Seeds of Tyrone Box Set

by Debbie McGowan

  “Michael?”

  “I didn’t know where else to go. Can I…would you…” Michael tried to push the words out, but he was breathless, and he looked terrified.

  “Come on in, son.” Seamus opened the door and put his hand on Michael’s back to steer the rain-soaked young man into the hall. He beckoned him through to the lounge and quickly returned to his laptop. “I’ve got to go, Chance. I’ll catch up with you this evening. Is that all right?”

  “Sure. You take care now.”

  “You too.” Seamus shut the laptop and turned back to Michael. “What’s going on?”

  “I’ve been out all night.”

  “I can see that. Haven’t you got a coat?”

  Michael sighed heavily. “It’s at home. I…I told my mum.”

  “Told her what?”

  “That I’m gay.”

  “And she kicked you out?”

  “No. She didn’t, but my stepdad did.”

  “Ah, shite.”

  “She’ll talk him round though. It’ll be OK. But I was cold, and I saw your light on, so…” Michael dropped his chin to his chest, looking dreadfully guilty.

  “Hey, you did the right thing, Mike,” Seamus assured him. “So you’ll be wanting the couch, then. I’ll fetch you another blanket.” Seamus left the room and went upstairs to get one.

  “Sorry,” Michael called after him.

  “Don’t you worry about it.” Seamus found a spare quilt and a towel and returned downstairs. “Here you are,” he said, handing the towel to Michael and depositing the quilt on the couch. “I should’ve brought you some clothes, now I think on. They’ll be far too big, mind, but better than catching pneumonia.”

  “These are fine, Seamus. I don’t want to put you out any more than I have.”

  “Oh, I was finished anyway. I was about to try heading back to bed, so I was. So you stop your worrying, young Michael, all right?”

  “OK.” Michael gave a feeble smile.

  “Grand. I’ll get that change of clothes.” Seamus set off again.

  He was halfway up the stairs when Michael said, “By the way. Your boyfriend’s hot.”

  Seamus stopped dead, one foot up, one down, his heart tearing off faster than Tess going hell for leather up that field. But his reaction wasn’t because Michael had caught him out. No. It was the shove that finally made the penny drop. And suddenly Seamus was back to grinning like an eejit.

  “Aye,” he said. “He is too.”

  Chapter Sixteen:

  Two-Step

  “You want to go dancing?” Chancey asked, standing in Dee’s doorway. She’d been moping around her room for two days, and he wasn’t sure she’d showered in all that time. “I’ll spin you around the dance floor like the old days.”

  Dee made a little noise—sort of like a grunt—that let him know she had no interest in being spun whatsoever.

  “Do you still have your bandana skirt and those boots?” Chancey tried again. “There’ll probably be some boys there.” But then his little girl had a boyfriend, didn’t she? Chancey forced composure and managed something akin to ‘natural’ as he said, “We could invite Nate to go with us. Does he dance?”

  Her grunt was slightly less disinterested, but she didn’t move.

  “Darlin’, you can’t stay in here forever. I’ve already let you skip school and miss practice. You know what I had to endure with Charlene Stills to get you out of that?”

  Dee’s skinny back rose and fell with one heavy breath.

  “You don’t want your mother to get married?” he guessed, knowing that wasn’t it—or not all of it, at least. Like Chancey, Dee had long ago made her peace with her mother being who she was. Kaylee was a wanderer. Where Chancey dreamed of seeing the country on horseback, Kaylee wanted to see it aboard a luxury tour bus. She’d loved the two of them, she really had, and he didn’t think Dee doubted that, but Kaylee wanted to be more than a wife and a mother. She wanted to be more than a Clearwater.

  “Don’t care,” Dee muttered heavily.

  Part of him wanted to try and make it better with a load of bullshit promises. Well, your momma’ll probably want you to be her maid of honour… Maybe you could do something special for the wedding… Who knows, you might really like your stepfather… But Dee was too smart for it, and he wasn’t going to lie to her. Knowing Kaylee, there probably wouldn’t even be a wedding. For all Chancey knew, she’d made it up for the tabloids.

  “You pissed about the reporter?”

  For a long time, Dee lay facing the wall. Then slowly she rolled over to face him, and the orange glow of sunset from her window bathed her. Chancey had expected the same blotchy red face and puffy eyes she’d been sporting for the last two days; instead, Dee looked pale, but resolute.

  “I fucking hate her.”

  Chancey took a deep breath. He should say something about the cursing. Not under his roof. Except right then, he thought he might just fucking hate Kaylee too.

  He walked across Dee’s unkempt room, nudged a notebook out of the way with his foot to reach her bed, and sat down. The mattress gave just a bit under his weight. “I ever tell you about your momma when you were in the hospital?”

  She watched him intently, too intelligent to fall for any tricks. Except this wasn’t a trick, just something he’d been thinking about. A different time? Maybe.

  “Kaylee’d just had you, and you were in your little rolly crib by her hospital bed, and you let out this one long wah! And she struggled out of that bed to get to you. When she reached you, do you know what you did then?”

  “What?” Dee asked, her eyes growing wider.

  “Nothin’. Went right back to sleep. All you made was that one cry. Just testin’ your momma out, I think, to see if she’d come runnin’. And she did.”

  “Yeah, well, not anymore,” Dee said, a fat tear welling and breaking. It rolled over the ridge of her nose. “I wish I meant somethin’ to her, Daddy.”

  “You do. She’s just…”

  “Kaylee Starr.”

  “Yep.”

  <<< >>>

  “Well, you’re smelling a lot better,” Chancey said, as they pulled up outside the C&P Dance Hall. Neon lights flashed, warm and welcoming. There was a line of cars already parked, and they had to find a space around back. The place was hopping.

  “Daddy,” Dee groaned.

  “What?” he teased. “I’m not doing aerials with you if you smell like you’ve been lying in bed for two days.”

  She snorted. “Who says I’m dancin’ with you?”

  “You’re not going to make me two-step by myself in the corner, are you, little girl?”

  Climbing out of Layla, they walked towards the door; the gravel crunched under their boots. The music carried out into the night, even through the closed doors of the hall. Once the pair stepped inside, they were washed in rich, colourful sound. Carrie Underwood was singing about her cheating boyfriend, and Dee squealed, running on ahead. Carrie Underwood was one of the only current country singers that Chancey and Dee could agree on. Dee couldn’t stand what she called his boring oldies—that would be the eighties and nineties of country, old for her, he supposed—and he had no time for the tasteless modern crap playing on the radio. And God help Chancey, but Dee had followed Taylor Swift as she transitioned from country to pop.

  As Chancey followed his daughter into C&P, a pretty girl tipped her rhinestone-studded hat at him and winked. He smiled back at her and tried not to cringe at the fact that he could see the pockets hanging out of the bottom of her cut-off jeans. Christ, she couldn’t have been more than eighteen—definitely not twenty-one—she was sipping a soda and had one of the ribbons tied around her wrist that told the bartender she was underage. Dee had gone right to the bouncer who stood between the dance floor and the bar. She knew what to do because she’d been coming to C&P since she was a kid. Holding out her wrist, she said, “Had to throw anyone out?”

  “Not yet. You plannin’ on makin’ trouble?”


  “Maybe!”

  Chancey breathed a private sigh of relief at his daughter’s smile. He knew they had a long way to go, knew Kaylee would be back to make more of a mess of things, but for the moment Dee seemed better.

  She looked down at the knot he’d tied. “You do ’em up tight, don’t you?”

  “Don’t want you sneakin’ up to the bar.”

  “But if you’re guardin’ it, then how would I sneak?”

  The big man laughed and said, “Oh, kid, you’ve got no idea the kind of shit people pull.”

  “OK, move it,” Chancey teased, shooing Dee aside. “Dad wants a beer.”

  The bouncer looked Chancey over, nodded, and stepped back to let him through.

  As the bartender hooked him up with a Budweiser, the recorded music died away. That evening’s live band had finished setting up on stage and was almost ready to perform. Chancey watched Dee moving through the people who were hanging out on the dance floor. She eyed the couples, probably trying to decide if she wanted to steal someone’s partner for a dance. This was something she’d been doing since she was a little girl. It always went the same way:

  Can I cut in?

  Aw, of course, sweetie! How cute!

  Fifteen seconds later… Holy shit, this girl can dance!

  “Evenin’, folks. How’re y’all doin’ tonight?” The lead singer was dressed in a black silk shirt, rolled to the elbows, and light-coloured jeans. His boots were newly polished, and his black cowboy hat was stiff and clean. “We’re Thunder Rollin’, and we’re gonna be coverin’ all the Garth favourites. So jus’ call ’em out and play.”

  A hoot came from the crowd, and hit after hit came flying at the band. Callin’ Baton Rouge! Ain’t Goin’ Down! Friends in Low Places! The River! The Thunder Rolls! Standing Outside the Fire!

  Dee had made her way to the front, right near the stage, and with both arms raised, she cried, “Ireland!”

  The lead singer’s grin went from ten watts to 100 in an instant. He leaned into the microphone. “No one, ever, ever, ever, asks for Ireland, and it’s one of my favourites.”

  Dee turned back to the dance floor, grinning triumphantly, and who could fault her? She was damn cute in her skirt made out of bandanas and white t-shirt that said ‘Rodeo Queen’. As the band began to play, she asked a teenager to dance with her, and he agreed.

  Chancey tilted the beer to his lips and found he was sucking on air. When the hell had he finished his drink? His old man had been a drinker, and so he tried to at least taste the liquid going down. He motioned for another.

  Ireland. Jesus. Really?

  He’d kept the thoughts at bay all night by focusing on Dee.

  Seamus is coming back to America to visit… Nope, can’t think about that, Dee is depressed.

  There was a dripping wet young man at Seamus’s house at three a.m… No, no, no, keep an eye on Dee’s dancing.

  But now a goddamn Garth Brooks cover band was doing Ireland, and the thoughts were coming at him from every which direction, tangling, conflating, and leaving his brain a mess. He yanked the new beer from the bar and took a hard swig.

  Just like that, huh, Shay? He was going to swing back over to the good ol’ U.S. of A. and he wanted a meet up? And what did that mean exactly? Find somewhere halfway, rent a hotel room and fuck?

  Chancey frowned. What else would it mean?

  Yeah, but the idiot couldn’t expect Chancey to leave Dee by herself while he traipsed halfway across the country for a hook up. And who said he wanted to see Seamus anyway? Besides the fact that he desperately wanted to see, feel, and have Shay?

  You don’t get to pick up and leave without a goodbye and then come back and expect me to drop everything and come to you, Seamus…

  And who the fuck was that…kid…over at Seamus’s house at the ass crack of dawn? Had Seamus called Chancey back any time in the last few days to explain that one? Nope. Not at all. Of course not. Chancey took another long swig off his drink. He was feeling damn fine now.

  Slipping past the bouncer, drink still in hand, Chancey muttered, “Came to dance. Sure as hell, going to dance.” He stopped for a moment, eyed the beast of a bouncer and said, “Wanna dance?”

  The guy’s eyebrow rose, and Chancey laughed. “No?”

  The girl with her pockets hanging out was still flirting with people near the door, but Chancey wasn’t so drunk that he’d have gone near her. He turned and almost ran headlong into Tina.

  They laughed as they recognised each other.

  “Just the person I was lookin’ for!” Chancey said brightly. The song shifted as someone repeated their request for Ain’t Goin’ Down.

  “Is that so?” She sounded as sceptical as ever.

  He put out his hand. “Lookin’ for someone to dance with. Interested in taking a spin around the dance floor with a ruggedly handsome cowboy?”

  Tina’s lips twitched. “I suppose I could be talked into it.”

  Boss Tina, it turned out, was quite an accomplished dancer, and any thought that he might keep to the basics with her—because she was a woman in her early fifties—quickly went out of his head when she said sternly, “You do know country swing, don’t you?”

  “A bit.”

  He and Kaylee used to dance a lot when they were still married, and the last time he’d done aerials, waterfalls, flips, and all that other fanciness that involved not dropping his partner on their face, the partner in question had been his light-as-a-feather daughter.

  “If you want to make this worth my time, Chancey, I expect slide and dip, and I might even flip.”

  “In your skirt.”

  “The night is young.”

  He laughed, and she laughed too.

  Song after song they danced, Tina making him work for it. Sweat poured off his forehead by the end. But his head was free of Seamus…mostly. He spun Tina forward until their arms were extended, and then he reeled her back in so that her back was against his shoulder. She looked up at him and said, “All right, I agree. Ruggedly handsome.”

  “You think so?”

  “Any man who rides like you—” she broke from the hold so that they faced each other “—and dances like you, pushes 100 degrees, in my opinion.”

  “Thanks, Tina,” he said. He’d never have said it, but if he had to dance another minute, he was going to collapse.

  “Now, if you’re a good kisser, you’ll be the whole package.”

  He’d thought she was joking, and so he started to laugh again, but Tina moved quickly, wrapped her arms around him, and pulled him into a huge smooch of a kiss. It didn’t last long. One, because he pulled back from her the second he realised what had happened, and two, because right next to him, a small, nuclear weapon stamped her little booted foot and then exploded.

  “Goddamnit, Daddy!” Dee cried. Her face was bright crimson, and her bottom lip trembled.

  Chancey let his head fall back, and he stared at the strings of twinkle lights along the ceiling as she went storming out of C&P, Tina’s arms still wrapped around his shoulders.

  “Well, she can’t take a joke, can she?”

  “Could you let go of me, Tina?” he asked. God damn, what a disaster. And you know what? He was pretty sure a good portion of this was Seamus Fucking Williams’s fault.

  Chapter Seventeen:

  Bored and Lodging

  “I’ll be putting the kettle on again now, Seamus. You want another—”

  “I’m fine, thanks, Michael,” Seamus cut in, and then inwardly scolded himself for being so abrupt with the lad. So much for his mam talking his stepdad round. Four days, it had been. True enough, Seamus had shared with plenty worse people over the past few years—the snorers, the ones with feet that could see a man into an early grave, the ones who farted in their sleep—even Paddy, who was quiet, clean and tidy, wasn’t anywhere near as considerate a housemate as Michael. But if Seamus had to sit through one more evening of sitcoms and crime dramas…

  And by Christ, can that
boy knock back tea.

  Michael returned to the living room with what must surely have been his twentieth cup of the day. He offered Seamus the same twitchy, nervous smile he’d been giving him all week. Seamus did his best to smile back and returned to the TV he wasn’t really watching.

  “Ye’ll be pissin’ past yourself again,” he said lightly.

  Michael laughed quietly in response and settled into the armchair in the corner, trying to be as small and unobtrusive as possible. “I’m going to try and talk to him at church tomorrow.”

  “D’you think that’s wise?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Seamus sighed—accidentally—and cringed. He didn’t want Michael to feel unwelcome, because he wasn’t, in the general scheme of things. Since he’d arrived in the early hours of Tuesday morning, cutting short Seamus’s Skype call, he and Michael had had some very frank conversations about sexuality. Oddly, at first Michael wanted to know all about Paddy: how old he was when he realised he was gay (twelve), had he come out to their parents (he’d told Mam and she’d told Dad, and then nothing more was said on it), and then a hundred and one questions about Paddy and Aidan: how they met, how long ago, how did they know they were in love, did they have sex. Seamus had to own up to not knowing most of the answers, because Paddy wasn’t the chatty one in their family. That honour was Seamus’s alone.

  Interestingly, Michael made the very same comment Paddy had made when Seamus told him about Chancey. I thought you liked girls. All due credit to his brother, as soon as Seamus owned up to his feelings for Chancey, that was the end of the matter. But Michael was only just getting to grips with his own feelings, which was why he needed to know all about Paddy and Aidan. Seamus could see it in the thoughtful silences, the young man’s face contorting into so many different expressions—confusion was the most prominent—as he worked through what Seamus was saying.

  “Right, so if you thought I was straight, why did you call Chance my boyfriend?”

  “I was only teasing,” Michael admitted.