“I know.”
“Well, I eventually promised him that was the last of it, that you’d walk the line, Johnny Cash style, without any incidents. He didn’t believe you were capable of it. I told him you’d prove him wrong. That’s when he said to make it a bet. He bet you wouldn’t make it a year. I took it further, said you’d make it two years, no problem. It’s coming up on two years in about a month’s time.”
Two years. Jesus. It’s hard to believe it’s been that long since that epic disaster where I broke Shay’s wrist. That wild act had been borne out of a lifelong pattern of testing the boundaries without care of potential consequences. Those instincts have been dulled by my sessions with Ms. Patterson. She saw me through my first year of sobriety. And then I just kept moving forward, occupying myself with the band. Beneath it all, though, was Shay’s steady support. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for that kid.
I laugh and shake my head, feeling like the luckiest person in the world.
“What’d you win off him?” I ask.
Now Shay leans back in his chair and grins. “He has to wash my car.”
“What? That’s it? That’s all two years of my life is worth?”
“He has to wash my car,” he repeats, “in a bikini.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I laugh, and Shay joins me. “He’ll probably bleeding well love it.”
We fall into more laughter and it turns into one of those moments where our eyes water and every time we start to trail off, we look at each other and start laughing our heads off all over again.
“What’s so funny?”
Wiping at my eyes, I look up to find Amelia has joined us. Her hair is down in shiny, long loose curls and she’s wearing a black skirt with a cream and black top. She’s a welcome sight and I make that known by wrapping my arm around her waist to give her a squeeze.
“Oh, baby, I gotta tell you this one,” I say, still holding her to me.
I feel Shay kick me under the table and shoot him a look. He’s staring daggers at me, which I guess is meant to tell me to shut my gob.
“What? She doesn’t even know the bloke. It’s still funny.”
“Not now, Danny Boy.”
Rolling my eyes at Shay’s ever-present instinct to protect the band, I let it drop. Maybe I’ll tell Amelia later when we’re alone. Or maybe I’ll consider giving Shay and Conor privacy on this. I suppose that’s what a friend might do.
“It’s fine,” Amelia says, waving her hand dismissively.
“I’ll just go find Jess,” Shay says, and stands. He gathers the sonogram photos, and I note that he’s clearly not open to sharing them with Amelia. “Then, we’ll walk to dinner. You guys good with that? It’s a place on Lombard, so not too far. Maybe ten blocks?”
Amelia shifts against my embrace and I look down at her heels. I’m guessing I’ve already worn her out and that walking ten more blocks isn’t all that appealing. Still, she doesn’t let on.
“Sounds great,” she says brightly.
17
Amelia
* * *
We’re eight blocks into our walk toward the restaurant and if I could physically do it, I’d kick myself for not taking Daniel’s suggestion to change my shoes. I’d stubbornly insisted I was fine. After a day where I’d been dressed for comfort, I’d wanted to look a little nicer for him. The ironic thing is I’ve always scoffed at those girls who go without coats in the dead of winter to show off their skimpy cocktail dresses and sky-high heels. Not that I’ve gone to those extremes, but here I am sacrificing my feet in order to impress a man. A man who isn’t even one of those fellas who seems to want arm candy. So, what am I doing?
Daniel squeezes my hand and gestures to a restaurant up ahead, telling me we’re almost there. I laugh out loud when I see the glowing sign above the door. It’s a cartoonish bowl of noodles with one flat noodle leaning against the side, complete with animated eyes and mouth.
“It’s called Chubby Noodle,” Daniel gleefully tells me. “Don’t let that fool you, though. It’s good stuff.”
Shaking my head, I resign myself to the new reality of my life where nothing is as I had expected—not Daniel, not me, not even what I thought would be an upscale night out in a glamorous city—but I’m too deep in it all to do anything about it. I’ll just have to go with it and hope taking a chance was the right thing to do.
Inside, it’s dark, loud, and crowded with people competing to be heard over the sound system. Jessica must have made a reservation because upon checking with the hostess, we’re quickly seated at a wooden booth next to the wall of windows facing busy Lombard Street. I’m seated opposite her while Daniel is next to me and across from his brother.
“I hope you’re okay with this,” Jessica tells me, nearly shouting to be heard. “I’ve been having cravings for their garlic noodles with fried chicken.”
“I’m sure it’ll be grand,” I tell her.
In my limited interaction with her, I’ve found Jessica to be really sweet. It’s lovely to think of her being pregnant, too. She and Shay seem to make a good pairing. They’re both a bit reserved, thoughtful, and dedicated to their respective crafts. I watch now as Shay leans into her, whispering something into her ear that makes her smile. They’re clearly in love and it makes me wonder if what I’ve begun with Daniel has any chance of developing into the same thing.
When Shay looks up and catches me watching them, I avert my eyes to the ceiling where there is a large, angry looking purple octopus mural covering the area near the kitchen.
“What’ll you drink, Amelia?” Daniel asks me, and I realize our waitress is standing at the table.
“You should try the Chubby Kitten,” Jessica says.
I can’t help but laugh at what feels like a foreign language. Jessica leans over the table to tell me it’s a refreshing cocktail made with Nigori sake and watermelon.
“I’d love one right now, but it’ll have to wait a bit,” she says, gently rubbing her belly.
“I’ll have it in your honor, then,” I tell her, and she smiles.
Once we’ve ordered our drinks and Jessica has selected food for all of us, we fall silent. The music is louder than I’d like and not something I recognize other than I can tell it’s from the nineties.
“So, how long is your vacation?” Jessica asks.
“I go home next Friday.” It’s Saturday today, so I have almost a full week more, but it suddenly doesn’t feel like very much time. Not when I know I’ll eventually be going home alone. Daniel seems awfully settled here.
“Oh, that’s great. Maybe you’d like to come by the ballet school one day?”
“I’d love it, thanks. And thanks so much for letting me stay at your place. I hadn’t intended on imposing, but Daniel has insisted.”
“It’s no problem. We have guests quite often, right, babe?” She nudges Shay with her shoulder.
“Like who?” Daniel asks.
“Marty was with us for a time,” Shay says.
“Oh, right.” Daniel laughs and nudges me, mirroring what Jessica had done with Shay. “Remember when Marty was the tabloid scandal poster boy?”
That piques Shay’s interest. “Do you know our Marty?”
I hesitate as the waitress brings our drinks. When she’s gone, I reply, “Eh, no, I don’t know him.”
“Well, she doesn’t know him know him,” Daniel says. “But everyone knows about him getting caught with his trousers down with that so-called ‘sober coach’ you all tried to foist upon me. And then, there was his other little walk on the wild side when he turned gay for a sec.”
“Enough, Danny Boy,” Shay says curtly.
Daniel turns to me, unfazed. “My kid brother is obsessed with protecting his band and his band mates. Can’t bear to have a word spoken out of turn against any one of them.”
“Sounds like the kind of loyalty that will keep a band together,” I say.
Shay gives me a small nod before raising his glass to clink mine. I say
a quick little prayer that he doesn’t ask what we should toast to, not after what happened last night.
Of course, Daniel jumps right in, raising his glass and saying, “To taking chances.”
I turn to him, and before I can decipher his intent, he leans in and gives me a long, lingering kiss on the mouth. I pull away, embarrassed by the public display. But he seems positively pleased with himself.
Our waitress returns to tell us that our food will be ready soon and I notice the way she lingers, eyeing Shay for longer than necessary before finally leaving us.
Jessica must have seen me watching the interaction because she offers, “She’s not sure who he is.”
“But she knows he’s someone,” I say.
“Happens a lot.”
Shay looks uncomfortable with, not just the attention, but our mentioning of it. It’s interesting to me that he shuns the spotlight.
“He’s the best fucking drummer in the world!” Daniel says, his voice loud enough to turn the heads of the others at nearby tables.
“Keep your fucking mouth shut,” Shays says urgently, but Daniel just laughs.
“If he doesn’t want attention, leave it be,” I say.
“Ah, he’s just too humble. This guy is a legend. A legend!”
Again, more heads turn. And then I notice that several people have pulled out their mobiles and are either taking photos or recording us as we sit in the booth.
“You idiot,” Shay grumbles. “Why do you have to make a scene everywhere we go?”
“Can’t I be proud of my kid brother?”
“Does it have to involve shouting about it?”
Daniel smiles, a wicked gleam in his eye. “I only make up for what you won’t do. You’re a goddamn rockstar. Give the people what they want! Go on, take a bow or something.” He gestures all around us where now most of the restaurant is gawking at him.
Whereas before it had been so loud it was hard to be heard, it’s now oddly quiet. Even the music seems to have been turned down. I watch as Shay realizes he has no choice but to acknowledge those staring at him. It’s almost painful to watch as he forces himself to face this task. After a moment, he glances up and waves his hand. The crowd responds with a spontaneous burst of applause.
The next ten minutes are filled with Shay dutifully signing autographs and taking photos with fans. It’s only when our food is delivered that the stream of requests stops because Shay repeatedly, but politely asks, for time to eat.
Remarkably, the frenzy dies down, the music is turned back up, and all the other restaurant guests seem to return to their own conversations.
We each dig into the family-style entrées, but there is tension at our table.
Finally, it seems Shay can’t hold his tongue and focuses on me. “You’ve done a good bit to tame this beast, but how about you analyze his need to do this kind of shite?”
“Aye,” Daniel says, “she is not my therapist anymore.”
“Maybe that’s not the way you should be working this,” Shay mumbles.
“What’s that mean?”
“It means, maybe you should be sleeping with someone who will shrink that fucking head of yours on a regular basis.”
“Babe,” Jessica says softly, placing her hand on Shay’s forearm.
The whole thing makes me cringe. I hate that my past professional relationship with Daniel has created this expectation with Shay, that he somehow thinks I’ll continue to work with his brother as if he’s a client.
“Jesus. Just because I got you a little recognition?” Daniel asks with a laugh.
“No, it’s because you still do obnoxious things even when I tell you not to.”
“Why are you making such a big deal out of this?”
I’m wondering about the outsized reaction Shay’s having, too. And then he leans over the table and reveals what’s really behind his objection.
“It’s a big fucking deal because Jess is pregnant. I don’t need you encouraging attention like you did. You know how quickly crowds can get out of control. I just want you to fucking think sometimes, Danny Boy.”
“I’d never allow anyone to hurt her,” Daniel says quickly.
Shay sighs and shakes his head. “You’re so dense sometimes, man. The point is, if I tell you not to stir up this kind of shit, just don’t do it.”
Daniel sits back, his shoulders slumping. “I didn’t think about that, Jessica.”
“It’s fine, really,” she says. “Eat, guys. The ribs are so good.”
We’re all quiet for a few minutes and I debate trying to say something to smooth things out. It’s clear that Daniel and his brother have a complex relationship. We hadn’t spent a lot of time in therapy talking about how they get on now, only about what their childhood was like.
“We haven’t even slept together,” Daniel says.
My eyes go wide but Shay levels a blank stare at his brother.
“I’m just saying, you seem to think me sleeping with my therapist would be some sort of magic solution,” Daniel says. “But it hasn’t happened.”
Shay does a slow blink and tries to keep from smiling. “So, maybe that’s the missing link here, then? You do the deed, and all will be well?”
Daniel laughs, then shrugs. “Could be the very thing.”
I watch the two brothers lock eyes and laugh. Meanwhile, I shrink closer to the other side of the booth, mortified that they are so casually talking and laughing about my sex life.
“This is typical,” Jessica says, with a nod of her head to the brothers who are acting as if their row had never happened.
“It is?” I ask.
She nods while plucking several green beans from her plate with her chopsticks. “I don’t think anything could ever happen that would really make them give up on each other.”
“Well, I suppose that’s . . . nice.”
“It’s better these days, with Danny Boy being clean. It wasn’t a lot of fun when he was using.”
“No, I wouldn’t think so.”
“You didn’t know him then, did you?”
“Eh, no. He had stopped before I met him.”
“You’re pretty brave, you know? I can’t imagine getting into a relationship with someone like him.”
“Someone like him?”
“An addict. Did he ever tell you about that time he broke into Shay’s house while I was there?”
I glance over at Daniel to see if he’s hearing any of this. But he and Shay are occupied with eating and talking.
“I was in the shower when he came in,” Jessica continues. “He was in our closet, looking for things to steal. He was an angry, sweaty, strung out mess.”
I wince at the image. “That must have been a shock.”
“He said some pretty awful things to me. Scared me. Thank god Shay came home and got him away from me. But I’ll never forget it. Because it showed me exactly who he is when he’s using. And it’s terrifying.”
I nod absently. Jessica is recounting her experience to me as a warning. It’s a reminder to me of what I’m getting myself involved with in being with Daniel. I glance over at him and see that he’s drained his large beer and he’s been served a fresh one, along with a flight of sake. My eyes fall to his arms. They’re bare in the short sleeve tee shirt he wears, his tattoos and needle mark scars plainly visible. There will always be the chance that he’ll succumb to his addiction once again. What would I do if he did? I’m not sure I know the answer.
18
Danny Boy
* * *
Amelia and I get back to the house first since I insist on getting an Uber while Shay and Jessica are content to walk. I wanted to spare Amelia’s feet, but I also have other designs.
“Why don’t you pack up your things and move them to my room while I take Roscoe for a quick walk?” I ask, eyeing her hungrily. I’ve had all day to think about having her, all of her, and I’m incredibly eager.
“Em, maybe we wait a little longer?”
“We
wait any longer and your trip will be over, baby. Let’s seize the moment!” I grab her and pull her to me, making her laugh.
“So, when my trip is over, and I go back to Dublin . . . are you staying here?”
“Eh, I dunno. Haven’t sorted it out. I mean, Shay’s here.”
Before her eyes fall from mine, I see disappointment fill them.
“No, I will be coming back,” I say, scrambling to figure out the right thing to say. “I just don’t have a date set. But our thing, it won’t be over with your trip. Not by a long shot.”
I tip her chin up so she’ll meet my eyes. She looks conflicted, but I have the sense it’s not just about my living arrangements.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
She shakes her head and pulls away from my embrace. “Go and take Roscoe out. I’m going to change my clothes and take off these ridiculous shoes.” Her laugh is meant to be self-deprecating, but it just sounds sad.
“Leave the shoes and take off everything else,” I tell her, hoping she’ll laugh with real humor. But she doesn’t. She just waves a little as she heads to her room.
I’m left with the feeling that things took a turn at dinner, but not sure why.
Neither Roscoe nor I are up for a long walk, not after the day we had all over the city. Thankfully, Roscoe handles his business quickly and we go straight back to the house. It’s silent inside. Shay and Jessica must be taking the scenic way home.
I go to Amelia’s room and am about to push my way through the slightly open door when I hear her soft voice. She’s on her mobile. I stay put and strain to catch her side of the conversation.
“I will not,” she says with an indignant laugh. “Because, Mo, I don’t do casual sex.”
Casual sex? How did Amelia and I become casual sex? Is that what she thinks this would be just because I don’t have a plane ticket back to Dublin?
“And what about what I was saying? Don’t you think I’ve lost my mind? It’s not just that he’s a former client. He’s also a recovering heroin addict. What if he slips right back to it?”
Problematic Love (Rogue Series Book 8) Page 9