest to stop him, ignoring the electricity that shoots up my limb. “Don’t do this to her, please. Can you just give us five minutes? Wait for us outside.”
His snapping blue gaze drops to my hand, still pressed against his chest. “You told me never to touch you again. Does this mean we’re breaking that rule?”
I yank my hand back like it has been burned. “No, it doesn’t.”
His smirk is infuriating. “You’ve got five minutes.” Shane turns to push his way back through the crowd, then stops. When I notice he’s staring behind me, a quick look reveals Patrick watching us closely from the bar. The sudden tension in Shane’s shoulders tells me he sees a challenge and doesn’t appreciate it. Like me, though, turning down a challenge doesn’t appear to be in his nature. He returns his attention to me and his energy has changed from irritated back to sensual. Having it directed at me is more potent than any amount of alcohol. “One more thing, Willa.” His rough hand slides down my arm, a possessive gesture that sends a shiver coasting up my back. “If I can’t touch you, then neither can that fucker.”
“He’s just a friend.” I say it fast and immediately want to melt into a puddle of self-disgust. I don’t owe him a damn explanation. He has a lot of nerve acting as though ordering me around is acceptable. It’s too late to take it back, however, so I can only stand there and fume silently.
“I thought you weren’t here to make friends.”
“Allow me to clarify. I don’t want to be friends with you.”
“Feeling’s mutual.” For a moment, his gaze lingers on my mouth. “Five minutes.”
As Shane exits the pub, all I can do is stare at his retreating back, flexing beneath his gray Henley. I don’t know what the hell just happened, but I know I don’t like it. Since that day in the airport, there has been an undercurrent running between us. Every time we’re in the same room, it only feels stronger. By giving him an explanation moments ago, I’ve taken a big, ill-advised step toward accepting that there is an attraction between us and God forbid, that we could actually act upon it. Even more troubling, despite my annoyance over Shane behaving as though he has ownership of me, the thought of giving into those urges leaves me feeling…impatient. With him? My reaction? I don’t know.
Patrick’s voice intrudes on my troubling inner thoughts. “Everything all right, love?”
I paste on a smile and nod.
“Who was that?”
The bane of my existence. “Our ride. I’m afraid we have to call it a night.” We start walking toward the dance floor where Brian is now doing soft-shoe as Faith points and giggles. “Help me wrangle the dancing queen?”
Chapter Six
One day, a little over a year ago, Ginger locked her keys in her car. It was just about sunset on an unusually gorgeous day in Chicago and instead of calling Derek to come pick her up, she decided to walk home. Unfortunately, with fucked-up luck running in the family, her cell-phone batte
ry died and she got lost. When she finally gave up on finding her way and called Derek from a payphone, he’d been ready to call in the National Guard. Seriously, I was there. He actually picked up the phone to make that call.
We’d immediately rushed out of the apartment to go pick Ginger up in a less-than-savory section of town, finding her in a Laundromat located beside an abandoned lot. The strained silence that reined in the car during the ride home was thick and impenetrable.
Exactly like the silence I’m experiencing now in the passenger’s seat of Shane’s car as Faith fumes in the backseat.
She didn’t make a scene in front of Brian and Patrick, but as soon as she’d seen Shane’s car idling at the curb, she became the poster child for angst. A glance in the rearview mirror tells me the back of Shane’s head is still the recipient of her ferocious glare. If his rigid posture is any indication, he feels that look like an ice pick lodged in his skull.
I grab onto the dashboard as Shane snakes between two delivery trucks and takes a quick right turn. He only has one hand draped casually over the steering wheel and yet, he somehow handles this car with practiced ease. It’s there in his eyes, the love of driving. I’ve seen him angry, and I’ve seen him turned on. This is a combination of those two emotions. Intensity snaps in the air around him, the rev of the engine corresponding to his body movements, as if he’s one with the car. It’s clear this is what he’s passionate about. What he was meant to do with his life. I glance away, back out the window.
Finally, we pull up in front of the Claymore Inn. Shane puts the car in park and for a second, no one moves. I unfasten my seat belt, intending to be the first one out, to give them time to hash out their private family issues. I don’t want to be involved, even if a small part of me wants to stick around and defend Faith, but she beats me to it.
“I’m sick to death of being treated like a child.” She snatches up her purse and throws open the back door. “You just had to come collect me like some sort of…unruly teenager.”