Breakaway

by Deirdre Martin

  “And it saves us worrying about a guest list.”

  Erin clucked her tongue, glancing up at him with affection. “I knew you had an ulterior motive.”

  “Me? Never.” His expression was tender as his large, strong hand brushed against her cheek. “I know it sounds mad, but sometimes I feel like we’re already married, we’ve been together so long.”

  “Is that your way of telling me you’re getting tired of me, Rory Brady?” Erin teased.

  “I could never get tired of you.”

  “Promise?”

  He put his hand over his heart. “On my life.” His voice, a deep sexy rumble, was charged with emotion as he continued, “You’re the only one for me, Erin, and you always have been. Nothing can change that, not even geography. You’re going to be my wife.”

  Erin believed him. Their love was immutable, fixed as law. There was no telling where one left off and the other began. It had always been that way, and always would be.

  The memory faded, straight-on narrative returning as if she needed to recount the facts of what happened to make sure it really had happened.

  They decided they’d wait to tie the knot until Rory graduated from Cornell and got picked up by a minor hockey team, and then hopefully, the NHL. Which is exactly how it happened.

  Except part of it didn’t: the wedding. Erin loved him so blindly, and with such faith, that even after he hadn’t come back to Ballycraig for two years running, she still held tightly to their dream. All that rubbish about being in the NHL now and training camp and not having any time to get back home? Deep down, she knew. So when she gave him the ultimatum—either marry me like you said or we’re done—she shouldn’t have been surprised that he grabbed option B.

  Even so, when the crash came, it was no less devastating. She was dragged under by their history together, tormented by every loving thing he’d ever said and done over the years. She’d have donned widow’s weeds if she could. It was a lucky thing that she was surrounded by loving family and friends, like Sandra and Rory’s former best friend, Jake Fry. Were it not for all of them, especially Jake and Sandra, she’d have spent her life in bed, not caring about anything. She certainly stopped caring about her job in the jewelry store in Crosshaven, quitting a month after Rory dumped her. She couldn’t handle dealing with people, especially happy couples who came in looking for wedding rings.

  It took her two years to pull herself together, but when she did, she made a promise to herself: never, ever again would she give her hopes and dreams over to a man like Rory Brady.

  2

  Why didn’t I bring a jacket? Walking the twisting hills leading up to her cousin’s sheep farm, Erin felt the chill wind pass through her like a ghost. June was technically summer, and summer technically meant sunshine and heat, at least in the rest of the world. But those technicalities didn’t count in Ireland. While they did get some lovely bright days and the occasional surprise of warmth, by and large summer was much like the rest of the year: a bit dark and a touch rainy. “Moody,” as her dad would say.

  Erin paused at the top of the second hill, more to catch her breath than anything else. When she was a girl, she and Sandra used to walk up here, pretending they were queens who ruled the landscape below: the open fields, the ancient, gnarled trees that reminded her of old people’s hands. Maybe this was why she liked Henry McGrane’s landscapes so much: they brought her back to a time when she was acutely in touch with the beauty that surrounded her.

  She’d taken it for granted for many years after she’d grown. It was only when the tourists started pouring in because of PJ Leary that she again saw Ballycraig and its lush surroundings through the eyes of an outsider.

  Erin herself had never read PJ’s books; she wasn’t a huge fan of the fantasy genre. But clearly her literary tastes were in the minority: his first book, The Wee Ones of Galway, had sold millions worldwide, as had the subsequent two books in the series. PJ, whom her cousin Liam had known back in New York when the author didn’t have two sticks to rub together, was now a very rich man with a fanatical following. Ballycraig was where he made his home, which explained the tours.

  A bestselling author in my little town, Erin mused. Who would have ever thought? Certainly not Old Jack at the Oak, who was mystified as to why “those books with that talking salmon shite” had captivated readers around the globe. But Old Jack didn’t complain about the business the fanatics were bringing in. No one did. The tourists boosted Ballycraig’s economy. Erin could attest to that, spending a good part of her days vacuuming and doing their laundry.

  Resuming her walk, Erin reflected on how much she liked PJ. He was down to earth, approachable, and affable up to a point, that point being when fans tramped on private land to get a close-up look at his cottage. Unfortunately, that land had been in the McCafferty family for generations.

  Erin’s cousin’s wife, Aislinn McCafferty, had had to replace many of the small stone walls dividing the pastures with electric fencing. She deeply resented it, but it was the only way to literally shock some sense into the interlopers. Yet there were ways to get around the fencing, and the persistent often did, not realizing what they faced if Aislinn caught sight of them.

  Eventually, Erin arrived at what everyone in town called “the driveway of death.” Not only was it long and muddy, but it was pitted with potholes the size of meteorites, which Aislinn refused to fill, hoping it would further ward off tourists. How Aislinn’s truck hadn’t broken an axle was beyond her. Erin didn’t want to think about her cousin Liam maneuvering his motorcycle in the mud.

  Erin was surprised to see Aislinn rinsing out troughs at the smaller of the two outbuildings. At this time of day, she was usually out in the high pasture, herding sheep with her Border collie, Deenie. Deenie was getting on in years, but she was as sharp as ever. She moved a bit slower, but it hadn’t affected her ability to herd. Erin dreaded the day Aislinn had to put Deenie down. It would be like losing a member of the family.

  “Hello, you.” Aislinn looked pleased to see her as she wiped her muddy hands on the front of her jeans. “This is a surprise. Liam didn’t mention anything about you coming.”

  “I’m here to see Jake, actually.”

  “Ah.” Aislinn looked somewhat surprised. “Does he know you’re coming?”

  “He asked me to.”

  “So you’re still mates, then?”

  Erin tensed a bit. “Yes.”

  Jake had been as wounded and angry about Rory’s vanishing as she had been. One minute, they were thick as thieves; the next, Rory was giving him the cold shoulder. Maybe Rory thought he needed to sever all ties to Ballycraig. Or maybe he just couldn’t bear to hear Jake tell him the truth: that he was a selfish jerk.

  As far as Erin could see, there was only one problem with Jake being such a good bloke: over the course of helping her get back on her feet, Jake had fallen for her, hard. Sandra claimed Jake had always nursed a crush on Erin, but it didn’t matter, because she’d only ever had eyes for Rory. But Rory was gone, and Jake wasn’t, and he’d stood faithfully by her side through one of the darkest times of her life. Logic dictated that she should be attracted to him because he was such a good man, and handsome to boot, but she wasn’t. Still, she tried hard to give it a go. They’d always got on like a house on fire, but things grew very awkward very fast. At first Erin rationalized her hesitance by telling herself this was what happened when good friends transitioned to romance.

  But the first time Jake kissed her, she felt nothing, though God knows she wanted to. There was no sizzle and pop, no hungriness for more. Maybe that would come with time, she’d thought, but it soon dawned on her that you couldn’t force chemistry: either it was there or it wasn’t. For her, it wasn’t. And so, she’d gently suggested they go back to being friends.

  “Is he up in the high north pasture?” Erin asked.

  “He better be,” Aislinn replied.

  “I’m sure if that’s where you want him to be, that’s where he is.
”

  Aislinn feigned offense as she readjusted her long red ponytail. “Are you insinuating I’m a tough boss, Erin O’Brien?”

  “I’m not insinuating. I know you are.”

  Aislinn laughed. “My secret’s out, then.” She paused. “You’ve been a bit of a stranger.”

  “My mother believes I’m her personal servant.”

  Aislinn clucked her tongue. “Still? You’ve got to start interviewing people yourself or she’ll never fill your position. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “And it’s not like she can’t afford to pay someone. Liam says your family is making money hand over fist from these PJ nuts.”

  “It’s true.”

  “So tell her what the deal is and have done with it.” Aislinn squinted, her eyes slowly scouring the surrounding hills. “Shite. I was supposed to be in the south pasture with Alec ten minutes ago.” She picked up a half-full bucket of muddy water. “We miss you, Erin,” she said with a tinge of sadness. “You know that, don’t you? Liam’s been feeling a bit put out.”

  “Then he should pop by the B and B and visit,” Erin said with a half smile. “Works two ways, you know.” She gave Aislinn a light peck on the cheek. “Give him my love, will you?”

  “I will. Someone’s got to love him,” she joked.

  “You don’t see me rushing to disagree with you. Take care, Aislinn.” Erin crouched down, rubbing her nose against Deenie’s. “See you, Deenie.” She rose. “I’ll come round soon. Promise.”

  “Good,” said Aislinn, looking dead happy. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some lovely muck to attend to.”

  * * *

  Erin headed up to the high north pasture, where Jake was running the new Border collie, Jupitus, through a series of commands.

  There was no denying he was a handsome man, with lovely thick black hair and soft brown eyes that betrayed every emotion he felt inside. But to her he would always be her mate, that’s all. “You’re running that poor dog ragged,” she noted as she reached him.

  Jake grinned. “That’s what they like to do: run ragged. If they don’t, they go mad.”

  “So I’ve heard.” Erin felt a twinge of discomfort. “Well, here I am—or to put it in dog language, you called and I came. What’s up?”

  Jake shielded his eyes against the sun. “A few things.”

  “That’s vague enough to sound serious.”

  “It’s not, really.” He paused. “No, that’s a lie. It is.”

  “Go on.”

  He looked at her. “It’s about you and me.”

  “What about you and me?”

  “I know we’re great mates and all that, always have been,” he began, actually sounding a bit shy. “But I was thinking about, you know, the dating and all that.”

  Erin kept her tone even. “What about it?”

  “I think you pulled the plug prematurely,” he declared. “I think you freaked out. You didn’t really give it time to develop.”

  “Jake—”

  “Hear me out. ‘Love is friendship that catches fire,’ isn’t that the old saying? You didn’t even give us time to light a match.”

  Erin looked down at the ground guiltily. “It’s just not there for me. Plus, I don’t want to date anyone right now.”

  “I’m not anyone: I’m the man who knows you best in the world, better than Rory ever did, that’s for damn sure.”

  Erin had never heard him sound so fervent. “And that means what?”

  “It means I know your good points and your bad points. I’m not some moony-eyed boy; I’m a man who knows that if you just give me a chance, you could be happy.”

  “Jake, please.” If there were a wall here, Erin would feel smashed up against it.

  “I think I deserve another chance, Erin.”

  “Please don’t do this.”

  “No one else will ever love you as much as I do. Sorry if that sounds like a cliché, love, but it’s true.”

  “I already told you,” Erin replied firmly, “I’m not interested in seeing anyone right now. Not you, not even Jesus himself if he came on bended knee.”

  Jake remained stubborn. “Let me try to change that.”

  Erin was silent, wishing she could stay that way. But she owed him a response.

  “I need to think about this,” she said carefully.

  “Fair enough. We’ll talk soon, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Look after yourself, then.”

  “And you as well,” Erin replied as she started back down the hill. She had the feeling she’d just made a colossal mistake telling him she’d think things over. It gave him a flicker of hope where none existed. But she couldn’t do with bashing him over the head with it. She’d fix it later.

  * * *

  Some things never change, Rory thought to himself as his gran insisted on pouring him a cup of tea. Though he’d barely just arrived in Ballycraig, from what he could tell, there was still only one church, one pub, and one small store. Bored teenage boys still played football on the green behind the elementary school. He thought how easy it would be to just blend back in to this calm, familiar stasis. His plan was—

  “If you stare into space any longer, you’re going to hypnotize yourself.”

  Rory blinked to find his gran squinting at him across the table.

  “Sorry.”

  He did feel a bit hypnotized. He’d never been able to sleep on planes, and though the flight from New York to Galway wasn’t that long, it was followed by renting a car and driving up to Ballycraig. He was keeping the car for the summer.

  “You should drink more tea,” she urged. “It’ll pep you right up.”

  “I prefer coffee.”

  “You’re totally Yankified now. It’s sad to see.” She pursed her lips, sipping her tea demurely. “Tell me again what excuse you’re using to be back here for the summer. Oh, wait, it’s coming to me: you’re to help Jackson Bell with the football camp, as well as help your poor ole gran with repairs.”

  “It’s true!”

  “Not for nothing, but even an eejit could figure out what you’re up to. You could have just as easily hired someone here to do the work for me. As for the football camp, you could have just written a check and let Jackson hire someone.”

  “I started the camp, Gran. Remember?”

  “I do. But you stopped giving a tinker’s damn about it how many years ago?”

  Rory suppressed a smile. On the outside, his gran looked like the stereotypical little old lady: a bit shrunken, a gummy smile, slow moving. But soft-spoken and sweet she was not.

  “I don’t remember.”

  His gran looked insulted. “What do you take me for, someone who just fell off the back of the turnip truck?”

  “I—”

  “You’re being here has nothing to do with me and the camp, and everything to do with Erin O’Brien.” She sighed heavily. “I love you, son, but you’ve passed the expiration date on that one. You think that girl is even going to give you the time of day? After what you did to her? If I were her, I’d push you under the wheels of the McCafferty’s truck, so I would.”

  “Thanks, Gran.”

  “You’ve always been a bighead, Rory. But acting the swaggering hero returning to town to reclaim his woman isn’t going to go down well with anyone.”

  “I don’t really care. And for your info, all I want from Erin is forgiveness.”

  “And that’s it, is it?”

  “Yup.”

  “That lying part of you must come from your mother’s side of the family, not the Brady side.”

  Rory laughed. His gran was right: he was here not only to beg forgiveness but also to reclaim. His mission was to prove to Erin he was worthy of her love and trust. He was going to confess he’d been a total arsehole and that he should never have let her go. He’d been practicing his lines all the way over on the plane: I was all full of myself, puffed up. And then I realized how hollow it
all was without you.

  Rory wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t love being a professional athlete; he did. It was quite the feather in his cap to be the sole Irish-born player in the NHL, though God knows there were enough Irish American and Irish Canadian players. He felt he’d truly achieved something.

  But there was a difference between achievement and contentment. Rory wasn’t content, and the worst part was that it was his own fault. He wasn’t used to making major mistakes. But that was precisely what he’d done in his personal life.

  Rory finished his bread, wiped his mouth, and, to satisfy his grandmother, drank down his tea in one go before rising from the table and kissing her on the top of the head. But before he could leave, her bony hand shot out and she grabbed his wrist. “Don’t go swanning into the Oak acting like you own the place. You’ll be lucky if they don’t break pint glasses over your head.”

  “As if that’d hurt me,” Rory scoffed. “I’m a professional hockey player.”

  His grandmother released his wrist and, with a disapproving shake of her head, waved him off. She never changes, Rory thought, as he started for town. And thank God for that.

  3

  Erin arrived at Sandra’s a few minutes early to find her friend settled in nicely on the couch, watching Top Gear. Sandra was all dressed up, her makeup flawless. Oona was bent over the refurbished laptop Erin had given her for Christmas; Larry Jr. was watching TV with his mother; and baby Gina, it appeared, was already upstairs asleep.

  “There you are,” said Sandra with a relieved smile. “I thought you might not come.”

  Erin was puzzled. “Why wouldn’t I come?”

  “Thought your mam might have you of slave hours.”

  “Who’s a slave?” Larry Jr. asked.

  “Never you mind.”

  Erin looked at Larry Jr. and Oona, both mesmerized by the respective screens in front of them. “They’re turning into zombies, Sandra.”

  “You ’n’ me parked our butts for hours on end in front of the telly and we turned out all right. At least one of us did.”