by Penny Reid
Always fear. Always guilt.
Sean was right. I knew he was right. Separate from my own messy feelings, from my worries and longings, was my little boy. And my boy deserves to know his father. And Bryan deserves to know his son.
I winced and then nodded, because it was true. The Bryan I knew now would be an excellent father. I couldn’t keep making excuses.
Even if the thought of telling Bryan—of admitting the truth—made my blood run cold with dread, I had to do it. I couldn’t hide Patrick. He deserved better than a mother ruled by fear.
Bryan hadn’t remembered me. He didn’t remember our night together. He didn’t remember making Patrick. He hadn’t even remembered my name. I had been nothing to him. And maybe he would hate me for keeping Patrick from him. But it wasn’t about me.
It was about Patrick.
I needed to tell Bryan the truth.
For Patrick.
10
@THEBryanLeech: Sometimes life punches you right in the face. And sometimes you end up liking it.
@WillthebrickhouseMoore to @THEBryanLeech: So that’s what you’re into. Interesting.
*Bryan*
“I got a new plant, and it’s been alive for a month.”
“Oh really? What kind?” Sarah asked. She sounded interested.
“A spider plant. The lady at the florist said it was the easiest to keep alive,” I told my sponsor as I finished toweling dry my hair—over the phone, of course. She might not be interested in seeing a bunch of men walk around in the nip, but a woman hanging out in the team’s locker rooms wouldn’t go unnoticed.
She chuckled at this. “I think that might be cheating, but okay.”
“Hey, it’s better than nothing,” I defended.
“So, why the change of heart?”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought you were done with the whole luurve side of life.”
“I am . . . sort of.”
“Then why have you taken a new plant under your wing?”
“I like the challenge.”
“Mm-hmm. I think you might be making unintentional plans in that head of yours. What was her name again? Eilish?”
“I’m not making any unintentional plans about . . .” I trailed off, glancing around the room just in case Sean was somewhere listening. “Her.”
“I think you are. I think you want to open doors for her, buy her flowers, take her out for romantic candlelit dinners, and prove that you can be responsible with a person by being responsible with a green leafy friend,” she teased, a smile in her voice.
I grunted, but didn’t deny her accusation because I did want to take Eilish out. I’d been preparing to do just that when she told me she had a son. But in the end, I didn’t ask her. It wasn’t the fact that she had a son that concerned me, not at all. In fact, my imagination rather ran away with plans after she’d said it, liking the idea of a two-for-one deal.
Maybe he likes rugby.
Of course he likes rugby.
I should get him a jersey.
But then the other part of her statement sunk in: You remind me of my son’s father.
Jesus Christ. How was I supposed to get out of that box?
“I’ve always hated dating,” I said instead. “In fact, if I could bypass all that might I bestow upon you a kiss business, I would. Why can’t we all just skip to the comfortable part of relationships? Go straight to the bit where you can walk around in your undies, let farts go and blame them on the dog, and leave the door open when you’re taking a piss?”
“First of all, there is no part of a relationship that should involve that last bit, and second of all, dating is the best part. All those butterflies and excitement, the sexual tension. Wanting to skip to the comfortable bit is laziness. It means you don’t have to put in any effort to woo someone. Also, if memory serves, you’ve never had a relationship that lasted more than six months.”
“Thanks for the reminder, oh Sarah of Ye Old Wet Blanket,” I groused, but she was right. I hadn’t dated anyone for longer than six months; and even then it hadn’t really been a relationship with any meaningful or lasting impact.
“Ye Old Wet Blanket was my grandmother’s name, I’ll have you know.”
I cracked a smile but couldn’t suppress my sigh of frustration. “It’s not that I’m lazy, it’s just that it doesn’t hold any appeal. And anyway, I’m too old for all that. Dating’s a young man’s game.”
Dating was a young man’s game, and yet I’d been prepared to ask Eilish out until her confession last week. I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her, regretting what I’d said after our kiss. But she’d avoided me for weeks, which was understandable given how I’d responded.
Or not responded.
I just couldn’t believe it was happening—that we were kissing—and then it was over. Even though everything I’d said about not being good enough for her was true, the compulsion to ask her out, spend time with her, was overwhelming.
Sarah let out a sound that was half laughter, half frustration. “You are a young man, Bryan.”
“Then why does the idea of getting to know someone feel like a chore?” A chore when it’s anyone but the one woman you can’t have.
“You’re thirty years old, practically a baby. You’ve just burned yourself out. You need to find the excitement in life again, the thrill to be had from simple things.”
“I do get a thrill from simple things,” I countered. “Didn’t I mention I fixed my tap this weekend? And I had Earl Grey tea with breakfast.”
“Oh. Stop. Too much excitement. I can’t handle it.” She said this deadpan, adding, “I’m talking about finding something you enjoy doing on the regular. You know, a hobby, you nutter.”
“I have hobbies. I’ve taken up bird watching.”
“Okay, go ahead, take the piss.”
“I’m not joking. I’ve been driving up to the mountains on my days off, when I’m not fixing up the apartment. Best few hours of the week.”
“Oh . . . you’re serious,” said Sarah, taken aback.
“Course I am. I’ve taken up golf, too. Well, I like going to the driving range from time to time at least.”
A sigh from her. “I take it back. You are an old man.”
“Glad you’re finally seeing things clearly.”
“You do realize the problem with all these new activities you’re filling your life with, right?”
“There’s no problem. I’m quite content with my life now.”
“They’re all solitary. Before you know it, you’ll be a cranky old hermit, shouting at kids to get off your lawn and complaining about how the postman is always late.”
“Come on, you’re getting a little ahead of yourself now—”
“I’m not. There’s a gaping woman-shaped hole in your life and you’re filling it with mundane pursuits. Soon enough you’re going to realize what I already know.”
“And what’s that then?” I asked, getting a little irritated now.
“That you’ve been sober for two years and you’re ready for a relationship. You’re not the same bloke you were at twenty-five. You’re one of the most reliable people I know, and you’re too much of a good-looking son of a gun to be single. Some woman needs to be getting the benefit of that body of yours.”
“Why, Sarah, if I’d only known you’ve been harboring this crush,” I teased, my irritability fading.
“Oh please, just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I can’t recognize an attractive man when I see one. Anyway, I’ve got to get ready for my shift at work, but think about what I said, okay? You deserve someone, Bryan, you really do.”
Deserve someone. Up until now, I hadn’t considered I deserved someone. My mam was a prime example of someone alone, someone who had pushed nearly everyone else out of her life, except me. But was I alone? Did I feel alone? After my horrible behavior for years, I hadn’t felt I’d deserved anything otherwise. But now?
I needed some time to think about
all this.
“Okay, call me tomorrow.”
“Will do. Bye.”
After I hung up, I finished dressing and packing my things, mulling over her words.
Maybe Sarah had a point. Recently, I’d started having wet dreams, and that shit hadn’t happened since I was fourteen. It was downright embarrassing. I swear it’d only take a light breeze to make me come these days.
I was lost in thought when I stepped out of the locker rooms and collided with a body. “Oh shit, sorry,” I said right before her scent hit me.
Eilish.
“No, it’s my fault,” she said as she righted herself. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“That makes two of us.” I gave her a soft smile, ignoring the pull I always felt when she was nearby. There was no use.
I knew I wasn’t her favorite person, but at least now I knew why.
You remind me of my son’s father. . . What kind of eejit would let her go? I wanted to find the wanker and beat the shite out of him.
I moved to step by her, gritting my teeth at the unfairness of it all. Why did she have to be so beautiful? So . . . funny and clever, intriguing? Why, in spite of all the stuff I’d just said to Sarah about not wanting to go through the rigmarole of getting to know someone, did I still really want to get to know her? She was an anomaly and it made her dislike of me that much more of a blow.
But then she blurted, “Let’s go out for a drink,” and I paused mid-stride.
I turned just my head to look at her, certain I’d misheard. “Pardon?”
She chewed on her lip. “Sorry. I meant that to be a question. Do you . . . do you want to go somewhere and have a drink with me?” Her eyes were on my chin, and she spoke slowly and carefully, as though forcing herself to say the words.
I glanced around to look for cameras, because this had to be a joke. No hello. No how are you? Just straight to asking me out for a drink.
But just in case this was for real, and this intriguing woman actually was asking me out, I kept my tone soft as I gently reminded, “I don’t drink, Eilish. I’m two years sober.”
“Forks!” she exclaimed, squeezing her eyes shut. “Right, yeah. Sorry, I forgot. Well, I didn’t forget I’m just—Sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry. No harm, no foul.” I took a step toward her, just barely restraining the urge to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, or grab her hand, or give myself a high-five.
Whoa, don’t get ahead of yourself.
She looked extremely nervous, so I dismissed the idea of a self-congratulatory high-five. Though I could have done so if I’d been quiet, she couldn’t see me because her eyes were still shut.
“We could go for coffee?” she suggested, finally meeting my eyes, and there was something about the intensity in hers, almost like she was pleading with me not to make it a big deal, that had me nodding automatically, albeit warily.
“Eh, sure, coffee sounds good.” What the hell is going on?
“Right, great. Is now okay?”
Now?
“Now?”
She nodded fervently. “Yes, now.”
“Well, I’m done for the day so I guess . . . yeah. We can take my car.” I was responding on autopilot because my brain was too preoccupied trying to figure out what was happening.
“All right. Lead the way.” She motioned me forward with her hand and, casting her one more bewildered glance, I led the way.
Nothing about this makes sense. Unless . . .
“Hey, Eilish?”
She glanced up at me as we walked. “Yes?”
“Is everything okay? Connors hasn’t been acting up again, has he?”
She shook her head. “No, no, nothing like that.”
“You need a kidney, or something?”
She sputtered a surprised laugh. “Of course not.”
“Blood transfusion? I’m type A negative if you were wondering.”
“Bryan, I don’t need an organ transplant or a blood transfusion. I don’t even want you to pay for the coffee. I just need to talk to you someplace not here.”
“Well, I’m definitely paying for the coffee, but what do you want to talk about?”
She glanced from side to side, like there were listening ears all about. “I’ll tell you when we get to the coffee shop. Just, can we go somewhere at least a few miles away? It’s a subject of a sensitive nature.”
“Sure.” I was even more confused now. What on earth could she possibly have to say to me that was of a sensitive nature?
And, so, was this a date?
Or no . . .?
In a baffled daze, we made it to the garage and I opened her door. She slipped in, and wordlessly I pulled out of the sports complex. The car drive was silent, my mind awash with curiosity. It was also awash with plans, ways I could turn this impromptu coffee date into a real date.
I glanced at her and allowed my eyes to move over her form. Even buzzing with nervous energy, being close to her felt . . . nice.
I could do this. I could make the moves on her, show her I was nothing like her son’s father. I might be rusty, but I still knew a thing or two.
Or three things. But not more than three.
I knew I should’ve turned the radio on when my stomach made a loud grumble. I glanced at Eilish and saw the side of her mouth had curved just slightly.
“You ever notice how your gut always waits for absolute silence to do that?” I asked lightly. “It’s like it wants to achieve optimum embarrassment.”
She nodded and shot me a smile. “Yeah. It used to always happen to me in school during tests.” She paused, looking me over. “You haven’t eaten since lunch, have you?”
“Nah, but don’t worry about it. I’ll eat when I get home.”
She considered me a moment. “We can get something now, if you want. I don’t mind.”
My mouth shaped into a grin at this opening. “Is this a sneaky ploy to lure me into a dinner date? Because if it is, I’m in.”
“No! It’s not, I swear. This is definitely not a date. I just know how important it is for you guys to eat at regular intervals. Don’t tell him I told you this, but Sean sometimes carries cooked chicken breasts around with him in sealed food bags in case he gets peckish.”
I chuckled to cover my frustration at her insisting this wasn’t a date. “Really? Next time I see him I’ll have to ask if he’d like to share his breasts with the rest of the team.”
Eilish’s cheeks reddened. “Please don’t.”
“But it’s not fair, keeping those succulent bosoms all to himself,” I went on, hoping my flirting attempt wasn’t unwelcomed.
“Bryan,” she pleaded, and there was something about my name on her lips that woke my dick up.
Go back to sleep, eager. Nothing to see here.
“I’m joking, I’m joking. I won’t out his secret to the boys. You have my word.”
At this, she smiled tightly and turned to look out the window. A few minutes passed as I quietly drove. Eilish reached up to fiddle with her hair. It was in a neat bun, but she pulled out the elastic and let it fall over her shoulders. Man, that hair. I bet it felt like silk. My fingers itched to find out.
I pulled to a stop outside one of my favorite steakhouses and parked. Eilish didn’t speak as I led her inside. But when I asked for a table for two, she put in, “Please, a booth at the back if you have one,” anxiety radiating off her in waves.
I was still at a loss to explain what was going on with her, but I tried my best to put her at ease even though her nervousness was rubbing off on me a little.
“They do amazing chicken wings here. Louisiana hot sauce. You should try them,” I said as we slid into the booth.
“Oh yeah, I might,” she replied absently and took the menu from the waiter before studiously reading through the options. The tension grew thick between us, and I was at a loss as to how to break the silence. She asked me here to discuss a sensitive issue. The only person we had in common was Sean
, so maybe something was going on with him. Maybe he was ill. I hoped to God that he wasn’t.
“Can I take your orders?” the waiter asked when he returned. I gestured for Eilish to go first.
“I’ll have the chicken wings and the sweet potato fries, please. Oh, and a Coke.” Her voice was a little shaky and I felt this overwhelming urge to touch her, help her calm down in some way.
“And I’ll have the sirloin. Medium rare. Still water to drink. Thanks.”
The waiter took our menus and the silence returned. I couldn’t take much more of it, but I knew if I pushed to know what she wanted to talk about I’d only scare her off.
“So, how was your day?” I asked. “Good, bad, average?”
“It was okay.”
“My knee’s been feeling great since your massage.”
She shifted in place, not meeting my gaze. “That’s good.”
“How are you liking working with the team so far?”
“I like it.”
“Eilish.”
Her bright eyes flicked up to meet mine. “Yes?”
In a bold move, I reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Talk to me. Whatever you have to say, I promise you won’t find any judgment here.”
She let out a long, shaky breath. “Can I, um, ask you a few questions first?”
I let go of her hand and sat back. “Of course. Fire away.”
“Sooo . . . eh, what do you think about kids?”
“Kids?”
She nodded fervently and leaned forward to rest her elbows on the table. “Yeah, kids.”
Where was she going with this? I mean, I knew she had a son, but why ask me about kids?
Her gaze seared into mine, like my answer was a matter of life and death.
I cleared my throat, wanting to be honest but also give the right answer. “I don’t really think about them much, if I’m honest, but I like them. Some of the blokes on the team are dads, and I have great craic playing around with their little ones on family days.”
Eilish absorbed my answer with a serious expression. “What about the non-fun side? Could you ever see yourself caring for a child when he’s . . . I mean, when they’re sick? What about when they throw a tantrum and need to be disciplined?”