Parting Glass

by Dani Wyatt

  “She’s been getting the money from the drawer. Maybe we take a few hundred more—”

  Then, there’s another hand around my throat this time and I scratch and flail my arms, trying to kick but the pressure from the hand is applied upward and there’s no air and my feet struggle to stay connected to the floor.

  “I’ll take care of her. You get the money.” It’s Devan, I can tell by his voice and he presses his lips to my ear. “Don’t you fucking tell anyone either, Ri. Your Dad will get shut down if the state knows you serve alcohol after hours. Don’t think your family can afford a lawyer or losing their liquor license can they? Think you’re too good for me—"

  His words are cut off and the pressure at my throat is suddenly gone. There’s a loud crack that comes from where his voice was, and a low grunt of pain. My eyes fly open to see Brann lifting and throwing Ryan nearly half way across the bar, and he crashes into some chairs as he slides across the floor.

  Devan is already on the floor holding his nose, crimson liquid seeping out between his fingers as he rolls onto his side, moaning loudly and shouting expletives.

  “What the—” I start, but Brann reaches over and puts two fingers over my mouth with a stare that would rival any from my father.

  “No more words.” He’s pissed.

  Even in my current state I can tell that. I see the flash of fire in his eyes as he lowers his fingers from my lips and reaches down to lift Devan by the back of his pants. He half drags him over the room, then reaches down and grabs the front of Ryan’s shirt, lifting and dragging him in kind.

  They manage some weak protest, but between his size and their level of intoxication there is not much of a fight. I’m not sure there ever would be if Brann was blindfolded and had both arms tied behind his back, to be honest. He drags them to the front door like empty paper sacks, then lets go of Ryan, unlocks the two deadbolts and without ceremony tosses them out the door, closing and locking it behind them in one swift motion.

  When he turns back toward me I try to step forward but end up stepping to the side instead, jutting my hand out to save myself with the back of a chair.

  “How’d you get in here?” I slur, secretly grateful but forcing some indignation into my words.

  “You left the damn back door standing open. Any fucker could have come in here. Besides the two fuckers I just threw out the front door. What the hell were you thinking, Ri? And you’re drunk in here alone with two other drunks. Jesus.” He shakes his head and grabs my hand, which I jerk back. “All of that is unacceptable.”

  “You’re not the boss of me.” Even as I flip him the finger, I realize that may not have been a wise move. My infantile reply only adds to the flash of fire I note in his eyes.

  “You’re coming with me.” He grabs my hand, this time with a grip that clearly states he’s not letting go, and we start toward the back door.

  “How’d you know I was even in here? Are you like stalking me?” I manage to slur out as he grabs my purse off the top of the bar.

  “I know where you are almost all the time. And tonight…well, you should have been home. I got back an hour ago, when your car wasn’t at home, I came here. Your car is parked in back, it’s the middle of the night, the back door is wide open and there was nothing right about that.”

  He drags me outside and I stumble, but he’s holding me tight enough to keep me on my feet. It feels kind of nice, but I’m not letting this go so easily.

  “That’s it!” I point at him and narrow my eyes. “You are a stalker. Going by my house? You know where I live?” I wag my finger in his face as he pours me into the front seat of his car. “What are you doing? You want me to scream rape?”

  I see him take a deep breath as he reaches over and buckles me in, ignoring my comment. And honestly, it was an idle threat. I should be fighting him more, but I don’t have it in me. I’m tired. I’m beyond drunk. And I so badly want him to be the fantasy he seems to be.

  And maybe, just maybe, in my current state I’m brave enough to take a risk.

  He walks around the front of the car after closing my door and slipping into the driver’s seat, clicking on the ignition and the engine rumbles to life. He grips the steering wheel in silence for a moment before turning to me.

  “I just saved your ass in there.”

  I pout, folding my arms over my chest as he slips the car into gear and starts it moving forward.

  “Do you have your phone? Because I don’t want your parents to worry about you when you are not home in the morning.”

  I squint, trying to process what he’s saying. “First of all, I’m going home. You’re taking me there. Just turn out here onto Branch Street, left there at the stop sign—”

  “I know where you live, Riona. But I’m not taking you there, you’re coming to my place.”

  “Why the hell would I come to your place?” I tug at my ponytail and clear my throat, trying to keep my eyes open and act casual.

  “Because it’s where you belong, and you know it. I’m going to take care of you, get you sober and cleaned up. Besides, tomorrow morning we have a date at seven AM, and at this point, there’s no way I’m going to see you at seven unless you’re at my place.”

  “I am not that kind of girl!” My hackles are up. Mostly because I know this is what I want, but I don’t want him to know that.

  “And I’m not that kind of man. My intentions are honorable. But you belong at my place and I’m taking you there. So, do you have your damn phone or not?” His words turn harsh and I instinctively reach into my back pocket and pull out my cell, holding it up and shoving it in his face like a brat.

  “I’m not texting my parents. My dad would come and skin you alive if he knew I was going to spend the night with you.” I tap the screen. “I’m texting Danny, he’ll cover. They’re asleep and don’t usually wake up when we come in late. You’re supposed to pick me up early anyway, so they will just think I’ve gone out.” I surprise myself at my ability to work that all out, drunk as I am.

  “Fine. Do it.” Brann winds the car through the streets of the town while I text Danny adding in the part about Ainsley as well. A minute later I get a quick reply asking if I’m okay and I give him a brief rundown of where I’m going. He texts back a smile emoji and I leave it at that.

  Brann drives to the north side of town. This is where the other half lives and when he pulls into a long driveway, I look up to see a house that could be the country home of some European royalty. It’s all stone, there’s ivy clinging to a massive chimney and low light is streaming out from the multitude of leaded glass windows on the main floor.

  “Is this a hotel? Like a bed-and-breakfast? I thought you were only here for a couple of weeks?”

  “My plans have changed. I rented this place today, but they’re willing to sell if we like it. I’ve had furniture and a bunch of things delivered this afternoon, spent most of the day and night setting it up. But if there’s anything you don’t like…”

  He looks over when he says those last words and my stomach does a little flip. I’m still having trouble focusing but his eyes burn into me and my face turns hot. I’m not quite sure what he’s saying, to be honest.

  We? Anything I don’t like?

  He parks the car, and he’s out and around my side, opening my door and unbuckling my seatbelt.

  “Come on.” He takes my hand and before I know it we are at the side door and walking into the kitchen.

  “You know, I shouldn’t trust you. I barely know you.”

  “Really?” He turns me around to face him. Two rough palms cup my cheeks and I look up into his eyes. “Tell me you don’t know me.”

  A shiver courses over my entire body at the depth of his words. He’s right. Since the first moment he walked into the bar, there was something familiar about him. In a week, I feel like I’ve known him forever.

  “I do know you, Brann Maguire. And you know me.”

  “Exactly.” His lips come down and plant a soft kiss
on my forehead. “I’ve known you since the day I was born.”

  8

  Riona

  There are tiny sweaters on each of my teeth and my tongue is super-glued to the roof of my mouth. I’m clutching something soft.

  There is enough light coming through my closed eyelids to give me a headache already: a low drum beat inside my temples and across my forehead feels like the clang and thump of not so tiny hammers.

  A pitiful moan sticks in my throat as I shift under the soft comforter and slowly, insidiously, the events of the evening before return to me like the mixed-up pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

  “Morning, Gingersnap.” Brann’s deep voice comes from somewhere to my left but it hurts my head, and instead of looking that way I grab the pillow, jerk it up and onto my head, and kick my feet a few times under the covers on a high-pitched whine.

  The rest of my senses awaken slowly, and as I shift under the bedding, I realize that I am wearing a T-shirt and nothing else.

  Nothing. Else.

  Spotty memories of coming into the house—oh my God, his house—and then Brann giving me…what?...a soft toy of some sort…a horse, I think. Then he was putting bottles of water to my lips, both before and after I was in the shower.

  God, I was in the shower.

  Naked.

  And he was there.

  I flip the covers down and sit up, braving the painful light and glaring at him while pulling the toy horse closer to my chest.

  “Have fun last night, did you?” I let the toy horse go to raise my arms and point down at the T-shirt while tossing my head around to get my tangled hair out of my face. “Bring me home drunk, get me naked—”

  “Stop right there.” That deep baritone hints at a paternal annoyance, and it stills everything except my racing heart. “I did take your beer-soaked clothes off, that’s true, and I gave you a shower. If you don’t recall, after that you did your very best to get me into bed with you, but that did not happen.”

  I glance down to see that in fact the enormous bed is only messed up on my side. More snapshots of what happened last night poke through the fog of memories and he’s right. I remember tugging at him and trying to get him to kiss me. If my memory is right, he ended up tucking me in, then laying on the top of the bedding next to me, wrapping his arms around me while I held tight to Thunder. Thunder.

  Through the fog I remember Brann trying to distract me and making me name the plush toy.

  And he is beautiful.

  Thunder.

  And, well Brann in his own way. Physically and otherwise.

  After I’d picked the name, Brann put Thunder into my arms and spooned behind me.

  That’s the last memory I have until just now when I woke up. And, if in fact anything did happen, I’m sure my virgin body would be giving me clues.

  And it’s not, which means he was, in fact, a gentleman.

  I’m not sure how this man could be any more perfect and that tiny voice rings in my head about it all being too good to be true.

  “Drink some water.” He points to the side table where there is a glass of ice water waiting. I reach over and bring it to my lips, swallowing the cool liquid and sighing with pleasure.

  I gulp down nearly the entire glass before coming up for air. “Thank you.” I manage, dragging the back of my hand over my wet lips then sitting the glass back down and crossing my legs under the covers. “What…time is it?”

  “Almost eleven-thirty.” Brann looks like he’s been up all night, which he probably has. His ocean blue eyes are set deeper, but he wears a hint of an amused smile. He sets the book down on a table next to the wingback chair where he’s sitting.

  With an intent stare he leans his forearms on his knees like he’s working something out in his head.

  I rub my forehead and squeeze at my temples. “Thanks for taking care of things. And me. Last night I mean.”

  “That’s my job.” He looks at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and I can hardly imagine what I must look like. His words gather a tightness between my legs and a slight shiver wiggles my shoulders, and somehow the pain from the headache eases just a little.

  “I need to brush my teeth soooo bad.”

  He sniffs on a smile and points toward the door on the side of the room. “There’s a brand new toothbrush and your favorite brand of cinnamon toothpaste right next to the sink. Also, a bottle of Advil.”

  I shuffle out of the bed, tugging the t-shirt down over my naked ass as I go. “How did you know I liked cinnamon toothpaste?”

  “I know more than you think.” The way he says it sends more chills over my skin. “Just get in there and do what you need to do. As soon as you feel up to it, I’m still expecting my date, so scoot.”

  I tiptoe across the room and shut the door behind me. My head is still spinning as I take care of my teeth and use the facilities, but it’s starting to calm. I remember lots of bottles of water last night, and I’m about as grateful for those fluids as I’ve ever been for anything in my life. As I splash some cold water on my face, I fight to avoid the mess I see looking back at me in the mirror, but it’s difficult to keep from looking.

  Once I’m back out, I rush back under the covers, shifting back to lean against the pillows piled behind me.

  “So, what’s with the drinking? You told me in one of our questions that you don’t really even drink.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” I start playing with the fabric of the white duvet cover.

  “It matters to me.” Even under the scruff of his short beard I see his jaw muscles set, turning down his lips. “Did something happen?”

  “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

  “I do.”

  Deep inside, I know that there’s nothing he can do about it. It’s not like he can close down Harry’s and make all our troubles go away, so what’s the point? But he’s asking, and something about this—whatever it is between us—makes me want to tell him. I sigh before I start to talk. “I told you that our pub is competing with another, Harry’s, on the other side of town. Well, I found out last night that they’re deliberately trying to run us out of business.”

  “What?” His brow clenches above his nose. “No. I mean, they’re not—”

  “They are. I heard it myself. And there’s nothing you can do about it. Nothing we can do about it. I don’t know how long it will be before my parents give up the fight.”

  “I won’t let that happen.” He sits up straight placing his hands on his knees and locking his elbows.

  I laugh, shaking my head. “I appreciate the sentiment, but you’re one man, Brann Maguire. Even if you’re moving in here,” I wave my hands, indicating the whole house, “and even if you’re going to drink in The Parting Glass every day, it’s not going to make any difference. I don’t know how they’re going to pay off the loan if they go under. Besides, my father would never accept a hand out. Ever.”

  He hesitates before speaking. “Loan?”

  “They needed something to tide them over, so they asked some old friends. You know how it is. Dang Irish are tight but they’ll give up a loan for a handshake and a reputation. Thank goodness my dad has a good reputation. But that kind of money it won’t be free, I tell you that.”

  That moment of hesitation again, then slowly he says, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  It feels like he just punched me in the chest. The look on his face has that little voice inside my head doing the I-told-you-so dance. I put on a brave face and manage to ask the worst case. “You have a wife. A girlfriend. Or both.”

  He shakes his head. “Nothing like that. But—”

  “If that’s not it, then right now I don’t want to get into anything else, okay?” I let out a sigh. “I don’t know if I can stomach deep conversation right now.” I point at my head. “At least for today, let’s just enjoy this, whatever it is.”

  A long silence hangs in the air as his eyes trace my face.

  I reach
over and gather Thunder into my lap, biting my lip.

  When Brann finally speaks, his voice is low and his words deliver a direct shot to every sexual organ in my body. “You know exactly what this is.”

  9

  Brann

  Her face pinks as my words sink in. She looks so pure and innocent in my white T-shirt, sitting in the crumpled, soft bedding, and I go to sit beside her on the bed. The stuffed horse is tucked neatly in her lap as she pets the long mane and tail, looking uneasy.

  The ceiling fan overhead moves her fiery red hair softly around her face and I reach over to pinch her chin between my fingers.

  It took all my resolve last night to not put her under me.

  Unwrapping the clothes from her body and watching as the water washed down her luscious curves in the shower nearly drove me to the brink of madness, but I held back. I would not take her that way. Would not touch her while her state of mind was not one hundred percent with me, not completely able to give herself.

  That’s not to say my hard-on didn’t nearly double me over in pain through the night. One of the hardest things I’ve done in my life is hold her and listen to each and every breath and not touch her.

  She is worth my patience.

  She is worth my everything.

  I’ll admit, right now, that patience is thinning.

  I have to touch her. To taste her. This need I’ve had since I met her has grown with each passing second, each minute, each day, and sitting here with her in my bed I want to tear the shirt from her and put her on her back. My body cries out for it, for her.

  I won’t fuck her yet. That will wait. There are things I still need to fix, things I need to put right, before I can be honest with her—before she can fully commit. And until that commitment, I’ll hold back.

  Her parents’ loan…I can pay that off if they’ll let me. I have the money now. But the deal with HJB is a fly in the ointment. If their pub goes under and then they find out that I was part owner of Harry’s Bar, everything would come crashing down. That’s why I tried to tell Riona. I don’t want this secret between us. But she’s right, how can I tell her right now? John came through with the number for Graham Jones, but I’m still waiting for him to call me back. If I can’t get hold of him before the sale goes through, I may never get the chance.