Last Heartbreak (A Nolan Brothers Novel Book 5)

by Amy Olle

  Ava hit Sophie back. “I did.”

  “Wow.” Sophie rubbed the spot on her arm. “You’re really strong.”

  Ava fixed large, light eyes on Isobel. “I sent you a text last night. Didn’t you get it?”

  Isobel winced to recall her fight with Shea the previous night.

  “I guess I missed it.” With a gasp, Isobel pinned Ava with a look. “Tell me you didn’t invite Dad.”

  “I didn’t invite Dad.” Ava held up her hands in a sign of surrender. “But I wanted to.”

  “Yeah, well, I want a lot of things I can’t have either,” Isobel muttered.

  Sophie looped her arm under Isobel’s elbow. “C’mon. Let’s get you a drink.”

  At the bar, a handsome bartender took their drink orders.

  “Sorry I haven’t been able to help you out more.” A sardonic smile tugged at Sophie’s mouth. “Though given my sewing ability, maybe that’s a good thing.”

  Isobel leaned in, as if imparting a secret. “Ava’s worse.”

  Sophie’s green eyes danced with humor. “Is she?”

  Isobel nodded. “And it’s okay. I know how busy you are with the business. How’s it going?”

  Sophie rolled her eyes. “It was great, up until this week.”

  “What happened this week?”

  The bartender set two glasses half filled with pink wine on the bar and Sophie scooped one up. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.” She took a long, hearty swallow, then returned the wineglass to the bar top. “Let’s talk about your week instead. I noticed you and Shea having been spending a lot of time together.”

  The bite of uncertainty pinched Isobel in the center of her chest.

  Sophie winced. “Uh-oh. That’s the sigh.”

  Despite herself, Isobel laughed.

  “Is it true you two were on a date?” Sophie prodded gently.

  “It was a practice date.”

  Sophie scrunched up her nose. “What the heck is a practice date?”

  With a flick of her wrist, Isobel waved off her question. “I don’t recommend it.”

  “But that means you guys are trying?” Sophie nudged. “So there’s hope, right?”

  Isobel’s throat squeezed, and she stared down into her wineglass. “I don’t know. Every time I think we’ve turned a corner, that we might be past the worst of it, something always pulls us back down again. Like gravity.” Tears prickled behind her eyes when she risked a glance at her friend. “Really sucky gravity.”

  “I’m sorry, hon. I wish I knew how to help.” Sophie raised her wineglass to her lips, but before she could drink, a choked sound erupted from her. “What the—?”

  Isobel twisted around. “What? What happened?”

  “Who put the balloons there?” Sophie bounded off her barstool. “They can’t go by the cake table. Seriously, people.”

  Sophie’s aggrieved protests died off as she scurried away to rectify the situation. Isobel turned back to her wine and lifted the glass to her lips.

  “Can I say something?” asked a voice at her side.

  At the sound of his thick Irish accent, Isobel groaned. Apart from her husband, she only knew one other man with that accent.

  Her head swiveled in Noah’s direction. “Depends what it is.”

  Noah propped his elbow on the bar and leaned his long frame against the wood. “Of all the people in the world, I think you and I probably know Shea the best. Wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yeah, probably.” She searched his dark eyes and found herself pulled in by their gooey warm centers.

  “The two of us, we know more than anyone what he did for the rest of us.”

  Her heart lurched. “You mean what he did for you and your brothers?”

  “He carried the weight of the world—of all our worlds—on his shoulders.” A wistful smile curved one side of his mouth. “For a long time, I resented him for that. But I was only looking at things from my point of view. I didn’t see what it cost him.”

  “I know it was hard on him, but he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”

  “Maybe not, but he gave up an awful lot us. He gave up everything to try and save us. All of us.” He tipped his pint of Guinness at her. “Except you. He wouldn’t give you up. Even when you tried to make him.”

  “I didn’t make him give me up.” Heat flushed her cheeks. “He did that all on his own.”

  “Did he?”

  Her blush deepened, not with outrage but with shame. Because she knew he was right.

  Emotion clogged in her throat. “I’m still annoyed with him.”

  “No doubt.” Noah’s white teeth flashed with his wide grin. “I intend to hold it against him for the rest of our lives. It’s great fun, that.”

  If she’d been able to laugh, his probing gaze would’ve smothered her mirth.

  “I don’t know what’s happened between you two, and honestly, I don’t care.” Dark brown eyes gripped her. “I knew you both before you were together, and I knew you as a couple. You’re good together.”

  Unable to bear the intensity of his gaze any longer, she ducked her chin.

  “Izzy, don’t end your marriage because you think it will end the pain. It won’t. And don’t end it because you’re mad or hurt or because you think it’s too hard.” A gentle anguish touched his voice. “Isn’t that what your dad did to you?”

  The words impaled her heart. A direct hit.

  On that traitorous note, he slipped away into the crowd.

  Twisting on the barstool, she called after him, “I never did like you.”

  His easy laughter carried back to her.

  When she turned back for her glass of wine, she caught the bartender watching them, an intense scowl on his pleasant features. Hastily, he dropped his gaze and made vigorous swipes at the bar top with a wet towel.

  “You must be the new bartender.” She offered him a stiff smile. “How do you like the job so far?”

  He tossed the towel across one of his broad shoulders. “I like it.”

  “I’m Isobel. Shea’s… wife.”

  Golden brown eyes regarded her outstretched hand warily. “I know who you are.” He jerked his chin at something behind her. “That was his brother?”

  She curled her untouched hand into a fist and let it fall to the lap. “One of them, yes.”

  “Which one?” he asked tightly.

  “Noah.”

  Confusion puckered his brow. “So Shea, Noah, Leo, and Luke?”

  “And Jack.”

  He straightened. “Jack?”

  “He doesn’t live on the island year-round.” Proud of all Jack had accomplished, details about his life and career gathered in her throat, but at the bartender’s troubled expression, she swallowed them. “He travels a lot.”

  His scowl turned severe when he ducked his head and resumed his assault on the bar. Collecting her drink, she slipped off her barstool and moved away.

  “What happened to their parents?”

  His question stopped her midstride and she glanced back at him over her shoulder. In the dim lighting, his deep-set eyes were hooded by shadow, and the straight line of his nose over his full, plump mouth plucked a familiar chord that reverberated through her.

  The hairs lifted on her arms and the back of her neck. “They died,” she said softly.

  A muscle ticked along his jawline while he appeared to wrestle with another question, but when another guest leaned across the bar, he flashed the woman a dazzling smile and fetched her drink.

  Isobel’s heart thrummed while the jovial sounds of her family and friends swirled around her. With a mental shake, she tried to throw off her discomfort with the odd exchange. She took a swig of wine, chasing its calming effect, and turned her back to the barkeep.

  Through the crowd, she spotted Sophie wrestling with a tangle of balloons while Ava offered input that made Sophie’s mouth pinch at the corners.

  Then, she saw him.

  Dread sat on her chest. His back t
o her, he wore a black sweater that stretched tight across his wide shoulders and hung loose around his lean waist. When he bent to scoop up Connor, his dark blue jeans hugged his tight butt.

  As though sensing her regard, he turned, and his vivid blue eyes captured hers.

  An army of butterfly wings beat furiously in her stomach as the pull of his gaze started her feet moving under her.

  In his arms, Connor squirmed and as she drew near, Shea set Connor loose to launch his little body at Isobel. Dropping down, she pressed a kiss on his chubby cheek before he wriggled free of her arms to chase after his sister.

  She stood, and a startled laugh burst from her.

  “Why are you laughing?” Shea smoothed his large hand the length of his torso.

  “Nice sweater,” she said, chewing at her irrepressible grin.

  “Don’t you like it?”

  “It’s… uh… Is that a Unicorn?”

  He looked down at the white and pink and yellow mess knitted onto his shirtfront.

  “I think so?” His playful smile grabbed at her insides. “I have no idea.”

  She stared, dumbfounded as, for one brief moment, the Shea she thought she’d lost forever stood laughing before her. “I’m sorry, but it’s hideous.”

  He feigned offense. “I’ll have you know my baby girl picked this sweater out for me. I think it might be the most beautiful sweater in the history of all the sweaters.”

  Isobel’s heart swelled. “You may be right about that.”

  Just then, a boisterous cheer erupted and she caught a glimpse of Finn, a wide smile lighting up his handsome face, before the crowed closed in around him. The ruckus captured Shea’s attention, but he didn’t leave her side. Standing together, they watched their oldest son work his way through the gathering of his family and friends.

  Ava engulfed him in a hug and Sophie fussed with his rumpled hair. A sheepish smile whipped color into his cheeks, and when he reached his uncles, he muttered something through one side of his mouth that set off a round of deep male laughter.

  “I can’t believe we made that.” The warmth in Shea’s voice spread through her like a soothing balm.

  She swallowed thickly. “I can’t believe it’s been eighteen years.”

  Then, with a hitch of surprise, Isobel noticed the pretty girl at Finn’s side. She had straight, light brown hair and tilted, sea-green eyes, and she hung back awkwardly while the mob bathed Finn with their adoration.

  Isobel glance at Shea. “Is that Sidney Shaw?”

  A grim set to his mouth, he nodded.

  “You like her?” Isobel asked in a low voice.

  “I don’t know her well enough to have an opinion one way or the other.” Lines of worry bracketed his eyes and mouth. “Her dad was here last night.”

  Finn leaned close to whisper something in Sidney’s ear. A shy smile curved her mouth, which heightened the color on Finn’s cheeks.

  “What happened?” Isobel whispered.

  “He got drunk, started a fight. I had to call the cops.” Shea’s voice sounded tight, strained. “I guess he lost his job last week and was taking it out on anyone within reach.”

  Isobel’s stomach gave a wrench and her gaze clamped on Shea’s face. “Should we tell Finn?”

  “I think we better. Soon.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Agitation churned inside Shea when he arrived at the pub Tuesday afternoon. First thing, he sent Finn a text and asked him to stop by after school, then he sought refuge in his work. Old habits and all that.

  While he filled drinks behind the bar, his mind kept coming back to the problem of his wife, much the way his tongue might worry a spot on the roof of his mouth. In a few hours, they’d sit down for an interview with the bridal magazine and pretend to be a happily married couple, and it suddenly bothered the piss out him that they’d have to fake it.

  Or at least, she would. What he felt was real.

  Aiden clocked in for his shift and Shea reminded him to turn in his paperwork so they could get him paid.

  Aiden gave Shea his back and went to work wiping down the counter. “Will do, Boss.”

  Shea left his bartender to tend bar and turned to his other tasks. In his office, he attacked the stack of paperwork waiting for his attention. Shortly after the time when Finn’s school day ended, he returned to the pub room and, clipboard in hand, went behind the bar to finish the liquor inventory.

  But more than an hour after school had let out, there was still no sign of Finn. Shea waited as long as he dared, and just when he’d made the decision to leave to meet Isobel at the house, the door opened and a beam of late-afternoon sunlight spilled across the pub room.

  At the sight of Finn strolling toward him, a grimace pulled at Shea’s mouth.

  Catching the look, and misreading it, Finn slowed. “Look, whatever you have to say, just save it. You’ve made your point loud and clear.”

  Behind the bar, Shea folded his arms over his chest. “What are you talking about?”

  “I know you don’t like me.” Finn’s eyes brimmed with vulnerability. “Just know I’m trying, all right?”

  The sting of shock was drowned out by the flood of agony that crashed into him. with an agonizing shock. He peered into his son’s face, searching for signs of spite or misguided humor. Anything that might explain such a wildly inaccurate statement.

  He found none.

  Finn meant every word. He truly believed his own father didn’t like him.

  Pain ripped through Shea with the chaotic destruction of a tornado, tearing him apart.

  At one time, he’d considered himself an honorable person, but the facts were stacking up against him. He could no longer deny the truth.

  He was a failure. As a brother, a father, a husband. In one way or another, he’d failed every person he’d ever sought to protect.

  When his mom died and his dad spiraled out of control, he’d had no skills to hold his family together. Not one. With only ignorance and desperation, he’d tried to do it in a lot of boneheaded ways. He’d been cold, controlling, and too hard on his brothers. He was older, bigger, stronger, and he’d used every advantage he had to keep things under control. Grudgingly, they’d respected him, maybe not for his tactics but because he was a better alternative than their dad. Until eventually they came to resent him.

  But rather than learn from his failures, he turned around and repeated the same mistakes with his son.

  Shame and regret tunneled through him, grotesque and sickening.

  All he’d ever wanted to do was take away their pain—which was also his pain. Instead, he’d driven them away. Worse, he’d made them doubt his love, and themselves.

  “I like you.” His voice shaking, Shea held his son’s gaze with his own. “A lot.”

  Finn appeared unconvinced.

  With a steadying breath, Shea plucked a pint glass from the dry rack and filled it with Coke. “Have a seat.”

  Finn jerked his head over one shoulder. “I’ve got a thing I gotta get to…”

  “Please.” Shea gestured to a barstool. “There’s a reason I asked you to come by today.”

  “What reason?”

  “Sidney Shaw.”

  Unease visibly settled on Finn’s shoulders. “What about her?”

  Shea opened his mouth, but the words to explain suddenly wouldn’t come and he snapped it shut. He scrubbed a hand over his face.

  “Don’t,” Finn snapped. “I know what people say about her.”

  He peered at Finn through the cracks of his fingers. “Huh?”

  The color heightened on Finn’s cheeks. “They think she’s… too friendly or whatever.”

  The nasty curse shot from Shea before he could stop it. “People talk too much,” he growled.

  One corner of Finn’s mouth twitched. “Yes, they do.”

  “But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.” Shea slanted forward, leaning with his elbows on the bar. “It’s about Sidney’s dad and that fa
t lip she had the other night.”

  A storm cloud rolled across Finn’s features. He dropped his backpack to the ground with a thud and slid onto the barstool. “You think her dad did it to her?”

  “I don’t have proof he hurt her or anything like that,” Shea was quick to say. “But he’s been causing some trouble around here lately. He’s a hothead with a mean streak, and I believe he’s capable of something so disgusting. I wanted you to know I think so, in case.”

  “In case what?”

  He lifted his shoulders. “That’s the thing with a man like Ray Shaw. You never know what they’re going to do or when, only that they will lash out again. Guaranteed. Just be careful around him.”

  “Okay.” Gray eyes, Isobel’s eyes, latched onto Shea’s face. “Thanks.”

  An awkward silence fell between them while behind Shea, Aiden worked at restocking the pint glasses.

  Words knocked around inside Shea’s head a moment before he arranged them into a sensible order. “I can’t believe I never told you this, but I grew up in a home a lot like the one Sidney’s living in now.”

  Finn drew a low, nearly imperceptible hiss of air between his teeth. “That’s why you never wanted me around him, isn’t it?”

  “He drank a lot, all the time, and it changed him. He was short-tempered. Violent. I didn’t want you anywhere near that.” A weary breath escaped him. “I know I haven’t been a great dad to you, and I won’t insult you with some bullshit excuses, but growing up like that, it has a way of messing with you, you know?”

  Finn sat still as a statue on the barstool. “Actually, I have no idea what it’s like.”

  That pulled a reluctant smile from Shea, which quickly dropped away. “One minute everything is calm, sane. The next, the whole world is turned upside down and you have no idea how it happened. You start to feel like you’re losing your mind.” With the tip of one finger, he traced the line of a scar that nicked the bar’s hard wood surface. “If you live with it long enough, you forget which way is up and which is down, and once you’ve lost your bearings, it’s hard to know what to believe or who to trust.”

  A wrinkle disturbed Finn’s smooth brow as he slurped a swig of Coke through his straw.