Problematic Love (Rogue Series Book 8)

by Lara Ward Cosio

  23

  Amelia

  * * *

  Ballet Pour Tous is the name of Jessica’s ballet school. It translates to Ballet for All, and it’s immediately apparent that this philosophy is something they don’t just preach, but practice, as the school appears to be a wonderful place, full of young, ethnically diverse children working hard to improve their skills.

  Jessica has taken me around each studio so that I’ve had a chance to see classes with a variety of students, including tiny girls, no more than two or three years old, learning the basics through whimsical games, serious young men who have designs on joining professional companies, and pre-teen girls who are navigating the way their changing bodies challenge their dance efforts. Everywhere we go, Jessica is greeted warmly by students and staff alike, and she responds with some personal query. Though her early stage of pregnancy has truly given her one of those expectant mother’s glows, it’s clear that the school is just as responsible. It’s obvious this is her happy place.

  And it gives me insight into why Shay left Dublin to move here. He must know this school is essential to her happiness. It’s another reason why I admire their relationship.

  Though Jessica’s office is newly renovated with a recent addition of a large skylight to bring in natural light, the school’s permanent smell of sweat seeps in. I’d guess Jessica is immune to it, especially as she doesn’t think twice about eating our take-away lunch there. Soon enough, I’m engrossed in our conversation and don’t think twice about it either.

  “Did you always want to have your own school?” I ask before taking a bite of my avocado toast. I’ve fallen in love with avocados since I’ve been here and take every opportunity to eat them, knowing I likely won’t be able to afford them once I’m home.

  “Oh, no. This all came about without a lot of planning,” she says with a small laugh. She’s got a green salad covered with an enormous amount of healthy toppings.

  “Well, it certainly looks well organized for not having been planned.”

  “It’s all worked out perfectly. As I’m learning,” she says, and briefly rubs her belly, “unplanned things can be an amazing way of steering you to what you really want.”

  “When will you tell your family about the baby?”

  She smiles. “We have a dinner date with my parents and brothers tonight, as a matter of fact.”

  “I bet they’ll be over the moon for the news.”

  “I think so.”

  “You’re close with your family?”

  “Yes, very. What about you? Do you have any siblings?”

  “I do. A younger sister called Moira. She’s my best friend.”

  “You’ve always been close?”

  “Yes,” I say with too much hesitancy, which makes me feel the need to explain it. “We’ve always been close, but I can’t say there haven’t been some rough patches.”

  Jessica nods sympathetically. “All sisters fight now and again, don’t they?”

  “I’m sure that’s true. But with us, it was a little more complex. See, I was the ‘good’ daughter. The one my parents groomed to make perfect grades and pursue a university degree and career. My sister is successful now as a nurse, but when she was younger, she struggled with the direction of her life. That included both her career and her love life. I always covered for her, not wanting her to feel the judgement of our parents. They had—still have—high standards. I internalized those demands, to the point where I got ulcers worrying over their reaction to not just what I was achieving, but the possibility that they’d find Moira was not living up to their expectations.”

  I have no idea why I shared all of that. It just came out and now I’m embarrassed for oversharing. I’m trying to think of something to say to change the tone when she speaks.

  “Funny, but I understand all about beating yourself up over someone else’s opinion.” She looks down at her salad, poking her fork into the greens but not taking a bite.

  I let the silence stretch out, employing the tactic which usually prompts clients to fill the void.

  “It had to do with ballet, of course,” she says, trying to sound dismissive. But she’s not done sharing her own story with me. “I was the worst perfectionist when I was studying ballet. I’d have a full day of classes, come home at ten o’clock, eat, shower, and say I was going to bed. But instead, I’d stand in the middle of my dark room—I had to have the lights off to make my mother think I was sleeping—and I’d practice every move I could for hours. I probably got on average four or five hours of sleep a night for years. Once I was with San Francisco Ballet, I only felt more pressure.” She shakes her head with a weary smile. “All those years with such an intense drive of perfectionism, and I was still undone by a single person’s opinion.”

  “Someone you worked with?” I ask as gently. I can tell I need to tread lightly by the way her back and shoulders have become stiff and her breathing has gone shallow. She’s agitated, almost reliving the angst of that time.

  “The Director of the SFB.” Shaking her head slightly, she forces herself to take in a deep breath. On the exhale, she shakes out her arms.

  It occurs to me that she’s had practice at both feeling these emotions in as intense a way as she did when it actually happened, and in finding ways to calm herself.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. We all are too hard on ourselves. We certainly don’t need anyone joining the voices in our heads.”

  “The thing is, I walked away from professional ballet after that. But I don’t blame the Director. I mean, I still do want to punch him,” she says with a laugh. “But I know I let myself be talked out of my career. I had other things going on in my life and I just . . . I made the wrong decision. That’s what still bothers me—more so than what he actually told me.”

  “That must be hard to reconcile. Not knowing what could have been of your dance career,” I say.

  When she glances at me, her eyes are shiny with tears. She takes pains to blink them away.

  “It’s one of those things that I think about, of course. But I have to also look at what all has come out of that decision. Because of that, I moved to New York. I waitressed in a restaurant where Shay happened to come in one night. Now, I’m with the love of my life. I’ve got my own school. And I’ve got a baby on the way.” She smiles brightly at me, her eyes clear now.

  “Yes, you have a lot of blessings.”

  “That’s exactly it,” she agrees. “I feel incredibly lucky for how things turned out. So much unplanned, but so much good fortune anyway.”

  “That’s fantastic.” We smile at each other and I feel like we’ve made a connection. After a few minutes of eating, I ask casually, “Do you think that with the baby coming, Shay will reconnect with his parents?”

  She stops short from taking a bite of salad and looks at me dubiously. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Really? I only ask because, in my experience, a grandchild is the perfect thing to draw family closer. It certainly happened when Moira had her son, Max. Our parents became these other people we barely recognized,” I say with a laugh. “You know, they say there are two kinds of grandparents: couch or carpet. As in the kind that will sit properly on the couch and admire the child from a safe distance or the kind that will get down on the carpet and right into the mix of things. We were shocked to find that our parents were carpet grandparents. It loosened them up in a way we never imagined. So, I just thought maybe Shay’s parents—”

  “Didn’t Danny Boy tell you about the ways their parents abused them?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Shay doesn’t like to call it abuse, but it was in my mind. It was severe neglect, and that’s the same thing as abuse. Those boys were left to fend for themselves at a heartbreaking age. I don’t think Danny Boy has even seen them since he left when he was eighteen or something. Shay still checks in with them maybe once a year, but only out of duty. There’s no love there.” She takes a deep breath and drops the fork she had held
frozen in mid-air. “It gets me even more upset to think of how he grew up now that I’m pregnant, you know?”

  “Of course, it does.”

  “Hasn’t Danny Boy talked about this stuff in your . . . sessions?”

  I can’t divulge what he told me in our sessions, of course, so I think of how best to answer her. “I knew their parents were terribly deficient, yes. But I’ve seen some families learn to come to a better place. That is if both sides are willing to do the work. I guess I’m always looking for ways to heal and reconnect and thought a grandchild could be the motivator here.” I can’t tell her that my other motivator is the lingering thoughts I’ve had of Felicity and her own father.

  She watches me for a moment. “I haven’t even met them,” she says quietly. “At first, I was hurt that Shay was so deliberate in keeping that from happening. But then I learned how ashamed he is of them. How hurt he still is by them. And since then, I haven’t had any desire to meet them. I can’t imagine the baby will change that. For either of us.”

  She’s resolute and I have no desire to infringe upon her decision. “It’s especially lovely that Shay has moved here where you have family, isn’t it?”

  Her body language changes. Whereas before she’d been tense and guarded, now she relaxes and sits back in her chair. She smiles.

  “Yes, it’s perfect this way. Especially with them all going on tour soon.”

  “Oh?” I can’t keep the surprise out of my voice. I hadn’t given much thought to the fact that Rogue would be touring. That will mean Daniel goes too. It’s an odd, sinking feeling I have at this realization. My reaction is telling. It says I’ve already invested a whole lot in him.

  “Mid-January is when they head out. But, of course, Shay will be back in Dublin for part of December and again right after New Year’s for rehearsals.”

  “I see.”

  I look away, trying to understand the conflicting feelings I have. I feel selfish, like I want all of Daniel’s time. But I also want him to keep pursuing his independence and what he has described as his career with the lighting work on tour.

  “You’ll get used to it,” she says.

  Looking back at her, I try to focus.

  “To the absences,” she clarifies. “Not that you’ll like it. But you’ll get used to it.”

  I nod. “I suppose so.”

  24

  Danny Boy

  * * *

  For Amelia’s last night in San Francisco, Jessica suggests we all work together to make dinner at the house. Shay and I do the guy thing, standing out in the back garden while drinking beer and grilling steaks and veggies while the ladies prepare the other part of the meal.

  I couldn’t arrange a flight home with Roscoe for another two days, and I’m feeling a bit anxious about Amelia’s impending departure. In this short time together, I’ve come to adore spending every minute with her. I love going to bed together, waking up together, and hearing her laugh throughout the day.

  “Mind your meat there,” Shay says.

  I’ve got tongs at the ready but have been spacing out. The steaks need to be flipped.

  I grab my crotch. “My meat is just fine, thanks.”

  “You’re hilarious,” he replies flatly.

  I grin and look at Roscoe. “See, boy, he thinks I’m funny.”

  “Funny looking. If I had a head like yours I’d bleedin’ bury it.”

  “You do know the fact that we’re related means we actually look alike, kid?”

  “To my eternal shame, Danny Boy. To my eternal shame.”

  “Fuck off,” I tell him with a laugh.

  I turn the steaks and adjust the corn cobs, green onions, and spears of zucchini. Jessica eats ridiculously healthy. I’ll miss it.

  Once we’ve finished with the grilling, we meet the ladies back inside and soon we’re all seated at the table. Jessica’s lit candles, though the late summer sun is just starting to set. It feels very domestic. And the fact that I don’t recoil from that is amusing to me.

  “Never thought I’d be here,” I say, spilling my thoughts once more.

  “Where would that be, then?” Shay asks.

  “Just so . . . settled.”

  “That’s what finding a real balance will do,” Shay tells me.

  “Well, whatever it is, I’m glad for it.”

  “Even if it is short-lived,” Amelia says.

  We all turn our eyes to her. “What’s that mean?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “Just that you’ll soon be on the road with the band, right? And then, there goes that balance.”

  She and I haven’t talked that far into the future and I’m surprised to hear that she’s bothered by the idea of me touring with the lads.

  “Eh, well, I suppose so,” I say. “Or really, it’ll just be a different kind of balance. I got the tour life sorted, haven’t I, Shay?”

  “When you’re not crashing into me and breaking my bones, yeah, you do.”

  “So fucking funny.”

  Shay raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying antagonizing me.

  “You know, it’s not actually a helpful thing to throw my fuckups in my face. Right, Amelia?”

  “Probably not,” she says quietly.

  “Is that your professional opinion?” Shay asks.

  Jessica touches his forearm, but it doesn’t dispel the sudden tension among us. A beat passes before she tries another tactic.

  “I talked to Felicity today,” she said. “She and the babies are doing well. Conor, too.”

  “Talking of Conor,” I say, eager to help her change the subject, “how about I get him to pay the debt he owes you when I’m back home? I’ll video record it for ya. Maybe even post it on social media.”

  “No, you won’t.” Shay’s voice is firm.

  “What debt?” Jessica asks.

  “My kid brother made Conor a bet that I’d stay out of trouble for two years. And I’ve done just that.”

  “Congratulations,” Jessica says, amused. She looks at Shay. “What’s the payout?”

  “It’s, eh, it’s just something between us guys, babe,” he tells her.

  Jessica nods, clearly ready to back off. But that’s not my style. And no one can ever force me to keep quiet.

  “Mr. Perfect himself has to wash Shay’s car in a—wait for it—bikini!” I’m beside myself laughing. I catch Amelia’s eye and she’s fighting off a smile. Jessica is shaking her head with a grin. But Shay is furious in that quiet, blank way of his.

  “You idiot,” he says. “I didn’t want this shared. How many times do I have to tell you not to blab my fucking business?”

  “It’s just too funny not to, man. What have you got against sharing it with Amelia? She’s game for a laugh. Let her in on it.”

  Shay watches me with hard eyes for a moment. “Let’s all share then,” he says. Turning his gaze to Amelia, he says, “What’s this I hear about bad blood between you and Felicity?”

  Before Amelia can respond, Jessica says, “What? She didn’t say anything to me when I mentioned Amelia was here with Danny Boy.”

  “I’d guess that’s because they’re not on speaking terms,” Shay says.

  “We don’t need to go into this, Shay,” I say. I know this issue will only upset Amelia. She has a hard enough time talking about it with me, I can’t imagine she’d be happy to share it with my brother.

  But she surprises me by saying, “It’s okay.” She takes a deep breath before continuing. “I assume you all have talked. Well, all you lads. I know how close you are. So, you know that I know Felicity and Conor. And that she and I had a . . . falling out.”

  Shay inclines his head slightly.

  “And this is why you don’t trust me.”

  “He’s just a private guy,” I tell Amelia. “And I’ve told you before how ridiculously protective he is of the band and—”

  “Let’s just say I tend to be cautious,” Shay says.

  “I don’t blame you for that,” Amelia replies.

/>   “Jesus, man, give her a break. Can’t you trust me with this? She’s been wrecked by this thing with Felicity. I don’t know the particulars and I’d guess you don’t either. It’s not up to us to judge anyway. Let them figure it out. Or not. It’s all separate from us, anyway.”

  I feel Amelia’s hand on my thigh, a gentle squeeze as thanks, but I don’t take my eyes off Shay. I need him to let this go. I need him to let me fucking have my happiness with Amelia.

  In the end, it isn’t my words that get through to Shay, but whatever it is that Jessica leans into him and whispers in his ear. I watch as his body slowly relaxes, his eyes soften.

  “Eh,” he says, “I don’t mean to ruin your last night, Amelia. The fact is, I am protective over my brother. And I’m protective over my friends. But I apologize if I took it too far.”

  “It’s fine,” Amelia says. “I understand.”

  I’m relieved that Shay has apologized, and Amelia has seen fit to accept it. But it won’t really feel okay again until I know that he and I are back on our usual terms.

  “You know what’s really behind all this?” I ask.

  Shay takes in a deep breath and winces in anticipation of what I’ll say next. It’s a look I know well, one that’s been born out of both his epic patience and understanding of who I am. That look is all I need to tell me we’re good. Shay and I will always be good. I should remember that much more quickly next time I doubt it. The fact that we’ve made it this far in life and he’s never given up on me says everything. Still, I persist with what I’d planned to say.

  “It’s your separation anxiety.”

  “Separation anxiety?”

  “I mean, with me going home to Dublin, you’ll be left on your own. No me around to have coffee with in the morning. No me around for good craic over a beer at night. No me to force a smile out of you other than what you save up for Jessica after her long day. Without me, you’re just going to putter around this big house with no company at all.”