Breakaway

by Deirdre Martin

  Erin smiled. “I’ve noticed that, yes.” Now that it was clear her father would champion her leaving town, she decided to tell him the entire truth.

  “Dad, remember that course I started at Open Uni when I was seeing Rory?”

  “You’re finishing it up.”

  Erin was shocked. “How did you know that?”

  “Because I know you. Once you start something, it drives you mad if you don’t finish it. Correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “It wasn’t too hard to figure out. Besides, what beautiful, smart woman would spend hours locked away in her room? Though the thought of the online dating did give us a scare, I won’t lie.”

  “And Ma hasn’t figured out I’m studying?” She took the dirty muffin tray from her father and brought it to the sink.

  “I think she knows that deep down, but she just doesn’t want to deal with it. We’ll figure all that bit out when the time comes, eh?”

  Erin threw her arms around her father. “Thank you so much, Da!”

  Her father held her tighter. “Anything for my girl. You know that.”

  “Anything? Can you teach me to drive your car?”

  “Don’t go pushin’ it, now. Why don’t you go say hello to your mother?”

  “I will. And then I’m coming back down to clean up after tea. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

  “I promise.” He checked his watch. “It’s best I be getting back soon, anyway. See how Geoff is coming along.” He winked at Erin. “It’ll sort itself out. You’ll see.”

  15

  “This is incredibly stupid.”

  Rory had never had a problem stating his opinion, and he certainly wasn’t going to hold back now, especially since the recipient was Jake. His friend had insisted they have another contest of his choosing, since he hadn’t been willing to accept Rory’s offer to forfeit the darts game. More fool him, Rory thought, thinking about the day he and Erin had spent at the fair. He could see her resolve slowly begin to crumble. Not only was the distrust in her eyes slowly fading, but her entire demeanor was becoming more relaxed. She wanted to hate him; that much was clear. But she didn’t. Rory would never say this to her face, but she was a shite actress. Try as she might to tamp her true feelings down, they always managed to bob to the surface.

  That wasn’t to say that her newfound assertiveness was bluster. It wasn’t. She’d found her voice since their split, which was a good thing, despite his horrible behavior being the catalyst. But toughening up and pure, true emotions were not mutually exclusive. When they got back together—because they were going to get back together—it would be as true partners. It pained him when he realized how blind he’d been to his selfishness, thinking only of himself and assuming wherever he wanted to go, she would follow.

  What was left now was to continue trying to regain her trust and to prove to her he wasn’t a total asshole. In other words, he had to convince her that there was no fighting fate.

  “A drinking contest?” Rory blurted out to Jake. “What’s impressive about that? There’s no skill in it that I can see.”

  “You’re wrong. There’s skill in holding it down, mate.”

  “What about being steady on your feet? Which you weren’t by the end of the darts match.”

  “That’s just because I’d had a few whiskeys as well.”

  “So we’re battling to see who pukes first.”

  “Drinking contests are a tried-and-true Irish tradition,” Jake replied contemptuously. “Or have you forgotten that?”

  “Yeah, it’s tried-and-true—if you’re a drunk or some teenage twit who wants to impress his friends. And what are you going to do if you win?” Rory asked. “Take her to McDonalds in Crosshaven? I hear they’ve got a bouncy castle.”

  “You’re about as funny as a nuclear explosion, Rory. If I win—which I will—it’s none of your business where I’ll be taking her.”

  “You’re right,” Rory agreed, though the truth of it got under his skin.

  Rory peered in the pub window. The place was jammed. Not packed: jammed. Bloody tourists. Rory knew their presence was boosting the dying economy, but weren’t the locals entitled to one place they could call their own? The Oak was the most sacred institution in Ballycraig, or it had been. Now it felt like just another pub.

  Rory pushed the door open slightly, which required asking a bunch of people to please move so they could get inside. The charmed circle didn’t budge. He asked again. No movement. Time to raise his voice.

  “I’ve asked you nicely twice,” Rory said ominously. “Don’t make me ask again.

  Annoyed, they turned to see who was so ballsy to make such a statement. Then, seeing Rory, they were suddenly able to make room for him and Jake to enter.

  “Go feck yourselves,” Jake muttered under his breath.

  “And twice on Sundays.” Rory looked at Jake in astonishment. “This is lunacy.”

  “It could be that Leary is here. I mean, it’s always packed, but this is mental.”

  Rory felt like Godzilla stamping to the bar, his size and build a natural deterrent to anyone who was stupid enough not to take two seconds of their life to let Rory and Jake pass.

  Waiting for them was the Holy Trinity, Mr. Russell, and PJ Leary. Rory froze.

  “You all know PJ, right?” said Old Jack, looking bored, as if it were a question he’d asked a million times. His eyes caught Rory’s. “Seeing as you look like you’re about to shit your pants, I’d venture a guess that (a) you’re a big fan, and (b) you haven’t met him.”

  PJ turned around, shaking Rory’s hand. “Nice to finally meet you.”

  Think straight. “Beg pardon?”

  “I know all about you. The Wild Hart used to be my watering hole, remember? I still get all the dirt and read the papers online. Sounds to me like you’re breaking some heads out there on the ice.”

  “And breaking hearts here,” Liam added with a glare.

  “Well, I know about that, too, of course, but it’s none of my business.”

  Rory licked his lips, hoping his voice didn’t break. “All the guys on the team are big fans. Your books keep us from going mad on road trips.”

  Old Jack yawned. “Here comes the part where the fan casually asks, ‘Are you working on another one?’”

  “Shut your gob, Jack,” said Bettina as she walked by.

  “I’m trying to,” PJ answered, even though Rory hadn’t asked. “I’ve got a bit of writer’s block right now. Some ancient Druids have come back to life, and I’m not quite sure what to do with them.”

  “I’d have them reanimate the Irish economy,” said Liam.

  “That would take magic,” said PJ with a heavy sigh. He regarded Rory with interest. “So, which of my books is your favorite?”

  “Uh.” All the titles flew out of his head for a moment. “I liked…The Swans of Sligo.”

  PJ looked delighted. “That one was the most fun to write.”

  “Oh, and why’s that?” Old Jack mocked. “Did they give you piles of cash?”

  “He gets piles of cash for all of them,” Teague put in bitterly.

  “They don’t give me piles of cash.” PJ’s expression was chilly. “I earn it.”

  Old Jack’s expression remained sour as he looked at Rory. “You make a nice tidy wage for yourself, too, from what I hear.”

  “Like PJ, I earn it.”

  “Damn right he does,” said PJ, backing him up. He regarded Rory with the solemnity Rory knew well from hard-core sports fans’ faces. “I’m going to try to get to New York sometime this fall. Hopefully I’ll be able to catch a few Blades games.”

  “Well, stop by the locker room if you do. The guys’ll freak out.”

  “Christ help me, grown men ‘freaking out’ over some book,” Old Jack muttered, waddling off to get drinks for Rory and Jake. Obviously, Jake had told him about the contest. When he returned, he plunked down four shots of Jameson in front of each of them. Rory assumed bets had been placed.

/>   PJ suddenly looked animated as he snatched a pen from his jacket pocket and, grabbing a napkin, began scribbling on it, talking to himself out loud. “Thought: send reawakened Druids to do battle with Thor, who has stolen King Brian Boru’s magic boots. If—”

  “Time to shut your piehole, PJ,” said Old Jack. “We don’t need to hear you talkin’ your gobbledygook; now it’s time to move on to what really matters.” He looked deadly serious as he addressed Rory and Jake. “I want to see some serious bending of elbows, lads.” He turned his attention to his watch, looking as if he were counting down the seconds to the day of reckoning. People’s faces were frozen in expectation.

  “Right!” Old Jack bellowed. “Showtime!”

  One, two, three, four. “Down the ole hatch,” as Rory’s gran always said. Rory hated doing drams. They made it impossible to savor the whiskey, to roll it round your tongue and let the taste sink in. Instead, it was just throw it to the back of your throat and grab the next one. There was still some pleasure as the liquid blazed its way down to your guts, but not as much as there should be.

  Four more. A long time ago, Rory had been able to put it away on a regular basis. It was part of being a college jock, a badge of manhood. Those days were long gone. Very occasionally, if there was something major to celebrate with his teammates, he’d get tanked along with everyone else. But by and large, he wasn’t a heavy drinker. He couldn’t do his job properly if he was.

  The world around him began to shimmer and vibrate. He swore he could see every frenzied particle of air everywhere he looked. Rubbery legs. Jake was still going at it, shooting the drams down so fast Rory didn’t know how he didn’t puke. Which was what he would do if he didn’t bow out.

  “I’m done.” He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender that threatened his balance.

  “C’mon! You’ve got to have more man in ya than that!” Old Jack goaded.

  “I might, but my idea of a good time isn’t puking my guts up in the street.”

  “All right.” Jack looked disappointed. “You’re the winner, Jake.” Jake kept pounding down whiskey. “Jake, you won!” Jack bellowed.

  Jake downed his final shot, wiping his mouth with the arm of his sleeve before pumping his fist in the air. “Yeah! That’s how a tried-and-true man of Ballycraig drinks!” He surveyed the empty shot glasses in front of Rory with disdain. “Eight? You could only put away eight?”

  “Yup.”

  “You used to be able to put that away when you were eighteen, boyo, no problem.”

  “Well, I’m not eighteen anymore, am I?” Rory retorted. “The last thing I need is to get pissed out of my skull, fall down, and break a bone. Or two. I’m a professional athlete, remember?”

  “How can we forget,” said Jack.

  “Actually, if the reports from back home are right, Rory’s making his mark in the league, just like PJ said,” Liam revealed reluctantly.

  “Who told you that? That softie journo brother of yours?” scoffed Jack.

  Rory saw how quickly the anger flared in Liam’s eyes.

  “I wouldn’t talk about him like that, if I were you,” Liam warned. “Not unless you want me to hand you your fat bald head on a plate.” He glanced at Rory begrudgingly. “Quinn said you’re kicking some ass out there on the ice.”

  “I’m trying,” said Rory, with humility. “Maybe we’ll go out for a beer after a game next time you’re in New York.”

  “Maybe,” said Liam with disinterest, walking away.

  “So now what?” Jack asked, collecting the shot glasses.

  “What’ya mean?” Jake replied. Rory couldn’t believe he wasn’t swaying on his feet.

  “Arm wrestling?” Teague asked eagerly.

  “Don’t be a dope,” said Fergus Purcell.

  “It’s a legitimate form of competition!”

  “Yeah, if you’re eleven and rowing over a bag of sweeties.”

  The usuals erupted in laughter. Teague went to slide off his stool when Bettina called out, “I’ll give you five pounds if you don’t go boo-hooing home to your mam, and you sit here and take the ribbing like a man.”

  Teague repositioned his ass on “his” chair. “Done.”

  Rory, still feeling a bit light-headed, stood up. “I’m off.”

  “Where?” Jake asked.

  “Home. Why would I want to stay?”

  “True,” said Jake, “now that all the world knows you’re a pussy.”

  There was laughter, but it wasn’t mean-spirited. Rory held back a smile. It was clear as day that the old man and the others were slowly beginning to soften toward him, for which he was glad. Most people deserved a second chance. And even though Rory wasn’t most people, he deserved his shot as well. No one was going to stop him from getting his.

  16

  “This is a blast, isn’t it?”

  Jake was grinning happily as he positioned his club behind the golf ball and tapped it, where it went straight into Bono’s mouth. He pulled out the tiny piece of paper from his back pocket, carefully marking down another win. “Your turn,” he said to Erin with a bright smile. “I never thought miniature golf could be so much fun.”

  Erin smiled thinly and lined up for her putt. When she got word that Jake and Rory had had another contest, and that Jake had won, her gut reaction once again was fury. How dare they act like she had no feelings in the matter, like she was some trophy to be boasted about and owned? Then she realized she couldn’t blame them completely: she could have told Rory to get stuffed after the first competition, but she hadn’t, and she’d be the biggest liar in Ballycraig if she didn’t admit to herself that a tiny part of her was enjoying their little tournament. She got pleasure from knowing being with Jake tonight had to be eating at Rory.

  Still, it was all wrong somehow. She shouldn’t be here, giving Jake some kind of false hope where none existed. But fair was fair: it wouldn’t be right for her to have gone to the fair with Rory and not come out tonight with Jake. It would have hurt and humiliated him. At least that’s what she told herself.

  She couldn’t imagine where he was taking her when they started out toward Omeath in his car. Erin wanted the old Jake back, the one who was purely a mate.

  The ride over was more awkward than it should have been considering how long they’d known each other. Jake kept trying to pull the conversation to Rory. Erin didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to carve Rory up. In fact, Jake’s bad-mouthing him got on her nerves a bit, especially since they were now “mates” again.

  “Go on,” Jake urged, standing behind her. “Tap lightly and you can’t miss Bono’s gob. Trust me.”

  Erin did as instructed but missed by a mile. “Ah, it’s all right,” Jake said consolingly. “I’ll bet you dollars to donuts you get it through Saint Patrick’s miter, no problem.”

  An Irish-themed miniature golf course. It had to be Alec who told Jake about it. Or Old Jack. The place was filling fast. Tourists, mostly older, blue-haired, sensible shoes. Click, click, click. Cameras. Who would want to take pictures of a miniature golf course? Ah, to each his own.

  Toward the end of the game, Erin’s apathy morphed into annoyance. Jake was letting her win. “I know what you’re doing, and I don’t appreciate it.”

  “What?” said Jake, coming over all innocent.

  “Deliberately playing like shite. I don’t need to win. You’re insulting me by doing that. I’m capable of winning fair and square, and if I don’t win, it’s no big deal.”

  “I just thought it might boost your confidence a bit.”

  “Why would you ever think my confidence needs boosting?”

  “I heard your mam is being a bit more demanding these days.”

  Her jaw set. “I don’t want to talk about that now.”

  “Erin, I’m sorry.” Jake looked distressed. “I didn’t mean to upset you. You know that’s the last thing I’d ever want to do.”

  “Jake, it’s not that big a deal. Honest.”

  “Are yo
u sure?”

  “Let it go. I’m serious. If you’d really upset me, I’d let you know, all right?”

  Jake relaxed. “Okay, yeah.”

  “C’mon, let’s finish this up.”

  “Drink after?”

  “Sure,” said Erin, forcing herself not to hesitate. She might not want to be here, but that didn’t give her license to be rude.

  * * *

  It was a gorgeous evening, with a delicious breeze and the beginnings of a perfect sunset, soft as the muted blues and pinks on an artist’s palate. One thing Ireland did have going for it were the summer nights.

  They got their drinks and sat down at one of the picnic tables outside the Hare and Hound. Jake tapped his pint glass against hers, the tinkling sound reminiscent of a tiny bell.

  “To the future,” he said.

  Erin parted her lips slightly, then closed them again. “Yes.”

  Jake looked around. “Place is fairly hopping.”

  Erin just nodded.

  Jake tore open a packet of crisps. “Did you notice the real golf course? That’s new as well. Omeath is really starting to build itself up.”

  “Mmmm.”

  “Why would you ever think of leaving Ballycraig when you’ve got this?” he joked, but Erin knew he really wasn’t.

  “This isn’t why I want to leave Ballycraig,” Erin said gently. “You know that.”

  Jake shook his head. “I still don’t think you’re thinking this through, Erin. You’ve got a great life right under your nose, but you refuse to see it because of your tunnel vision.”

  Erin put her palm to her forehead, more to keep her brains from exploding than anything else. “Jake,” she began softly, “we’ve had this discussion before and it always ends painfully, with me trying to explain my dreams to you, and you encouraging me to make the safe choice. I don’t want the safe choice. I want the choice that’s exhilarating.”

  “And how exactly do you plan to finance your ‘exhilarating’ choice?” Jake asked bitterly.