Dee raised her eyes to Chancey, and he saw in them a very frightened little girl.
Chapter Thirty-Four:
The Loneliest Hour
“Jet lag’s a right pain in the arse.”
“Jeez!” Seamus put his hand to his chest and turned from the fridge.
Michael shuffled, sleepy and bare-footed into the kitchen. He stopped and yawned, the yawn morphing into a frown and then a sheepish grin. “Did I make you jump?”
“Just a bit, Mike!”
“Sorry.”
“It’s all right. I was miles away. Can’t sleep, no?”
Michael shook his head. “Is there any milk in there?”
“Hm?” Seamus frowned in puzzlement.
“The fridge?”
“Oh!” He passed over the bottle. “We’ll have to get some extra on the way back from work tomorrow. Well, today. I’m not looking forward to eight hours picking bloody sprouts.”
“Are you not going to see the solicitor today?”
“This morning, aye. But I’ll have to put the extra hours in, or we won’t hit our target.”
“At least we’ll sleep tonight though, Shay.”
“That we will, Mike,” Seamus agreed, only registering what Michael had called him as an afterthought. In the short time they’d been away, he’d become ‘Shay’. Paddy had always used it—interchangeably with ‘yer big ole eejit’—and everyone else picked it up from Chancey. But Seamus didn’t mind. In fact, right at that minute, he didn’t care about anything, other than finding a way to stop the pain.
“I’m goin’ to try and get some kip,” Michael said, shuffling away.
“OK, see you in a couple of hours.”
And then he was alone again.
He leaned back on the refrigerator and glanced up at the clock: five past four. In Kansas it was ten p.m.—still the day they’d said goodbye. Just don’t say goodbye. Christ. So close. So damn close. That’s what made it worse. He’d have gone back to Kansas; Chancey would have come to Ireland. Either of them would have done whatever was necessary to be together, with one exception. And Seamus would have hated Chance for it, if it didn’t make him love him all the more. So he’d always come second to Dee. In the race to be loved by Chancey Bo Clearwater he’d take last place, so long as he always had a position on the starting grid.
I am in love with you. The echo was fading fast, and Seamus hugged his arms tight to his body, squeezing so hard it hurt, fighting to hold onto it. Had he even reciprocated? ‘You end me’ sounded so melodramatic now, in the cold rationality of a November morning. Certainly, it had nowhere near the impact of ‘I am in love with you’, but it was the truth, and right at that moment he was feeling it all too keenly. The bed—the delectably soft king-size bed he’d forked out a month’s wages for—felt too big and too empty, and he couldn’t face it. Just three nights with Chance, two of those in the room across from Dee’s: not really enough to form a habit, to become used to the warmth and company of another.
But God, I miss him already.
Would Chancey be missing him yet? Was he, too, feeling the full force of this…this…soul-shredding loneliness? Four a.m. had to be the loneliest hour, and Seamus had seen a fair few in his twenty-seven years. Even as a young kid, he’d been a poor sleeper, marauding Paddy’s stash of comics because he’d read all of his own, cover to cover and back again, trying to while away the hours until he was allowed to leave his room—Dad’s rule, that was. No one up before he was, which was a hardship for no one other than Seamus, who took after his dad with the insomnia, but without the benefit of sleeping pills. When he was finally old enough to be prescribed them, he didn’t bother, and when he was in Kansas, only needing four hours a night had served him well.
Dad. He was a funny kind of fella who always kept his thoughts to himself. No doubt his mam and dad had loved each other very much, but Seamus couldn’t ever recall his dad saying the words—not ‘I am in love with you’, or even ‘I love you’. Nor ‘you end me’, although ‘you’ll be the death of me’ had been bandied about often enough for Seamus to have believed, only for a short while, that maybe his and Paddy’s antics had brought on Dad’s heart attack. Of course, it was a nonsense. Their old fella ate way too much of all the wrong kinds of things, and he’d taken to the Irish lifestyle a little too well.
Seamus could only vaguely recall living in Limerick; they’d moved to Omagh when he was five and Paddy was three, and like the move to America, it had been for Dad’s work. But even though he was only five and had barely started school, he acutely recalled the pain of leaving behind his new teacher and his classmates. No more football with Billy and Cian. No more playing ollies in the yard just to get a glimpse of a girl’s knickers—well, he did get to do that one again, but it was never the same.
And then the move to Pennsylvania…no point getting morose; he’d got on with it. It was no real hardship for him to ‘finish high school’ in a new country, even if he’d already left once and gone to college. But it had been massive for Paddy. He was only fourteen and went from being smack-bang in the middle of high school, to starting high school all over again. Back in Omagh, he’d taken part in every after-school activity, played football—he’d been outgoing and always full of fun. Patrick Williams was a joker, and everyone loved him to pieces. But for those first couple of years in America, it looked like Paddy’s spirit had been well and truly broken.
They’d talked about it as a family. Did he want to see a counsellor? No, Paddy insisted, while sniffling and trying to downplay how miserable he was. He’d be all right. Time to adjust was what he needed. Mam wasn’t so sure at all, but he proved her wrong, because when Dad died, it was Paddy who held them together, almost as if the loss he’d experienced when they emigrated had afforded him a special kind of wisdom and patience. He had a way about him that was so peaceful and accepting—it was probably why he chose the career path he did. He understood grief, but it didn’t drag him down the way it seemed to everyone else. Paddy’s empathy and compassion were two of his greatest assets, and they’d brought him the ultimate gift: life with the man he loved.
Seamus rolled his shoulders to ease the stiffness. It was almost four thirty, and exhaustion was at long last getting the better of him, although it still wasn’t enough to get him up the stairs, not when he didn’t even have Tess for company. Instead, he lay on the sofa, pulled the blanket around him and closed his eyes in the hope that sleep would take him, now he understood the solution.
<<< >>>
“But didn’t you say you always dreamed of having your own farm, Shay?” Michael asked the question through a mouthful of soggy cornflakes, adding an almost orgasmic groan. “These are amazin’!”
In spite of being shattered in every way, Seamus managed a chuckle. “They’re only cornflakes, Mike. And it was a ranch, not a farm.”
“OK, so. You’d sell it and buy somewhere in Kansas, would ye?”
“That’s what I’m thinking, aye.”
“But…” Michael frowned and then shook his head. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, shovelling in another massive spoonful of cereal.
“Don’t you worry. I won’t leave you in the lurch, I promise.”
“That wasn’t what I meant.”
“What, then?”
“You came back here for nothin’?”
“I came back to sort out Barry’s farm.”
“The first time.”
“Oh!” He turned away and busied himself with making two mugs of tea. He wasn’t sure he could handle explaining, because Michael was right. Ireland was Seamus’s home, and his biggest wish had just come true. Sure, he was sad about Barry—that two wee lads who’d played on his farm from time to time were the only ones close to him was tragic, and the place was a hell of a mess. It would take sinking a lot more money into it to make it viable again. But he’d have done it without a second thought; that’s how much he wanted it. Seamus Williams, the dithering over-thinker, making a spur-of-the-moment decision
. It was unheard of.
“It’s because of Dee, isn’t it?” Michael said.
Seamus still had his back turned, and he nodded miserably. Whether Chancey had won Dee over or not, and regardless of how willing she was to do the right thing for her dad, Seamus could not stand by and let it happen. Moving to America had done irreparable damage to his little brother, and hell would have to freeze over before he let the same thing happen to Deidra.
<<< >>>
The solicitor’s receptionist indicated across the room to a row of chairs, her nose wrinkling slightly at the sight of Seamus in his work gear. “Mr. Barton will be with you shortly, Mr. Williams. Please take a seat.”
“Thank you,” he said, half expecting her to race ahead of him and put newspaper down first. Pulling his phone from his pocket as he sat, Seamus unlocked the screen at the same time as a call came in. Chancey. Seamus quickly got up again and dashed outside to answer.
“Hey. You all right?”
“Uh huh.”
“I’ve been trying to call you all morning, Chance.”
“Only just got up.”
The short, flat responses were like knives jabbing at Seamus’s gut.
“Ah, right, yeah. It’s, er…” He was floundering. “It’s only early for you. I forgot. Sorry.”
“No problem. What can I do for you?”
“Chance?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Hold on.”
The line went dead, and Seamus clung to his phone, waiting and listening to the nothingness at the other end of the line. Had Chance hung up on him? He moved his phone away to check. The call was still connected. The door to the solicitor’s office opened, and the receptionist glared at him, her nostrils flaring.
“Won’t be a sec,” he told her apologetically. She raised an eyebrow and returned inside.
“Shay? You still there?”
“I am.”
“Oh God. I miss you.”
“You do?”
“So much.”
“Good. Because I’ve had a hell of a night, Chance. I’m at the solicitor’s now. I’m goin’ to tell him I want to sell up.”
“No!”
“Chancey, I can’t wait five years.”
“So, you…um…you want to end it?”
“What?” Seamus laughed; it was a reflex reaction, because this was absolutely not funny. “No, Chance. I’m coming to you.”
“You can’t do that, Shay.”
“I need you.”
“Shay…”
“I asked you to marry me, and you said yes. We can’t do that unless we’re in Kansas.”
“Look, Shay, I can’t talk right now. I got company. Just promise me you won’t sell the ranch.”
“It’s a feckin’ farm, Chancey. A couple of piddly fields and a dozen or so sheep.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s where you belong, and I belong with you.”
“It’s not fair on Dee.”
“We’re working it out.”
“You mean you’re talking her into it? Even if she agrees—”
Chancey cut him off angrily. “Seamus, I would never do that my little girl.”
“Then what, Chancey? You don’t want me to sell the farm, and Dee won’t move here. So where do we go?”
For a moment the silence resumed, other than the sound of Chancey’s breathing, laboured by rage, or sadness, or perhaps both. He cleared his throat before he spoke again, and said, “Shay, I wish things were different, but they aren’t. So I’ll just ask it…can you wait for me?”
Chapter Thirty-Five:
And the Days Go By
Of course.
Chancey had been carrying those two words around with him for the last three months, and in the darkest corners of the night or the bitterest chill of winter, they kept him from sinking completely in despair. He wasn’t a man prone to darkness and depression. He’d always been the sort to push on—through his father’s hate, through the divorce, through the inane jobs and the loneliness. But this being apart from Seamus and not knowing when they’d be together again? It had brought him as low as he could remember being, and some days it was a helluva thing to drag himself out of bed.
He tried not to let it show around Dee, refusing to guilt his daughter as she struggled with her own thoughts and feelings. Her mother’s words had hit her hard, and the torment played out on her face when she thought he wasn’t looking. He could read her like poetry: I don’t want to be like my momma.
In those moments, he just put his arm around her shoulders, kissed her forehead, and gave her a silent squeeze. Deidra may have looked like Kaylee, and boy could she pout when she wanted to, but that was about as deep as the similarities ran.
They were quieter with each other—Dee and Chancey—and he missed his smiling little girl. She probably missed the daddy she knew as well. If only he could get over this damn heartache. Every country star ever understood what he hadn’t: the splintering pain of being separated from love. And Jesus, didn’t he have it better than them? He and Shay still talked… But it wasn’t the same, not after those days they had spent together over Thanksgiving.
Having been held by Seamus, loving on Seamus, whispering secrets into Seamus’s ear… No fucking computer screen could compare to it. Shay, he thought, felt the same way, because even though they spoke often, it had been a long time since they had a video chat, and neither had suggested it.
“Can you wait for me?”
“Of course.”
Without hesitation, Seamus had said it. Of course he would wait, he would wait forever, he promised. But Jesus, forever seemed more simple than five years. It was the five years that was the eternity—because they’d both agreed if Dee wouldn’t budge, neither man would force her hand, and that meant Chancey had to stay in the States until she was old enough to start her own life.
God, how he wished he could have the two most important people in his life under the same roof.
<<< >>>
“Daddy?” Dee asked as she climbed into Layla that day after school. He noted that the high school boys who had been sniffing around her group that day, so long ago, were nowhere to be seen. Good. Chancey had become more the murdering type of late. Dee firmly closed the passenger side door and tossed her bag into the floorboard.
“Hm?” he asked. It had been a long day, and his boss at Rabbit Hill had him on full-time ‘historic’ trail rides. His throat was tired from so much drawl.
“So my birthday’s next week.”
Chancey’s lips twitched. “Oh, really?”
February fourteenth, Valentine’s Day, 2001. Kaylee had insisted on Mexican food to celebrate, but they hadn’t even started on their chips and salsa before her water broke. Chancey used to tease Dee that she owed him a margarita. His little Valentine.
She cut him a look, but smiled as well. “I’m gonna be fourteen.”
“Go on.”
“You…uh…want to invite Seamus to the party?”
Chancey’s heart squeezed tight, and he tapped the steering wheel. “We could ask.”
“Yeah?” she said hopefully.
“’Course. But honey, it’s awful short notice and expensive too.”
“I know,” Dee said quietly. She looked like she had more to say. Her brows worried together, but she only sighed and said, “We better get going to Miss Aubrey’s so I don’t miss warm-ups.”
“Yep.”
<<< >>>
Chancey decided to sit in the cold truck while Dee went inside to dance. He wasn’t just avoiding dance moms, but needed a few minutes to place a call to Seamus, too. He tried not to wait until it ached before he dialled, tried to stave off the loneliness by frequently calling to ask, how’s it going? But he’d waited too long this time, and Dee’s request to invite Seamus to her party was about the end of him.
“Hey, love,” Chancey said with more buoyancy than he felt when Shay picked up the phone. “What is it you always say? How dos?”
Seamus’s laugh was warm, and it wrapped itself around Chancey like a thick blanket. He wanted to melt into it.
“Fair dos, love.”
“Is that what you say, or is that your answer?”
“It’s my answer to a thing I hope you’ll greet me with all the time.”
Chancey laughed and tapped his fingers on his jeans. “So I botched it?”
“Adorably. ‘How dos’ you, Chance?”
“Missing the hell out of you.”
Can’t fucking breathe without you, Seamus Williams.
“Aye. Me too.”
“So I called ’cause Dee has a request for you.”
“Oh?”
Chancey could hear the hope in Seamus’s voice—it was only there a second before he covered it. Seamus had promised not to ask how things were going with Deidra on the whole moving to Ireland front, though he asked after her in other ways. How was she doing in school? How was dance? Rodeo? Did he need to come back to Kansas and put some kid in his place for making her cry? He’d been pissed off to hear Nate had dumped Dee for another girl.
“Young love,” Chancey had replied. Of course he didn’t want anyone making his little girl cry, but he still thought she was too damn young to be dating. Not so young though, was she? Going on fourteen.
“Valentine’s Day? It’s Dee’s birthday. She wants you to come to the party.”
Seamus’s chuckle wasn’t nearly as deep as before, but it was still warm enough that Chancey wanted to stay inside it.
“Short notice, that.”
“It is,” Chancey said. “And I don’t expect you to…well…it’s a lot of money and not a lot of time and you have the farm and…”
Chancey palmed at his right eye, determined he would not let tears fall. He’d been brought up not to cry. You don’t cry when you get thrown from your horse, you don’t cry when your wife sleeps with another man. But he’d sobbed when he held that tiny, perfect life in his arms for the first time fourteen years ago, and goddamnit, now he was ready to lose his composure out here in the parking lot.
Seeds of Tyrone Box Set Page 44