“I knew you’d have some wise words,” she said and squeezed Sophie’s arm.
“Wise? I don’t know. But keep in mind that it’s natural for you to feel what you do. At the same time, I really think you have every reason not to worry. Conor is one of the good ones.”
“That he is.”
“Ladies!”
They both turned to see Celia joining them. She had a strained smile on her face as her three boys trailed behind her.
“I’m so sorry to be late—and for bringing the lads,” Celia said. “My nanny has a raging stomach virus, so I’ll keep my distance, mind, but I didn’t want to let you down by not showing for what is probably one of the last outings you’ll be having for quite some time!”
Though she appeared harried, she had managed to do full make-up, dress neatly in linen trousers and a sweater set, and get her boys just as nicely turned out. At ages eight, five, and almost three, they were too old to be in matching outfits, so she had settled for color coordinating them in blues and grays. Felicity was always in awe of the organizational skills Celia showed in running her family.
“You’re so sweet,” Sophie told her before leaning down to say hello to Donal, Colm, and Sean. All three boys were fidgeting and clearly wished to be anywhere else. “Hey guys, do you think you can be my helpers?” They eyed her suspiciously. “See, it’s not easy for me to get around because of this big tummy.” She patted her protruding stomach and the boys laughed. “Maybe you can help me find the best blueberries in the whole market?”
“Yeah, I can do it,” Donal said and soon he and his brothers were off.
“Don’t go too far!” Celia called after them. She reluctantly tore her eyes away from the boys to address Sophie. “You’re a natural at this, Sophie. But don’t forget, kids need boundaries. You can’t give them too much free rein.”
Felicity met Sophie’s eyes and tried to convey her understanding of Sophie’s earlier complaints. Celia did have the uncanny ability to make her well-meaning advice come off as condescending.
“That goes for our men, too, doesn’t it?” Celia added with a laugh. “I should hope you’ve had your Conor on a tight leash, Felicity!”
“He’s a grown man, not a dog,” Felicity said.
“Depends on who you ask, doesn’t it?”
“Be nice,” Sophie said.
“I’m only having a laugh. She knows that.”
Celia was amused by her own provocative banter. It was her nature to be nosy, but now both Sophie and Felicity were put off by the way she could overstep.
“Let’s catch up with the boys,” Sophie said and they slowly moved on.
CHAPTER NINE
Shay should have gone straight home to work out a plan with Danny Boy for how they might try to clean up this mess. But when Gavin mentioned Sophie was meeting with Felicity, Shay realized that meant Conor was likely on his own. It seemed the right time to confess Danny Boy’s misadventure.
Shay’s phone call to Conor found him not at home, but at a Dublin motorcycle dealer. He was quick to invite Shay to join him since he had just arrived at the shop in search of his first bike and welcomed the company. Shay agreed and made good time getting there, pulling into the car park and alongside where Conor was leaning against his Aston Martin.
Conor stood with his arms crossed against his chest, wearing a plain white crewneck tee shirt and faded jeans with holes in the knees, yet somehow coming across as highly stylish. The distressed brown boots and belt, along with the silver pocket chain and the Warby Parker sunglasses he wore were at least partly responsible for the cool factor. But more than anything it was his model good looks and the confidence he exuded, even when just waiting around, that set him apart from most people.
“Jesus,” Conor said as Shay approached him, “what’s all this?” He swept his arm in the direction of the Porsche.
“Likely a mistake.”
“Then we’ll be in the same boat once I get through here.”
Before they could say another word they were swarmed with salesmen from the motorbike shop, and Shay had to contend with answering questions about the Porsche. Conor’s DB9 almost went unnoticed in the excitement generated over Shay’s extravagant sports car.
“I knew I should have treated this thing like the batmobile,” Shay murmured to Conor.
“How do you mean?”
“Only take it out at night.”
Conor laughed. “Well, you’re fucked now, aren’t you?”
“Thanks to you.”
“You’re welcome. Now, come with me. I’m pretty much decided on my first motorbike but I’d be glad for your advice.”
~
Following Conor around the showroom, Shay blocked out the nonstop pitch by the salesman trying to convince Conor he could handle a 600cc Yamaha YZF-R6 rather than the 865cc Triumph Bonneville he’d inquired about. An older model Triumph was what Conor had learned to ride on during downtimes in the tour, courtesy of one of their sound engineers. The long-time engineer was deathly afraid of flying and preferred to get himself to each gig by motorcycle when he could. When he absolutely had to fly, the motorcycle was packed up with the band’s touring equipment and sent along to the next stop.
It was two hours later and with Conor deep into talk with the salesman on the best riding gear for wet weather, when Shay’s patience finally ran out.
“Listen, Con, I actually called you before to talk to you about something. Maybe we can meet up later?”
Conor’s look of surprise was likely due to the fact that Shay wasn’t one to come to him for much of anything. The dynamics of the band had been set long ago and hadn’t really changed over the years: Gavin and Conor were songwriting partners and close friends, Shay both revered Gavin and served as his sounding board, and Martin, their bassist, was just happy to be in the mix.
“No, now’s good. Let me just wrap it up. Give me a few,” Conor said.
Shay agreed and went out to his car to wait. He assumed the position Conor had been holding when he’d arrived earlier, leaning against the driver’s door with arms crossed over his chest. It didn’t feel natural, though, and soon he reached into his pocket for a cigarette.
Conor joined him just as he was debating having another, while at the same time thinking of his rule against chain smoking. It was nerves that was creating this impulse to smoke so much. He had done well for years with smoking very little. It had been Jessica’s influence, of course. Since she’d been gone, though, the old habit had reasserted itself. It didn’t matter now, however, as Conor hated cigarette smoke and wouldn’t approve of him lighting up.
“I’m all geared up,” Conor said. “They’ll deliver the bike and everything else tomorrow.”
“Onto the tattoo parlor next?”
“You never know.”
But Shay did know. Conor was too enamored with his good looks to mar them with ink.
“So, what’s with you?”
“I’m just going to give it to you straight,” Shay said. “I found out yesterday that Danny Boy stole your Telecaster.”
Conor stiffened and Shay suspected his eyes were narrowed at him behind his sunglasses.
“Stole it? How?”
“I’m not really sure. I’m guessing his access on tour allowed him to slip it out of the equipment storage at the end of the last gig.”
“And? I assume there’s more to this story.”
“Sure there is. Wouldn’t be a Danny Boy fuck up if there wasn’t,” Shay said with a weak laugh.
Conor took off his sunglasses and leveled a hard stare at him. “I’m not finding this very cute at the moment, Shay. Get to the fucking point.”
Shay sighed. Then he told him what he knew of Danny Boy’s efforts in not only stealing Conor’s signature guitar but falsifying documents in order to try to sell it. Conor listened impassively until he heard the part about NME, at which point he muttered “fuck me.”
“But the good part, if you can call it that, is that I have your
guitar.”
“Yet you’re here to tell me that your junkie brother is responsible for an article coming out from NME on how this band doesn’t know how to handle its shit once again? Is that it?”
Shay thought Conor did a good job of holding his anger. He was seething rather than letting it bubble over. Still, he was furious just the same, and Shay didn’t blame him. The band had had a good run, having rebounded from the previous couple of years’ steady stream of bad publicity, including news of Gavin’s mother coming to light, Gavin’s descent into cocaine, Sophie’s miscarriage, Gavin and Sophie’s separation, and Conor leaving his model girlfriend at the proverbial alter. It had all considerably affected the public’s perception of the band from that of a group with a lead singer with a heart of gold and an intense and enduring love story with Sophie into something darker. They’d let the music and their cleaner living do the talking for them the past six months, but now they’d be brought back down with stories of the drummer’s shady brother.
Shay needed to make it clear to Conor that he had never thought things would take this turn, that he wouldn’t have put the band in jeopardy. “I had to give him the chance, Con. I had to, don’t you know?” He hated the desperation in his voice. Clearing his throat, he tried to regroup. “I honestly didn’t think it’d end up here.”
It took a moment, but then Conor inhaled deeply and looked away. “You’ll get James and Felicity on this?”
“I’d like to try to handle it on my own.”
Conor looked back at him sharply. “This isn’t a game. You need our manager and our media manager on this. You should have brought them in yesterday, for fuck’s sake.”
“Listen, I have an idea for how to play this.”
“No. You don’t,” Conor said slowly, firmly. “You don’t have any experience in how to play the media.”
“Con, it doesn’t even have to be that bad. We could just say that you did give Danny Boy the guitar. Just that you didn’t think he’d sell it.”
There was a long silence as Conor processed this angle. Finally, he put his sunglasses back on and opened his car door.
“I’ll do it if that’s what James and Felicity want. But I’m done giving your brother any more chances. It doesn't matter if he’s clean or not, he’s no more than a scanger looking for his next victim.”
It was the truth and Shay knew it. Danny Boy was a manipulator. A user of people and relationships. He was just as much that way when he was sober as when he was using. Shay had misplaced hope in thinking he could get him on the right path by keeping a watch over him and enforcing boundaries. But the alternative—giving up on him and casting him out for good—was impossible to fathom.
“He’s done with coming with us on tour. I’m off to make it all clear now.”
“I’ll have Felicity get in touch,” Conor said and slid into the driver’s seat. He closed the door and started the engine.
CHAPTER TEN
Though Jessica been gone for more than six months, Shay still felt her presence at his house in affluent Ballsbridge, a suburb of Dublin City. Shutting off the Porsche, Shay sat in the driver’s seat motionless. The brick house was two stories with a high-peaked roof, and surrounded by a low wrought iron fence. The street was lush with tall trees, manicured hedges, and neighbors that minded their own business.
His and Jessica’s breakup had been cordial. They loved each other, there was no question of that, but it just wasn’t sustainable. Not with there being one too many times where Shay prioritized Danny Boy over her. So, he accepted her declaration that she was done and driven her to the airport when she’d arranged a flight to New York. He’d helped her with her bags and released her from their two-year relationship in stoic silence. Inside, his guts felt as though they were being twisted in a vice grip, but he didn’t let that show for fear she might take pity on him and relent as she had in the past. She had sacrificed by being with him, and he knew it wasn’t fair to fight her decision to leave. So, he made it amicable. He told her she was an amazing person, that all he wanted was her happiness, that he hoped they could stay in touch. It didn’t occur to him that this detached manner was more painful for her than if he had fought for her to stay. He made letting her go seem easy.
And now he was going to have to suffer through another kind of breakup. Time to deal with Danny Boy.
~
“Just the man I was after,” Danny Boy said as soon as Shay pushed open the front door.
Danny Boy was taller, thinner, and blonder than Shay but otherwise they shared the same intelligent eyes and prominent cheekbones. He wore the same faded black jeans and gray suspenders over a wrinkled Ramones tee shirt from the day before. His manner was typically agitated. He fidgeted and bit his nails incessantly. These tics were barely subdued when he was on drugs, making for an oddly hyper heroin addict.
“I fear to ask, Danny Boy. I fear to ask,” Shay said wearily.
“What’s with the attitude? And me here worrying all night for your safety without so much as a courtesy call.”
Shay ignored his brother’s feigned concern and moved past him through the entry hall and into the living room. The space was comfortable with indigo walls, bright white moldings and window frames, and gray sofas over dark wood floors. Throwing his jacket onto the sofa, he collapsed onto it next. He grabbed a maroon throw pillow and hugged it to his chest, ready to close his eyes and drift off. Amanda had been a sweet distraction, but it left him feeling tired now.
Danny Boy sat on an ottoman, his right knee bouncing restlessly. “Tea? Coffee? Something to get you out of that stupor?”
Fighting off a yawn, Shay straightened up. “Tell me what’s going on, already.”
“I set up a meet. With that NME guy. We’re going to set it all straight so the story goes away.”
Of course he did. Fuck. Shay should have known better than to give Danny Boy time to dig himself deeper into this hole.
“Oh, you idiot, what have you done?”
“No, it’s brilliant, really. We’ll sort it and Conor will be none the wiser.”
The look in Danny Boy’s eyes was ridiculously hopeful, as if he truly believed he could fix it all so simply. But Shay knew he knew the real score. He wasn’t a naïve man.
“Danny Boy,” Shay said gently. “It’s not on. You know it’s not on.”
“It’ll be okay, Shay. It will.”
“I told Conor. You’re off the tour from here on out.”
“What? No. Come on. I’m in the middle of apprenticing lighting.”
It was more delusions of grandeur for Danny Boy to think he was learning a skill while on tour. He spent his time with the techies, that was true enough, but it was all about bullshitting. Danny Boy was the good-time guy, always up for a laugh, always the first to take his own dares or play the fool for the sake of the amusement of the crowd. He craved attention just as much as Gavin. Luckily, the two tended to join forces rather than compete against each other. They likely saw something of a kindred spirit in each other. The extent of Danny Boy’s “apprenticeship” was challenging the lighting techs to a race to the top of the three-stories high retractable ladders above the stage.
“I can’t keep you on. Not after this.” Shay nodded toward the guitar case in the corner of the room. Conor had played his signature Fender Telecaster guitar on every Rogue album, making it a part of his iconic image over the years. It had been the height of fantasy for Danny Boy to think he could pull off this stunt.
“I was only borrowing it, really,” Danny Boy said with a grin. “I just wanted to impress the ladies.”
“Jesus, man. Why do you do this shit? Why is it that no matter whether you’re clean or using you make the worst decisions possible?”
“But don’t I make things exciting?” Danny Boy asked and Shay couldn’t help but laugh. “Admit it, you’re the dullest rock star in the world. But when I’m around, your whole world intensifies!”
“To be honest, I’ve been glad to have you aroun
d. This has been the longest I’ve seen you in years. Since we were kids, yeah?”
“I’ll talk to Conor. I’ll convince him to let me stay on tour.”
“It’s no use.”
“Shay, I—I need this. Don’t cut me loose.”
There was a pained expression in his brother’s face, and Shay raced to think of ways to convince Conor to give him another try. But he came up empty.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The incoming call was clearly from Conor, as a black and white photo of him appeared on the cell phone Felicity had left face up on the table where she, Sophie, Celia and the boys were lunching. She had taken the photo of him in a joking moment before leaving him on tour. They’d been in bed in the hotel, bathed in morning light and wearing nothing.
“I’m going to miss you like crazy,” Conor said, folding her into his arms.
Felicity felt the strength and comfort in his embrace. He was in excellent shape, with a soccer player’s lean body and defined muscles.
“Me too,” she told him. She pressed her face into his neck, inhaling his clean, masculine scent.
“What will I do without you?” His tone was thoughtful, as if he really wanted an answer.
“You’ve got your guitars. Give one of them an extra cuddle.”
He laughed but the idea inspired her to pull away from him and scan the room.
“Where are you going?” he asked as she got out of bed.
She didn’t reply, and instead moved out into the small living room of their suite. A guitar case was leaning against the coffee table. With effort, she hauled it up onto the sofa and opened the clasps with a satisfying click.
Using the body of the Gibson Les Paul guitar to cover her own naked body, she returned to the bedroom.
“Ménage à trois? I thought you’d never ask,” Conor said with a laugh as he sat up in bed.
“Perfect. Sit just like that. And here.” She placed the guitar next to him on the pillow she had used. “Put your arm around it.”
Hitting That Sweet Spot Page 5