Taming Irish

by Seabrook, C. M.

  Bree slaps his shoulder.

  “What?” Owen asks, completely serious. “Am I wrong?”

  I grunt, wishing he wasn’t.

  “Oh shit,” Owen says, one eyebrow rising. “Did the infamous Shane Hayes actually strike out?”

  “Screw off.” I stand, my frustration growing. Normally, I roll with whatever life offers, the good and the really shitty. The band has taken hits before. Fuck, just dealing with Cillian’s mood swings would be enough for most groups to pull the plug. But we made it through the tough times. Made it to the top. And then, they just decided to give it all up, without even a thought of what it would mean to me.

  Sure, I know I sound like a selfish prick. And maybe I am. But this was my life, too.

  “We didn’t work our asses off just to throw it away for...” I rake my fingers through my hair and blow out an uneven breath, knowing the lecture I’m going to get if I keep going.

  “For what?” Owen asks, his voice low with warning.

  I hold his gaze, not wanting to spew my thoughts while Bree is around, but unable to hold back the irritation that has been mounting for months.

  “For playing house,” I spit out.

  Owen snorts. “It beats the alternative.”

  “Bullshit. A year ago, ye were living every man’s dream-”

  “And I was miserable.” Owen’s nostrils flare. “We all were.”

  “I wasn’t.” Tension boils between us, because I know he’s right. We were riding higher than the fucking sun, and both Cillian and Owen were spiraling out of control.

  I know that’s how he sees me now. But he’s wrong. I don’t use chicks and alcohol to ease some darkness in my soul. I fuck and I drink for the pleasure of it.

  It’s my goddamn life, and I’ll live it the best way I know how.

  Unhindered.

  Free.

  Bree touches Owen’s shoulder. “I’m going to go.”

  Owen nods, and Bree gives me a small, sad smile.

  And I know exactly what’s coming.

  Shit. I’m not in the mood for an Owen Gallagher life lesson. But as soon as the door shuts behind her, I know it’s exactly what I’m about to get.

  “Save yer speech, man.” I shove my hands in my pockets and lean against the wall.

  “I know ye’re not happy with the choices me and the guys have made to spend more time with our wives-”

  “I don’t give a flying fuck how much time ye spend with them as long as ye do yer job.”

  Owen sighs. “And what job is that? The tour is over. The royalties from our albums are enough for all of us to live comfortably. The music will be there when we’re ready.”

  “And when the hell will that be? After Cillian’s kid is born? Or after ye knock up Bree? And don’t tell me Aiden and Emer are going to be happy with just one ankle-biter. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s pregnant again already. I’m just supposed to wait around, while ye all breed like fucking rabbits?”

  “That’s life, man. Even the longest day has its end.”

  “It’s yer life. I didn’t sign up for this shit. And my day isn’t even close to being over.”

  “I’m not telling ye to settle down. Trust me, we all know that won’t happen any time soon-”

  “Ever,” I add.

  “But ye’re going to have to get used to the fact that this is our reality now.”

  “Ye’re killing me.” I drag my fingers through my hair and let out a frustrated breath.

  He inhales long and slow like he’s trying to figure out a way to appease me, then says cautiously, “Maybe ye need to find another outlet-” His words die in his throat when I glare at him.

  “Ye want me to join another band?” I can’t help the hurt that edges my words.

  “If what ye want is the stage, then maybe ye need to.”

  “Bullshit.” I give a harsh shake of my head and turn to leave.

  “Shane.”

  “What?” I bark out, glancing over my shoulder at him.

  Worry draws his brows down. When he places his hands on the back of the chair, his features tighten, and I get an uneasy feeling I’m not going to like the next words that come out of his mouth.

  “If ye got something to say, just spit it out.”

  “Emer called Bree yesterday, and she’s worried about yer mom.”

  My chest tightens, because I know that Owen wouldn’t have said anything if there wasn’t cause for concern. The woman is constantly on me, pressuring me to settle down, to be the man my father was. She’s insanely stubborn, and constantly on my case about every little detail of my life, but I know it’s all done out of love.

  I may not want any of the things she values, but it doesn’t mean I don’t know how fucking lucky I was to grow up with a woman who poured her heart and soul into her family, including the few strays, Owen included, that were always at our house.

  “What happened?” I ask, my mood quickly switching from frustrated to concerned.

  Owen rubs the back of his neck. “She had some chest pain. It wasn’t a heart attack, but-”

  “Shit. Why the hell didn’t anyone call me?”

  “Ye know yer mom. She didn’t want anyone making a big deal about it.”

  “I’ll drive home tonight.” My mom won’t ask for help, ever. But if there’s even a possibility that she’s not well, she’ll have a fight on her hands to try and keep me away.

  I grab my bag from the floor and toss it over my shoulder.

  Owen watches me from across the room. I can see he wants to say something else, but he clamps his lips shut on whatever it is.

  “I’ll call ye when I know more,” I say, knowing he’ll be just as worried as I am until he knows everything’s all right. Agnus Hayes has been as much a mother to him and his brother Cillian as she was to me and Emer. Not to mention that the man seems to have some fucked up idea that he’s somehow responsible for every single one of us, including her.

  Owen gives a small nod, then says when I start to open the door, “Just try and stay out of trouble.”

  I grin at him over my shoulder, repeating the line that’s been my motto since we were kids. “Ye and I both know that Trouble has always been my middle name.”

  He gives a small shake of his head, worry still evident in his gray eyes. “One day, ye’re going to get yerself into a spot I won’t be able to get ye out of.”

  The man has helped dig me out of more holes than I care to admit. And I have a bad feeling that I might have dug myself the Grand Canyon of holes recently if any of the anonymous letters I’ve been receiving have any truth to them.

  “What?” Owen asks, his gaze narrowing like he can read my thoughts.

  I wince, part of me wanting to tell him. But, I’m a grown fucking man, and I don’t need an Owen-sized babysitter taking care of me.

  “If ye’re worried about me, then do me a favor and start writing some bloody music.”

  I hear his grunt as I let the door shut behind me.

  Maybe I’m acting like a selfish bastard. Hell, I know I am. But it doesn’t stop me from scowling at Bree when she starts down the hall toward me.

  “He’s all yers.” It’s hard not to miss the sarcasm that drips from the words, the edge of frustration, even though I hadn’t intentionally meant it that way.

  When I see her flinch, I curse myself under my breath. She’s more sensitive than the other women in my life, and I’m usually a hell of a lot easier on her than I’ve been today. Normally, I’d stop, make some kind of joke to ease the tension between us, but I keep walking, needing to get away before I say something else I’ll regret.

  What I need is the trouble Owen just warned me to stay out of.

  And hell if I don’t want to go looking for it right now.

  Instead, I walk around to the back lot and toss my bag in the passenger seat of my Ferrari 812, knowing Owen would have me trading it in for a Dodge Caravan in his perfect world. Who the hell chooses that kind of life over this?

&nb
sp; Squealing my tires, I make a sharp left onto the M50, not bothering to stop at my Dublin apartment, and head west towards Sligo county.

  And even though I try to get Owen’s voice out of my head, his damn words ring in a continuous cycle in my head.

  Even the longest day has its end.

  I know it’s the truth, in more ways than he meant. I’d watched my own father’s life cut short, and for no other reason than bad luck and faulty genes. My grandfather and dad died in their early-forties, both from massive heart attacks. And don’t think it doesn’t scare the shit out of me, knowing if I’m lucky, I have another ten to fifteen good years left before the damn Hayes curse takes me, too.

  So, yeah, I’m going to enjoy every second I have left on this earth. Forever the bachelor. Because the only thing worse than not enjoying life to the max, is leaving behind a grieving family who have no idea how to survive in this world without you.

  Chapter 5

  Makena

  The moment I open my laptop, it starts ringing with an incoming video call from Quinn.

  “Crap,” I say on a sigh.

  I’d ignored her last two attempts, and if I don’t answer this one, I don’t doubt she’ll send one of her four overprotective brothers to hop on the next flight to Ireland to make sure I’m all right.

  Snuggling into the couch with my steaming cup of herbal tea in hand, I take a deep breath and prepare myself for my cousin’s onslaught of questions.

  “Finally.” Quinn lets out an exasperated breath as her image pops up on the screen.

  Even in the not-so-flattering light of the distorted iPhone camera, my cousin is gorgeous. Unlike my plain, girl-next-door look, she has a type of exotic beauty without even trying. Long, dark strands of hair have fallen from the messy bun on top of her head, framing her heart shaped face, and hang loose down her slender neck.

  “You look tired,” she says, leaning closer and batting her ridiculously long eye lashes, that just happen to be God-given, at me.

  “And you look beautiful, as always.”

  “I have a date tonight.”

  “Jefferson, again?”

  She makes a face. “God, no. Did you know he’s still living in his parent’s basement?”

  “So are you.” I laugh.

  “That’s not the point.” She rolls her eyes. “I have every intention of moving out as soon as I can afford a place of my own.”

  Which won’t ever happen if she doesn’t learn to control her outrageous spending habits. She’s six years younger than me and I’m pretty sure she already owns more Gucci and Louis Vuitton purses than all the Kardashians combined.

  “Have you met any hot Irishmen yet?” She wiggles her brows, and her image freezes mid-lift, then cracks, and distorts, before resuming the feed.

  “I’ve only been here for a few days.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Please tell me you’ve at least left the house.”

  “Of course, I have.” I’d gone for a few walks around the property, and Nora drove me to the grocery store yesterday. But I know that’s not what my cousin is referring to. “How is Colleen doing?” I ask, changing the subject, because my cousin has no limit to nagging me about my non-existent love life. “Is she settling in okay?”

  It still feels weird knowing someone else is living in my house, sleeping in my bed.

  “She’s almost as much of a recluse as you, but I convinced her to come over for family dinner this Sunday.”

  I groan, knowing how overwhelming Savage family dinners can be. “You really think that’s a good idea?”

  I love my cousins, but their overbearing personalities and eccentric antics can be a lot for anyone to handle.

  “I’ll make sure everyone behaves.”

  “When have any of your brothers ever behaved?”

  Quinn laughs. “Hey, I’d take being around my brothers any day than sitting all alone in my pajamas night after night.”

  I glance down at the tattered sweatshirt and sweatpants I’ve been wearing for the past two days and wince. “It’s cold here, and it’s not like I’m going anywhere. I have my books, that’s all I need.”

  Quinn snorts. “Colleen said there’s a great little pub in town with live music. If you’re lucky, she said sometimes Wild Irish performs there. Did you know they’re from the next town over?”

  Am I the only person who’s never heard of the group?

  “You know who they are?” I ask.

  She gives me a look like I’ve lost my mind. “Are you kidding me? Who doesn’t?”

  “Um…”

  “You’re kidding, right? They’re only the hottest Irish band since U2-”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Cillian Gallagher is so my celebrity crush right now,” she continues, fanning her face exaggeratingly. “Too bad he’s already taken. They all are, I think. Except for Hayes, but from what I hear he’s a bit of a player. Still...” She winks at me. “He’s got this whole rugged, bad boy charm that could melt even your panties.”

  I snort. “Yeah, because that’s what I need right now.”

  “Maybe it’s exactly what you need,” she says seriously.

  “Do I have to remind you about my ex?”

  “Chad was an asshole. Big difference. What you need is someone who’ll break you free from your vow of celibacy.”

  “I don’t need the complication of a relationship right now.”

  “Who said anything about a relationship? I’m talking about primal, toe-curling, life-altering orgasms.”

  I chuckle. “God, you’re so bad.” But her words pull my memories back to the conversation on the plane, and the gorgeous man whose number is still in my phone.

  “What’s that look?” Quinn asks, squinting at me from the screen.

  “What look?” I can’t help the blush that creeps into my cheeks.

  “That one.” She points a finger. “There is a guy, isn’t there? You’ve been holding out on me.”

  “No. I just…”

  “I knew it. Spill.”

  “It was nothing. Just some guy on the plane-”

  “But he was hot?”

  “Yes.” I sigh, and admit, “He was hot.”

  I can’t close my eyes without seeing his face. His deep dimples that cut into both cheeks. His bottomless dark green eyes that sizzled with both flirtatious humor and dark, unbridled passion.

  “And?”

  “And nothing.” I shrug. “He gave me his phone number, but-”

  “You’re going to call him.” It’s a demand, rather than a question.

  “No. He’s from Dublin. That’s like two or more hours away from where I am. And even if it wasn’t, I…”

  “You’re scared.” Her eyes soften.

  I take a slow deep breath. “Maybe.”

  “At some point, you’re going to need to move on.” Her gaze sharpens on me, and she adds, “Chad did.”

  “I don’t need a reminder.”

  “I’m worried about you.”

  “And I’m not like you. I don’t need a guy to make me happy.”

  “Wow.” She pouts at me through the screen.

  It’s my turn to apologize. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I know what you meant. And I’m not telling you to jump into another long-term relationship. Just go have some fun.”

  “Sex.”

  She laughs. “Yes. I mean have you Googled Irish men? Holy hell, they’re freaking gorgeous. I mean, look at that guy from Outlander-”

  “He’s Scottish. Actually, I think he’s really British, but-”

  “Okay, then Jamie Dornan. The Fifty Shades guy.”

  I’ll admit he’s hot. “Pretty sure he’s from Northern Ireland.”

  “I thought that’s where you are.”

  “No. I’m in the north of Ireland.”

  She stares at me blankly.

  “Totally different country. Google it.”

  She shakes her head. “Whatever, he’s still Irish. And you’re
still single.”

  “And never dating an actor again, thank you very much.”

  “How about a musician? I can see if Colleen can set you up with-”

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  The look that she gives me tells me she has no intention of listening to me.

  “I mean it, Quinn. I don’t need you meddling. I’m fine.”

  She gives a heavy sigh. “All right.”

  “It’s late here. And I’m still not used to the time change.”

  “I get it, you’ve had enough of my pestering. I need to start getting ready for my date tonight anyways. Some of us actually enjoy having a social life.”

  “Love you, Q,” I say, before signing off.

  As soon as I shut my laptop, a bout of loneliness creeps into my chest. For the first time since I’ve been here, it hits me how far from home I really am.

  Standing, I place a log on the fire, then go into the kitchen and pull out the bottle of Chardonnay I bought when I went to the store with Nora, sitting down with my Kindle and begin to flip through my extensive to-be-read list, before settling on an erotic short story.

  It’s not my typical read. I usually prefer the classics, or even a good mystery. Maybe it’s all the sex talk with Quinn, but my curiosity as well as my body are piqued by the steamy blurb.

  Three large glasses of Chardonnay in and a second novella read, I find myself glancing every few minutes at my phone, thinking about Shane. Or rather, fantasizing about him. Those large hands, cocky smile, the way his green eyes roamed hungrily down my body. It wasn’t difficult seeing his face as I read through the sexy parts of both books, wishing I could be as free and uninhibited as Quinn and the heroines in the stories.

  I don’t even know the man’s last name. But there’s no denying the chemistry that sparked between us.

  Call him, my brain screams, which is usually so rational, echoed by a hell yes from my body, which hasn’t been quite so inhibited lately. Or, at least not since that sexy, giant of a man woke it up a few days ago from what seemed like an eternal sleep.

  I pick up my phone and scroll through the numbers, pressing his name quickly before I lose the nerve to make the call.