She rose up over me, barely illuminated by the city lights that filtered in the window, and took me inside, slowly giving herself to me again. Her curves faintly lit while her hips gently rocked against me, drawing out every push and pull of my length inside her. I felt a tremor run through her as the beads of my piercings caressed her so deep inside, and my hand steadied her hip as I moved beneath her to do it again. Over and over until she was so close, so ready.
Rolling the two of us, I covered her, picking up speed with my thrusts. Burying my face in the sweet smell of her hair as she stiffened and trembled, letting go with a sweet, soft cry. I kissed her hard as I let loose, myself, filling her once again.
And I held her tight as she drifted off to sleep in my arms.
The gray dawn of morning had everything twisting inside me.
I woke slowly, cracking my eyes open to see the crimson hair spread across the pillow. It almost felt like a dream at first, having her with me. For so long I’d wanted to see this… her face soft and sweet while she slept in my arms. Her naked body tangled with mine after all those years of longing for her seemed too incredible to be real.
My eyes wandered down the pale skin of her shoulder to her arm tucked around a pillow. I lay spooned close behind her, tracing my fingertips along her smooth skin when I caught a glimpse of ink barely covered by the sheet. Pulling the fabric gently away, I saw it, the beautiful script tattoo that spread across her ribs just under her breast.
Always hungry,
Craving,
Desperate and fading,
A twisted, tortured memory
Of you
The lyrics.
The exact same words on my forearm. The ones a bunch of us fellas had gotten when Trent died.
I hadn’t realized Fliss had gotten them, too.
A sudden burning pain shot through me, full of guilt and anger. Frustration for finally caving in. I was a feckin’ bastard for what I’d done. After everything he’d once done for me, here I’d desecrated his memory by fucking his girl.
Carefully, not wanting to wake her, I pulled away. A sharp stab of longing pierced my heart as Fliss whimpered faintly in her sleep. A choking lump filled my throat, and my eyes burned.
It was that painful to leave her. It felt like I was ripping my body in two. Tearing out my heart and squeezing the air from my lungs. Every bit of me wanted to stay there in that warm bed with her.
But I couldn’t. It killed me to leave, but I did. The guilt simply suffocated me.
So I quickly dressed and quietly left her there sleeping, blissfully unaware of the torment that ripped me away.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her. One week went by, then another. And another. I couldn’t get her out of my mind. My chest ached and everything felt so incredibly hollow. I couldn’t focus on anything, not even writing music. All I could think about was misery. Loneliness. Guilt. I couldn’t even use it to form lyrics. I just felt so numb and incoherent.
Only two, maybe three weeks left, and she’d be heading back to Butte.
It was seeing the tat that made me bolt that morning, the reminder of Trent. It was like seeing his brand on her, his mark of ownership. It had been the knowledge that she would be leaving, though, the knowledge that I may never see her again, that kept me away.
She’d been it, everything, for so long and I’d wanted her for what seemed like forever. Yet, every dream I’d had of her had paled in comparison to reality.
Because actually touching her, actually loving her, had been phenomenal. Amazing. Unbelievable. She had triggered something so deep inside me, something that I couldn’t imagine ever feeling for anyone again. It had been planted all those years ago at Tech and was almost killed off by her relationship with Trent. Just a little thread had held it in place. Held her close to my heart. The faintest of bonds, yet it was strong and true, and it came to life when she needed me.
It ignited my soul when I needed her.
After moping around my parents’ place for a few days, I started wandering around Temple Bar, wondering if I might bump into her. As though I could then tell myself that it was random. Kismet. At one point, I caught sight of the dogging fellas, who awkwardly ducked away when they saw me.
But Fliss was nowhere to be seen.
In an effort to find her, but not to be ridiculously obvious about it, I found myself wandering the cobblestone square of Trinity College. Searching for a glimpse of her deep scarlet hair in the gray Dublin light. I wandered through the exhibition in the Old Library and stared for a while at the harp that belonged to Brian Boru. I examined the busts of Aristotle and Homer, hoping for some sort of enlightenment on this way I felt. I wanted a release from this strange gripping sensation that tore me apart.
And still, no sign of her.
So, finally, I broke down. I had to see her. I had to explain. I had to… do something before she went back to the States and left my world forever.
So I went to her flat.
Standing in the entryway of the building, I pressed the buzzer a couple times until the door released. My heart was pounding to the point where I thought it was going to leap right out of my chest.
She was going to be right furious with me. She had every reason to be.
Yet it wasn’t Fliss standing there in the hall. It was her flatmate, Maeve. This both panicked me and relieved me, an odd combination swirling through my gut, to be sure.
“I was wondering if it had something to do with you,” she mused as I stepped out of the lift.
“Eh? I’m not sure I follow ya,” I replied as I came closer.
“Felicity. She’s been quite out of sorts for the past couple weeks since we saw you, like she’s away with the faeries or something. A complete shift from the girl who first arrived here.”
“Bloody hell,” I muttered, rubbing my forehead to ease the constant strain. “I hate to admit it, but you may be right. It might very well have something to do with me.”
“She is home every night, holed up in her room, studying away, even on the weekends. She’s acting like Brigit, never goin’ out to let off steam.”
“Is she here now?” I asked.
Maeve shook her head. “She should be shortly, though. She’s off at the archives. I think she may be trying to finish up early, like she’s wanting to get back home.”
I took a deep breath and leaned back against the wall, studying the ceiling for a moment, looking for some divine clue on how to make this right. I didn’t know if anything could, really, but I had to try.
“Would you mind if I waited here for her?” I finally asked.
“Not a bit,” she said. “I’m heading out and Brigit’s gone for the weekend, but that wouldn’t be a problem, I don’t think. She shouldn’t be long.”
So I sat there on the couch flipping through the channels wondering what in the feck I was going to say when Fliss came through the door. An hour later, when I heard the key in the latch, I still hadn’t figured it out. As I heard her drop her pack and hang her coat, my mind frantically raced.
Then she stepped into the room, and my mind went completely blank.
She seemed to be having the same problem, seeing me standing in her living room. Her face drained of color, and her eyes looked so very tired and haunted. She blinked slowly, once, as though she was trying to determine if I was real or imaginary.
“Howya, Fliss,” I said.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered, and her voice was hoarse with unfiltered emotion.
“I had to see you,” I offered, shaking my head slowly. “I couldn’t leave things like I… well, like I left them. Like I left you.”
She didn’t move except for the faint tremble of her hands as she fiddled with her sweater.
“How did you get in here?” she asked after a lengthy, uncomfortable silence.
“Your girl, Maeve, was here when I got here. She let me in.”
Fliss turned her face to the side, biting her lip as she furrowed her brow.
“Worried?” she seemed to think aloud. “Why should she be worried? I’m behaving myself… for once.”
“That’s maybe why she’s worried,” I said with a sad smile. “That’s not really like you. I don’t think anyone has to know you too well to know that.”
She looked back over to me with suspicion evident in her eyes. The brilliant blue had a stormy glint to it, a flash of some deeply set pain. With a lift to her chin, she took a few steps closer to me where I stood by the couch.
“So why are you here then?” she asked with a cold anger as she stood trembling in hollow defeat. “To apologize… again? For leaving me this time? Or are you going to apologize for fucking me in the first place?”
“Well,” I dryly mused, “you’re always one to get right to the point, aren’t ya?”
She crossed her arms and stood there in silence, waiting for me to answer. So I swallowed hard and gave it a go.
“Fine,” I began, “I’ll do me best.” My voice caught, and I took a long deep breath before I could continue. “I panicked. I woke up next to you, and I… all I could think about were the reasons why we shouldn’t have done what we did.”
Her lips pursed tightly as she swallowed hard, blinking the tears from her eyes for a moment before she again lifted her trembling chin. Fortified like the castles and keeps that dotted the countryside. She seemed to be encased in granite, cold and strong, shielded from anyone who could cause her pain.
“It was amazing,” I said, “but Trent… Fliss, you were Trent’s girl. I can’t forget that. He was my friend, and I feel like I betrayed him. Betrayed his memory. Because I always wanted you, so much that I couldn’t be around you.”
“Denny, Trent was not good to me,” she began. “We only dated a few months, and he was on a downhill spiral almost from the start.”
“So I should fuck his girl?” I shook my head. “He did so much for me. He got us going on the radio show. He got us the first couple gigs at the Copperline. He made the Bangin’ Mofos. And I wanted you. That whole time, I wanted you. I wished him away… and my wish came true.”
“You weren’t the only one who wished him away. I was going to break up with him.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered. You were his. If Trent was anything, he was possessive. I’ll be lucky if his ghost doesn’t come back to feckin’ haunt me after that night between us.”
“So is that what you’re doing here, then? Trying to exorcise his spirit?”
“I don’t really know what I’m doing here, Fliss. I just couldn’t leave things the way they were.”
“You didn’t even say goodbye,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “You just… left.”
“I know. I’m sorry, Fliss. That was a horrible thing to do to you.”
She turned and walked across the room to the windows, looking out over the River Liffey as the evening sun sent warm pink and gold streaks across the sky.
“For what it’s worth,” I softly suggested, “it really was amazing. It was everything I thought you would be.”
She looked back over at me tearfully, searching my eyes as though trying to determine if I was speaking the truth or offering an empty platitude. I took a few steps closer to stand before her.
“Denny—” she began, stepping back, but I cut her short.
“I wanted you to know that before you return to Montana. Especially since I may never go back.”
“What?” she said, and a flicker of surprised dismay glinted in her eyes. “Why wouldn’t you go back? The band, all your friends. Your life—”
“I’ve not been legal since I left Tech.”
“Legal?”
“I was there on a student visa,” I explained.
“You haven’t been a student for a couple years, Denny,” she said, shaking her head slightly.
“Right,” I nodded. “So, I’ve not been legal.”
“Jaysus,” she murmured, and, in spite of the dreadful feeling in my chest, I choked out a small chuckle at the Irishism she’d quickly adopted. “How did you get away with it for so long?”
“It’s amazing how easy it is to do in a place like Ophir. You Montana folk are really too relaxed for your own good.”
“Well,” she shrugged faintly, “our only foreign ports of entry are with Canada, and they’re not exactly beating down America’s doors to get in.”
“Right,” I said with a sad smile. “But, it’s one thing to be there, it’s another to get there in the first place.”
Fliss walked around me to curl up in a chair angled by the couch. Kicking off her shoes, she tucked her feet up, wrapped her arms around her bent legs, and rested her chin on her knee.
“Do you want to stay here?” she asked quietly.
“I was born here,” I said, “but, in all honesty, I miss Montana. I’d do about anything to go back.”
Fliss gave me a long steady look before lowering her gaze as she looked towards the small kitchen.
“Have you eaten?” she finally asked. “I’ve got a big pot of coddle I could warm up with some soda bread.”
“You’ve taken to Irish cooking, have ya?” I smiled sadly.
She looked down with a melancholy twist to her lips. “Irish food is comfort food.”
I nodded. “It is.”
“Besides,” she continued, “I’ve always cooked. Only child… daughter to a single father.” She glanced back up at me.
“Did you ever get around to black pudding? Beans for breakfast?”
“No,” she said with a low, emotionless chuckle. “I’m not sure I’m wanting to test my limits these days.”
It occurred to me that she more than likely wasn’t referring to food. The hollow ache I felt expanded some, and I found myself nodding.
“I’d love to stay,” I said, “for a little while.”
So we had a quiet dinner at the little table in Fliss’ little flat. Things were strained, not as easy as they’d become in those first couple days we’d spent in Dublin, but it seemed like we found a thread of that bond again. There was a simple comfort in just being together.
I was going to miss her more than she would ever know.
“Have you told anyone in the band?” she asked, referring to my possible permanent residency in Dublin.
I shook my head. “Only that I’m not sure how long I’ll be here. I think they may know a bit of why I’ve not come back yet. They know I’ve never really formally gotten permission from Uncle Sam to stay in the US. I don’t know that they even expect me back at this point.”
“So why don’t you apply for a new visa?”
“I might. It takes a long time, so I don’t know how soon I’ll be back. By the time I make it, they might have all moved on to other things.” I shook my head. “I just show up all ready to party and pick up where we left off, they’ll all be settled down with wives and children. Well, maybe not Justin.”
Fliss smiled a little at that last comment, but her smile faded into a dismal twist to her lips.
“You might too,” she murmured.
“I might what?”
“Settle down,” she said. “You might find your dream girl and decide you never want to leave Dublin.”
I had found my dream girl, though. I found her five years ago at Montana Tech, but I couldn’t tell her that. I had hurt her enough already.
So I didn’t respond, I just took another bite of coddle, flashing her a sad, disbelieving smile. She, too, was quiet for little bit, lost in thought. Then she stopped eating, laid down her spoon, and studied me for a moment.
“What if,” she began, then stopped. “No, never mind…”
I narrowed my eyes at her across the table. I’d thought about this situation for donkey’s years, coming up with no viable solution to get back anytime in the near future. However, if she had an idea, I was glad to hear it.
“What if what?”
> “Well…” she trailed off, still not looking at me until she had taken a deep breath. Then she met my eyes with sad hesitation, but she did meet them. And what she said sort of rocked my world. “What if you married an American?”
Warily, I stared at her. She couldn’t be suggesting… not after everything I’d done to her.
“And what American would I be marrying, Fliss?” I asked.
It felt like all the oxygen had been sucked clean out of the room while I waited for her to reply.
“You could marry me.”
She appeared to be at war with herself a little, as though she couldn’t believe she had just made that offer.
At first, I couldn’t speak.
Then I was afraid to.
All these thoughts and emotions began tumbling through my mind. Every moment played like a high-speed movie, an epileptic-seizure-inducing flash of every second I’d spent with Fliss. Her muttered ‘shit’ as she walked in that lab at Tech, her muted shock as Trent introduced the two of us, her smile up at me as we talked on the mountainside, her sweet and sorrowful kiss at Trent’s funeral…
…her coming apart in my arms when I was buried deep inside her.
My chest had constricted to where I could barely breathe, and I suddenly felt like electricity zapped through my veins.
I finally contained my thoughts enough to speak. “Jaysus feckin’ hell,” I breathed, “why would you do that for me? I’ve been a right bastard to ya.”
“You want to go home. As much as I hate that I’m in a position to help… I am.” She glanced down at her hands as she twisted them in her lap. “I kind of want to tell you to get fucked, though.”
“You should,” I murmured, still gobsmacked, as much by her giving nature as by the barest promise that she could be mine. “You can’t really want to do this.”
“Think about it, Denny,” Fliss quickly said, leaning in closer, but holding out her hands as though to ward me off at the same time. “It wouldn’t have to mean anything. Not really. Not a real marriage. Not permanent. Just… it would allow you to get a green card. Once you had that, we’d just get… divorced.”
Wild Irish Envy (Copperline #2) Page 12