“Fuck me, he didn’t.”
We all burst into laughter and soon Max looks up from his videos to join in, making us all laugh all the harder.
“I swear it’s the truth.”
Moira is laughing so hard now that she has tears in her eyes. “Tell them what you did.”
“Well, I didn’t have the heart to tell this guy, who must have been close to ninety, that it had to be that his old bollocks were so saggy that they were the cause of them bobbing in the toilet water, so I—” He stops both because he can’t control his own laughter and because he can’t be heard above all of our own laughing. “So, what I did,” he says, haltingly, still trying to catch his breath, “is I sent one of our youngest rookies over to check things at his place and write up a phony report. There he is, with his notepad, taking down notes on theories the guy had on which skanger down the road is after him with this elaborate plan to sneak in and fill up his toilet bowl.”
“How could the Garda keep a straight face?” Daniel asks.
“He said he barely held it together, but we had threatened his very life if he didn’t do it to save the old man’s pride.”
“But, writing up a report wouldn’t change anything for him and his massive bollocks.” Daniel looks at me. “Let’s face it, the guy must be hung like a bloody horse for them to be stretching down for a dip every time he’s on the crapper.”
“Daniel,” I say and nod toward Max.
We all look at my nephew. But he’s busy ignoring us as he’s back to watching his videos.
“When he goes to examine the toilet,” Nolan says, “he works it to lower the water supply so the bowl doesn’t fill up quite so high.”
“Problem solved?” Daniel asks eagerly.
Nolan wipes at his eyes. “Yes, in fact, the old fella was so pleased that our detective work ‘scared off’ the kids pranking him that he rang to thank us.”
“What a public service that is,” Daniel says. The look in his eyes is a mixture of admiration and amusement.
“Oh, tell them about that more recent thing,” Moira says.
“Which one, babe?”
“You know, the Spiderman one.”
Without another word, I instinctively know what this story will reveal and I’m desperate to stop it.
“Can I help with dessert?” I ask.
The sudden interruption quiets the table. Moira and Nolan look down at their nearly full plates of pasta. Daniel has almost licked his clean already. It’s his habit to eat quickly, almost defensively, as if he doesn’t know when the next meal will come around. I’ve never commented on it to him as I’m positive it’s something he developed as a child when food really was scarce.
“Oh, not yet,” Moira says. “You’ve got to hear this one.”
“This didn’t happen on my watch,” Nolan explains. “I heard about it the next day, but it’s a classic. Seems this fella started doing some sort of drunken serenade outside his girl’s window in the middle of the night. Seems romantic, right?”
I’ve put my hand on Daniel’s knee, both to still his bouncing leg and to let him know I don’t want him to confess that he’s the subject of this story.
“Dead romantic,” Daniel says, oblivious. “Sounds like something Gavin would do.”
I realize he doesn’t recognize himself in this because Nolan has erroneously pegged the drunk fella as having sung from the street as some sort of grand gesture.
“Yeah, well, apparently his girl didn’t appreciate it because she wouldn’t come down from the third floor. And wouldn’t let him into the building either. So, what does this bloke do?”
“Climbs up the water drain pipe,” Daniel says, and I close my eyes.
“How did you know that?” Moira asks.
There’s an awkward moment of silence before Daniel replies, “You called him Spiderman before, right? That’s what Spidey would do, amn’t I right, Max?”
Max reluctantly looks away from his videos. “Spidey?” he asks.
“That’s right, boyo,” Daniel says.
“Anyway,” Nolan continues, “this guy does just what you said, Dan. He—”
“It’s Daniel.”
“Sorry?” Nolan asks, thrown by the correction.
“I don’t go by ‘Dan.’ It’s either Daniel or Danny Boy. Nothing else.”
“It’s an innocent mistake,” I say and squeeze Daniel’s knee. I can feel that all the humor has gone out of him now, his leg is tense.
“Danny Boy?” Moira asks with a smirk.
“A childhood nickname,” I explain, “that stuck, is all.”
“Well, not if you have anything to say about it, right?” Daniel asks, an edge in his voice.
Moira must see the shift between us because she urges Nolan to finish the story.
“I, eh,” he starts, his enthusiasm faltering along with the flow of his story. “Well, yeah, this guy starts climbing the wall. Meanwhile, the Garda have been called out. They got there just after he fell. Lucky bastard didn’t hurt himself too badly.”
“I heard from my mates at hospital that he came in with a broken ankle,” Moira volunteers. But as she’s saying this, her eyes fall to Daniel, who came into her home limping because of an ankle injury.
“The fella got out of being arrested,” Nolan says, seemingly unaware of his wife’s new understanding, “because his psychiatrist claimed he was under care.”
Again, the facts are slightly off—I’m a psychologist, not a psychiatrist—but not enough to keep Moira from confirming that the star of their story is sitting at the table. She looks mortified and silently apologizes to me with her eyes. I shake it off and pull my hand away from Daniel’s leg.
“What?” Nolan asks, looking from Moira to me and then to Daniel, clueless.
Either he’s playing dumb or he really hasn’t connected the dots. What I know for sure is that he is a good man with no ill-intent. He would never have told this story if he had any inkling that it had been about Daniel.
“Dessert, yes?” I say, pushing my chair out.
Neither Moira nor Nolan has made any more headway on their pasta, but they don’t argue with me forcing the issue.
“Yes, let’s just go get it,” Moira says.
She and I clear the dishes from the table while Daniel sits in stony silence. He’s got his arms crossed against his chest and is staring at the table while Nolan suddenly has an intense interest in Max’s videos.
I sigh inwardly at the mess I’ve made of yet another dinner. Maybe Daniel and I are simply not a couple fit for company.
33
Amelia
* * *
“Why didn’t you tell me your Daniel was Spiderman?” Moira whispers urgently when we’re in the kitchen. Her eyes are wide, full of a mixture of amusement and concern.
“Mo, he’s going to kill me. I never told him I’d told the Garda I was his therapist. He’d have hated knowing I defined us that way, even if it was only to try to keep him from being arrested.”
“I’d think he should be groveling at your feet over that one,” she says with a laugh. “And here he is at dinner acting so reserved. I wish he had brought this other wild persona of his.”
I shake my head and briefly hold my head in my hands. “No, you don’t. He was pissed drunk and out of control. You definitely don’t want that version of him.”
“That’s why the two of you aren’t drinking tonight?”
Sighing, I say, “Yes. I had him stop after that.”
“Did he do it for you or because he knew he should?”
I hesitate. “For me.”
“Is he an alcoholic?”
“He says no, but he’s an addict. He shouldn’t be doing any substances.”
Moira watches me for a minute. “The sex must be really good.”
“What?” I ask with a laugh.
“I mean, why else would you get yourself into this mess? You, the straight-laced good girl is with this kind of bad boy?”
“This
isn’t helpful.”
“Tell me he has tattoos. He must, right?”
She’s grinning, a little tipsy, and enjoying herself. I’d guess part of what she’s taking pleasure in is the fact that our roles have reversed. She used to be the one making dubious decisions where a man was concerned while I was the steady, boring one.
“And what about piercings?” she continues. “I bet he’s got his willy pierced! Tell me it’s magic for you in bed!”
“Stop that! Let’s go back to the fact that when I go out there again, he’s going to be none too happy with me.”
“Oh, Ame. Let him stew over it. He’s a grown man. Older than you by the looks of it. What is he, forty or so?”
“Almost. Thirty-nine.”
“See, he’s six years your senior. Let him sort out the fact that you were only protecting him.”
“But that’s not how it works with Daniel,” I say. “He needs me to lead him to these kinds of conclusions.”
She eyes me skeptically. “Does he really?”
“Well—”
“I mean, I could see that being the case when you were doing therapy together. But, do you feel like you still have the same role now?”
“I, eh—”
“I’m just saying, keep an eye on that. No man wants to be analyzed by the woman he’s sleeping with.”
“Yes, I know that. We’re figuring things out. It’s a complicated situation, you know.”
“All I know is that I’ve never seen you happier,” she says, and I smile. “So, for sure it’s the sex.”
“Where is the dessert?”
“That’s not a denial!” She laughs and after a moment I laugh with her.
Though I’m wary of what Daniel’s attitude will be, he surprises me by how nonchalant he is. The earlier awkward moment at the table has gone. He greets me with a smile, and we have a pleasant time enjoying coffee and cheesecake.
When Moira and Nolan excuse themselves to get Max to bed, I take the opportunity to address matters directly.
“Love,” I start, hoping to soften him up, “are you all right?”
“Grand. Your sister and her family are lovely, aren’t they?
I smile. “I’m so glad you think so.” Pausing, I try to summon the will to push on. “So, about that story earlier and what Nolan said about—”
“I don’t want to get into it.”
“Oh. I, em, I just want you to know why I told the Garda—”
“It’s fine. Really. I mean, it was a mind-fuck for a minute, but I realize you were only helping me stay out of trouble. I get it.”
I’m stunned silent. I was so sure that he’d need me to convince him that my intentions were pure.
“I mean, I did have a moment where I wanted nothing more than to grab that bottle there,” he says, and gestures to the open bottle of red wine that is still three-quarters full, “and down it. I wanted that numbness. I was ready to finish off Moira’s glass while I was at it.”
“Oh,” I say softly, unsure of how else I should respond.
“All because the thought that you were playing some game with me was ramping up again. It’s a thought that I knew wasn’t reality. But it felt so real. I was this close to giving in to it. You know why?”
All I can do is slowly shake my head.
“Because I know how fucking good it feels to go there. That numbness is my happy place. It’s what I ran to for so much of my life.”
Swallowing hard, I ask, “So, why didn’t you give in?”
“Because.” He takes a deep breath and glances at the wine bottle before shaking his head. “Because I’m not going to give up on everything I’ve got, and that includes you. You’re worth more to me than anything else.”
I’m surprised by the depth of feeling in his voice and words. Tears sting my eyes before I blink them back.
“Oh, Daniel,” I say.
He leans into me, burying his face into my neck the way he likes to do. I wrap my arm around him in return and we stay like that until my sister finds us like this.
“Shall I come back later?” Moira asks with a laugh.
“Sorry about that,” I say, pulling away.
Daniel leans over once more, his lips grazing my ear. Both his touch and his words send a jolt of electricity through me. “She’s lucky she didn’t find us with my hand up your skirt because I’m desperate to make you come.”
I feel an inconvenient rush of tingling warmth between my legs, even though I know he’s resorted to this sexual talk as a way to feel like he’s got some control. The confessions he made to me about how much he wanted to, not just have a drink, but disappear into it, along with his feelings for me, likely left him feeling too vulnerable. No matter his motivation, the suggestive dirty talk has me anticipating a very good night later.
Clearing my throat, I ask, “Where’s Nolan?”
Moira retakes her seat across from us. “You know he usually falls asleep when we’re getting Max down. He’ll have himself a nice little nap and come out in a few minutes.”
“That Max is a cute kid,” Daniel says.
“Isn’t he?” Moira beams. “We’re hoping to give him a brother or sister soon enough.”
“That’s grand.” He smiles and shakes his head in wonder. “Seems I’m truly surrounded by kids.”
“Do you have any of your own?” Moira asks.
“Mo,” I say through clenched teeth.
“What?” She’s put on her best innocent face, making Daniel laugh.
“No, I don’t. Which, is a very good thing. I’m not the father-type.”
My heart drops. It’s ridiculous to feel disappointed by this declaration. Daniel and I have been together for such a short time and have already had so many challenges. There’s no reason for me to even be considering whether Daniel would want to be a father.
And yet, I can’t help the profound feeling of sadness that washes over me.
“But you’re so good with kids,” Moira says. “Max took right to you.”
“I love other people’s kids, don’t get me wrong. I just have no desire at all to have one of my own.”
Moira glances at me with so much sympathy that I’m sure Daniel must see it.
“Well,” she says with forced brightness, “the good thing about you blokes is that you have all the time in the world to change your mind about something like that.”
His brow creases in confusion as he looks from her to me and back again. Clearly, he hadn’t taken her look to me to mean anything special. It’s another case of what I told her in the kitchen: I need to point him in the right direction to make such conclusions.
“Sorry about that,” Nolan says, as he joins us.
He’s unaware to the awkward moment he’s just stepped into. And that’s a good thing. Taking a deep breath, I shake off all thoughts of babies and vow to simply live in the moment.
34
Danny Boy
* * *
My life of leisure, as it were, flies by over the next few weeks and soon I’m in deep with my lighting crew buddies, attending planning meetings and learning new techniques. There are plans to stage a sort of practice trial in the warehouse the band likes to use for rehearsals where we will time the lighting to each of the songs likely to be played on the tour.
Amelia is just as busy as I am, though not with actual work. She’s determined to work through the issues she ran up against when she thought she failed Felicity. Though I still don’t see the big deal in all that, I do the “good boyfriend” thing and support her efforts, which include her seeing a therapist of her own. She also spends time with some of her old professors at Trinity, auditing classes and bending their ear on all manner of things related to whether she should re-dedicate herself to being a therapist.
In between all that, we’re good.
Like, shockingly good.
We get on really well, even as we introduce each other to our passions. Mine is long walks and hiking. I take her to the Wicklow Way and
we wander for hours, Roscoe right beside us. Hers is jazz music. She takes me to a small club to see a live band and it’s great fun.
The sex continues to be fantastic, we amuse each other otherwise, and it all feels very easy. All without any kind of alcohol in the mix to agitate things. It’s the polar opposite of what it was like with Jules.
That difference is all the more striking when we run into Jules on the street outside of Amelia’s favorite donut shop one lazy Saturday afternoon. We’d just had our fill and were stepping out, me with my arm around Amelia’s shoulders to brace against the December chill, when I recognize Jules coming toward us on the sidewalk.
From our short distance, I think she looks not much different from when I’d seen her last. I always thought she was pretty. That hasn’t changed, though there’s a rosy glow to her cheeks I don’t remember. For a moment, she doesn’t focus on me, and I think we might just pass right by each other without a word spoken. That would be preferable.
Of course, with this being Jules, it couldn’t possibly be that easy.
It’s her dog, Molly, who alerts her to me and Roscoe being in the vicinity. Roscoe, the traitor, trots ahead and he does his “sniffing of bits” thing with Molly.
Though I should prep Amelia about the encounter we now have no choice but to have, my mind is elsewhere and I’m silent. When I pull my arm away from her, she doesn’t seem to register anything is amiss. I’m lost in thoughts of all the ways Jules tried to drag me down, all the ways she liked to fuck with me. Of how, in the end, she was that piece of me I had to reject in order to be free of my old self-destructive ways. But, looking at her again, I can still feel a seductive pull toward that old version. Like I told Amelia at her sister’s house, that numb darkness is still my happy place.
“Danny fucking Boy, as I live and breathe,” Jules says with a sardonic smile.
And that’s when I see that though she may sound like the same old Jules, she’s definitely changed. She’s herself and then some, holding her swollen belly with one hand and her dog’s lead with the other.
Problematic Love (Rogue Series Book 8) Page 17