Loving Irish

by Katy Regnery

  “You’re being wonderful,” she said. “You’re being you. The glue.”

  “The glue?” he asked. “What does that mean?”

  “Tierney said it. She said that Ian might give up on himself now and then, but he never gives up on the people he loves. You hold us all together.”

  He laughed softly. “Sounds like something Tier would say.”

  “I envy you three,” said Hallie, sipping her coffee.

  “We’re not perfect.”

  She shrugged. “I was an only child. I wish I’d had a sister or brother. Someone to call in the middle of the night when a tree crashes through my bedroom.”

  “You’ve got me for that, baby.”

  “I do.” She grinned at him, nodding. “But also, I bet birthdays and vacations and holidays were extra fun. I missed out on all that.”

  Ian smiled at her, cocking his head to the side. “Speaking of the holidays, this place needs a Christmas tree and some decorations. You think you and the ladybug would be game for helping me choose a tree today?”

  “Oh, Lord,” said Hallie. “I think she’ll be over the moon.”

  “Hey, ladybug!” called Ian, holding Hallie’s eyes. “Wanna go get a Christmas tree today?”

  They grinned at each other when they heard her loud gasp from the living room. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes!” she cried, racing into the kitchen to jump up and down by Ian’s chair. “Can we? Can we really go and get one, Mommy?”

  “Since Christmas is in four weeks, I think we better!”

  Jenny danced around the kitchen with Luna. “A Christmas tree! A Christmas tree! We’re going to get a Christmas tree!”

  “Why don’t you go get dressed, and we’ll get started, huh?”

  As Jenny ran down the back hallway, Hallie leaned across the kitchen table for a kiss. “Thank you for making her feel so important…and loved.”

  Ian reached for her face, cupping her cheek gently as his tongue slid against hers, marveling at the fact that he could touch her, he could love her, that he’d see her face every morning and every night for the foreseeable future. His body hardened at the thought of tonight, wondering—hoping—that their physical relationship would make the same amazing headway.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” said Ian, dragging his lips across her cheek to her ear. He took the lobe between his teeth, biting lightly, feeling her gasp in his groin, “because the ladybug is my favorite kid in the whole world, but, um, when does she go to sleep?”

  Hallie chuckled breathily. “Eight.”

  He winced. “I have a meeting at eight.”

  “When are you back?”

  “Nine. Which means we have a date on the couch at nine-oh-one,” he growled, kissing her hard to seal the deal.

  “Nine-oh-one,” she agreed, her blue eye dilated, her lips red from kissing, and looking so damned sexy, Ian didn’t know how he’d make it through the next twelve hours. “It’s a date.”

  Eleven and a half hours later, there was a tree up in his living room, he’d taken “his girls” out to lunch, and they’d roped the tree with lights and hung decorations to the festive warbling of Bing Crosby. Hallie had made them spaghetti and meatballs for dinner and told him she’d clean up so he could make his meeting on time.

  He glanced at his watch. Fifteen minutes to go.

  “Hey,” whispered Shandie, who was sitting next to him. “Can I talk to you after the meeting?”

  It took all of his willpower not to grimace, not to wince, to keep his expression level and open. All he wanted to do was get back in his truck and race home to Hallie. But it was an unspoken AA rule. If someone needed you, you said yes.

  “Of course. Everything okay?”

  She shrugged. “I just need a pep talk.”

  Hopefully, a quick one, thought Ian. “Sure.”

  Standing by their cars in the parking lot, Shandie shared that her husband’s new company was having a Christmas Party on December 22nd, and even though it was almost three weeks away, she was already trying to figure out how to avoid the bar, the passed drinks, and the toasts. Ian reminded her that alcohol was a part of everyday life for most people but not for them.

  “Dale doesn’t drink, does he?” he asked.

  Shandie shook her head. “No. But it’s awkward, you know? If his bosses and coworkers are drinking wine or beer, it’s awkward for us to order Cokes.”

  “Why does anyone need to know you’re drinking soda? Have Dale go to the bar and get two lowball glasses of club soda with a lime in each. Looks like a gin and tonic. No one will say anything.”

  “That’s a good idea,” said Shandie earnestly, nodding at Ian.

  “Or you could say you’re on antibiotics,” he suggested. “Everyone leaves that excuse alone.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, maybe I’ll do that. What else?”

  “This is important: you need to leave the second you start to waver, Shandie. Fake a stomachache or say the babysitter called. But if you feel weakness coming on, you need to go.”

  “Right. Yeah. I know all of this,” she said, clenching her jaw with frustration. “It’s just…it’s hard.”

  Ian nodded. “I know. But you’ve got this. You can do it.”

  “Any other advice?”

  “Don’t linger. Plan to leave on the early side.”

  “But Dale’s the newest associate.”

  “I know it’s hard, but you can’t risk your recovery, and if you’re sitting in a barber’s chair, sooner or later, you’re going to get a haircut. Bars, clubs, and parties are hard for us. Don’t make it harder by staying late.”

  “Okay.” She gulped, then nodded. “Thanks, Ian. You’re the best.”

  “All good?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Better. I’m not freaking out as much.”

  She leaned forward, and Ian realized that she wanted a hug. Generally not one to withhold a hug, especially from a fellow addict, he felt a little funny hugging her back as he thought of his golden girl waiting at home for him. Rationally, he knew he wasn’t cheating on Hallie, but he still ended the hug as soon as he could and pulled away.

  “Get home safe, now,” he said.

  Shandie waved as she headed to her car, and Ian looked down at his watch.

  9:16.

  Damn.

  Their date had begun sixteen minutes ago, and he was missing it.

  He turned the key in the ignition and stepped on the gas.

  ***

  Hallie put another log on the fire and checked the digital clock on the microwave. 9:10. Hmm.

  Ian said his meeting ended at 8:45, and that he’d be home by 9. She wondered what was keeping him, then chided herself for being silly. Maybe he met a friend and stayed after to chat. Maybe meetings ran long at the holidays. Maybe he needed to pick up something on the way home.

  She sat down on the couch, her nerves making her jumpy, and though she wasn’t a big drinker, she wished she had a glass of wine to calm them. But she’d already checked—Ian’s apartment held no trace of alcohol. Not even cooking sherry in the kitchen or cough syrup in the bathroom cabinet. And while she admired his abstinence and would support it wholeheartedly, in this particular moment, she would have loved a drink.

  After she’d gotten Jenny settled in her bed, Hallie had taken a quick shower, shaving her legs and under her arms and rubbing honeysuckle-scented cream on her skin. She didn’t have any sexy pajamas, so she’d decided on a pair of pink-and-white-plaid flannel pants and a tight, white cotton tank top. Underneath both? Nothing.

  But now? Sitting on the couch, counting down the minutes, and waiting for Ian, she wondered if she was being too forward. Maybe she should go put on a bra and some undies? Oh, God. You’re being crazy. She leaned over the back of the couch and looked at the clock again. 9:16.

  She was assuming that tonight was the night they’d do the “deed”—as Brittany had called it so many years ago—but maybe she was being presumptuous? Or hasty? They’d been reunited for several weeks now, and it was cle
ar that their feelings for each other were genuine, even after all this time. But the reality was that Hallie hadn’t slept with anyone in a long time. In almost a year. And she was a little nervous about that.

  By her calculations, Sergio had infected her sometime in January, she’d had the STD diagnosed and treated in mid-February and was given a clean bill of health by the end of February. Which meant that the last time she’d had sex was in January, and it would be December in exactly two days. Almost a year. A year. And let’s face it, the sex with Sergio had been of the “slam, bam, thank you, ma’am” variety.

  The last time she’d had emotional, loving sex? The kind that opened your soul to the other person? The kind that made you cry because the connection you felt to the other person was so deep? The kind wherein the act and the emotions were so profoundly entangled, one was just an extension of the other?

  “Oh, God,” she whispered as a shiver shot down her spine.

  It had been a long, long time. If ever.

  What about Ian? He’d had a few sexual partners, she knew, before their scheduled night at Summerhaven. What about since then? Had he been with a lot of people? People he loved or random people? Had he been careful? Had he been tested, and was he clean?

  She stood up from the couch and paced across the living room, hating the way her stomach dropped when she glanced at the clock and saw that it was 9:25.

  The butterflies in her stomach had multiplied over the long minutes of waiting. Twenty-five minutes, to be exact.

  Damn, Ian. Have you never heard of a phone?

  Oh, wait! Maybe he called or texted!

  Her phone was in the bedroom. She fast-walked down the hallway, opened the door, and tiptoed into the dark room where Jenny was sleeping. Plucking her phone from the nightstand, she unplugged it and backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  Flipping over the phone, certain to be greeted with a message from Ian, her eyes watered—actually watered—when she saw there were none. Not to mention, as she was staring forlornly at her phone, the time changed to 9:30.

  Half an hour late.

  Or maybe, she had to admit to herself, he’s not coming back at all.

  Maybe he doesn’t want to be with you and he’s trying to figure out a way to say it.

  Maybe he feels like everything is moving too fast and he wants to slow down.

  Maybe something happened to him.

  At this final thought, her heart started racing in earnest. The thought of losing Ian after finding him again was so painful, so fucking unbearable, the tears in her eyes doubled and she leaned against the hallway wall, holding her breath and praying that—

  “Hallie? Halcyon?”

  Ian!

  She turned and raced down the hall, running through the living room and into his arms. He’d taken off his parka on the stairs, and his arms were warm as they hugged her against his sweet, solid chest.

  “You’re back,” she sighed, clenching her eyes shut and willing away her tears and worries. “I didn’t—I mean…you’re late.”

  “Remind me to always be a little late if this is the greeting I get,” he said, leaning away from her to look at her face. His sparkling eyes met hers, instantly clouding over, worry lines appearing around his mouth and between his brows. His hands captured her face. “What is it? What happened? Why are you crying?”

  She shrugged. “Because I’m an idiot.”

  “Because I was late,” he said, bending down to kiss her forehead. “I’m so sorry, baby. A friend from AA needed a little extra support. We talked in the parking lot. I wouldn’t have been late, but I couldn’t—I couldn’t say no.”

  She dropped his eyes, feeling embarrassed. “It’s not your fault. Like I said, I’m an idiot.”

  “Halcyon,” he said, waiting to speak again until she looked up at him. “I know what it feels like to have a scheduled date with someone you love…and to wait and wait and wait for them to appear…and to worry about them and wonder where they are and trick yourself into thinking they’re not coming. I was there too. You’re not an idiot.”

  She sniffled softly. “Yes, I am. I’m—”

  “This is important, baby, so listen up, okay? I will always come back to you,” he said, interrupting her with a firm, but gentle, promise. “Always.” She nodded, but he searched her eyes like he was looking for something—for that expression, that “look” that said—I believe you. “Sometimes I might be late. Sometimes I might get detoured. Sometimes it might take a little extra time,” he said, no doubt thinking about the last ten years they’d spent apart. “But I will always come back to you, because I love you, Halcyon. And because, in the whole wide world, the only place I want to be…is with you.”

  Her heart burst with the tender sincerity of his words, and she threw her arms around his neck, pulling his head to hers, desperate to feel his lips on hers. He slipped his hands under her backside and she was lifted up, her ankles locking around his back as he groaned into her mouth, walking down the hall toward his bedroom.

  As he carried her, their tongues tangling as he walked, she reached for the buttons on his flannel shirt, her fingers working furiously to have them undone by the time they reached his room. When they got there, he set her gently down, reached behind his neck and pulled off his shirt and T-shirt with one yank before drawing her back into his arms.

  “Wait,” she said, pushing him away. She looked up at his face, at his confused expression. “I want to see you.”

  Her mouth watered as she started at his shoulders, running her fingers over the ridges of muscle on his still-tanned pecs, the black wiry hair over his abs tickling the pads of her fingers as she moved her hands to the middle, tracing his tiger line to the button of his jeans.

  “My turn, golden girl,” he growled softly, reaching for the hem of her tank top.

  Hallie raised her hands over her head, letting him smooth the cotton over her stomach, over her breasts, and over her head until it dropped to the floor with a light whoosh.

  Staring at his throat, she heard his tight hiss of gasped breath and looked up to see his eyes, almost black, staring at her breasts. An unaccountable panic washed over her, and her gaze darted away, afraid she’d see disappointment in his eyes.

  “I—I had a baby,” she whispered, raising her hands to cover the breasts that weren’t anywhere near as perky as they’d been ten years ago.

  She gulped as his hands shot out, his fingers wrapping around her wrists to stop her from hiding herself. Gently, so gently, he lowered her arms, bringing her hands to her sides. “Look at me, Halcyon.”

  Taking a shuddering breath, she raised her eyes to his, and all she saw there, to her relief, was a worshipful tenderness.

  “You’re so beautiful now, I can barely remember what you looked like when we were kids.” Releasing her wrists, he raised his hand, extending his index finger and touching a small brown mole over her left nipple. “Aw. This little spot.” She looked down at his finger, which brushed gently over the beauty mark. His eyes looked up and caught hers as he leaned forward slowly, reverently, exchanging his finger for his lips.

  Staring down at his black head, she held her breath as his lips slid lower, until he sucked one puckered nipple into his mouth. When his hot, wet tongue swirled around the throbbing bud, she gasped softly, unaccustomed to careful lovemaking.

  Reaching for the globe of her other breast with his hands, he lifted it as his lips skimmed across her chest, sucking and licking her warm skin, making fields of goose bumps rise all over her body as the rasp of his beard tickled places that hadn’t been gently loved in far too long.

  She closed her eyes, thinking about the first morning he arrived at her dilapidated cottage—how angry she’d been at him and how desperately she didn’t want him there…and then suddenly she remembered his face as he helped her sixteen-year-old self off the bus—the warmth of his hand and the twinkle in his eyes. She saw him sitting on her back lawn side by side with Jenny, eating peanut butter a
nd jelly sandwiches and talking about loons…and then the picture changed yet again, and he was lying beside her on a raft, staring up at the stars as they counted down the minutes to curfew. Then and now. The past and the present merging together.

  “I missed you,” she whispered, feeling the hot sting of tears on her cheek.

  He raised his head and sighed. “I know. I missed you too.”

  “I’m spoiling this.”

  “You’re not spoiling a thing.”

  His reverence for her. His gentleness. It was so foreign after years of being unloved, and yet it was familiar because it was him. But it made her feel so…overwhelmed.

  “Ian, I just—I just want to cry my eyes out.”

  “So cry your eyes out,” he suggested.

  She nodded, letting go, letting her tears fall in torrents, sliding down her face so fast that his face blurred before her.

  “Don’t freak out,” he said. “I’m going to get us both naked, but it’s just so I can hold you, Halcyon. Nothing else. Not for now. Okay?”

  She nodded, and he tugged on the drawstring of her pants. They fell over her hips, pooling on the rug around her feet. She heard the clank of his belt buckle hitting the floor, and then he took her hand and led her to his full-sized bed. He pulled the comforter and top sheet aside. “Come lie down with me.”

  She slid into bed, lying on her side, feeling his weight depress the mattress behind her, and then, there he was, lying beside her. His body was huge and warm, and a thick, muscled arm fell over her waist, pulling her against his chest.

  “Cry all you want, baby. I’ve got you. I’ve got you now.”

  His lips would occasionally press against the back of her neck or her shoulder as she wept, but otherwise, he held her. Just held her. He had a slight erection, yes, but he didn’t poke it into her back with unspoken expectations. It was pressed against her because it was part of him, not because he was demanding anything from her.

  Holding her like this was as far as they’d ever gotten as teenagers in love—it was where they’d left off, and it felt so good, and so right, just to be held in his arms, skin to skin, his front to her back, his arm around her, his legs tangled up in hers; it comforted her more than he could ever know. In a life that had felt unfamiliar for years, here was something familiar. Here was something she wanted.