Mickey's Baby

by Annie J. Rose

  I took a step back, not taking my eyes off him. He was pushy, and I didn’t like pushy. I backed away another step.

  “I asked you real nice to sit down. Now where you going?” he said, grabbing my arm.

  I twisted in his grip.

  “She’s coming home with me,” Mickey’s voice came from behind me. I felt the heat of his hand close over my bare shoulder.

  Part of me wanted to lean back into his chest and shut my eyes and let him just make this go away. The rest of me wanted him to back the hell off and stop acting like I was his property.

  Chapter 7

  Mickey

  Everything blazed red when I saw him grab her. Forget being a medic. Forget running a business. I wanted to tear him apart, starting with that fucking hand he had on Karin, on her bare skin. I seethed, rage pouring through me.

  I bit out the words, “she’s coming home with me.” He took one look at me and shrugged, walked away. I felt the tension go out of her for a split second. Then she whirled around to look at me, her face pissed as hell. Good, I thought, because I’m pissed off too.

  Hands on her hips, she squared off in front of me like she was ready to start throwing punches, “Why in the hell did you do that?”

  “That? You mean back off the stranger who put his hands on you? I did that because you were backing away from him trying to escape, and he grabbed you. I was protecting you from him! I thought you’d thank me. Now you’re pissed because I scared off some creep who got handsy with you?”

  “I don’t need that. I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I take care of myself!” she spat.

  She stalked off and left me standing there like an idiot. I threw away my lunch and told Brendan I was leaving. I drove to the pub where Connor was tending bar for the lunch crowd. I took a stool and ordered a double Irish whiskey.

  “What’s got your panties in a twist, boy?” Connor asked.

  “First, she avoids me. Then she gets mad because I chased off a perv who grabbed her. Karin is driving me insane,” I said and downed my drink. “Another.”

  Connor walked away to serve some tourists and returned with a basket of fries, my favorite seasoned ones, and the salt and vinegar.

  “For fuck sake, eat something before I get you another. I don’t wanna clean up your puke,” he grunted. I ate a couple of fries. They tasted good but didn’t help, so I shoved them away.

  “There,” I said, “get me my drink.”

  “Five more fries.”

  “Get my drink,” I said. “You’re Lilly’s dad, not mine.”

  “Okay, ten more, smartass.”

  I glared at him and ate some fries, “Satisfied?” I asked.

  He glowered at me, but he got me a drink.

  “This is ridiculous,” I said. “I’m day drinking, and she’s acting crazy. I am too old for this high school bullshit.”

  “Then forget about her,” Connor said, “the sex can’t be that good if she’s this much of a fucking headache.”

  “It’s not just sex, you asshole,” I said, setting my glass down too hard on the bar, “and you shouldn’t even be thinking about the sex I have with Karin. You have a wife, and Brandi would have your balls for earrings if she heard you talk like that.”

  “I’m not thinking about your crazy girlfriend, calm your tits, Mick,” he grunted and rolled his eyes. “She’s too much trouble. If you want to hook up, they’re reopening the Fresno Place, and Billy says the front desk staff is mostly hot girls. You should go try a sample.”

  “I don’t want to sample some hot desk girl,” I muttered. “Why would I want that? Karin came back, and we spent the night together,” I said.

  “Um, good for you,” he said.

  “Then she kept blowing me off, sent most of my calls to voicemail, and today when I was off work, she said she’d be busy. Then after we finish surfing, Brendan and I went for lunch down the beach and guess who was there stretched out in a pink bikini on a lounge chair, not looking very goddamn busy to me!” I said miserably.

  “What was her excuse?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Nothing. She didn’t even try to explain. Some guy came and hassled her, and when she tried to leave, he grabbed her arm, and that’s when I stepped in. Then Karin goes apeshit about how she doesn’t need anybody to take care of her.”

  “So listen to her and back off. Give her time.” He refilled my drink.

  “I don’t want to give her time! I want her. It’s stupid to waste time like this,” I fumed, downing my drink. “I’m pushing fucking forty for Christ's sake.”

  Connor switched me to Guinness, and I drank one of those for a while, picked at my fries, and stared at the TV over the bar. I watched Connor serve patrons and greet regulars, make recommendations to the tourists who asked—which dish on the menu, which drinks, where to take the best photos for the Gram, and had they thought of surf or diving lessons or a scenic hike? He didn’t miss a chance to hype our businesses. I couldn’t help noticing he was so much more relaxed than he had been before he and Brandi got together. He was still grumpy and gruff, but his movements were looser, and his mood was much less terrifying to customers. She’d changed him with her love. And they had a cute baby now. Jealousy rode in my heart until I destroyed it. I wanted that for my brother, for all of my brothers. They deserved love and a happy home.

  And there I was, stuck with Karin and her commitment issues. How could she possibly be mad about being rescued? Was she just embarrassed she got caught at the beach and avoiding me? Was there more to it?

  I was probably two double whiskeys past being able to figure that out. My thinking was fuzzy, but strangely the pain hadn’t dulled at all. I demanded another drink and my brother set it in front of me and told me it was the last one I’d get from him. He had made me hand over my keys after the first one I drank, so there was no danger I’d drive.

  “I don’t wanna give her time,” I mumbled again.

  “Good luck with that,” Connor snorted.

  I tried to glare at him for snorting, but there were two of him now and I couldn’t be sure which one had snorted. I had a vague sense that it was wrong for there to be two Connors. One was enough surely. I knew what he meant though. She was independent and proud of it, but that didn’t mean her indifference to me hurt me any less.

  I drank my beer. I wallowed in self-pity. It could have been half an hour or ten hours for all I knew. When one of the Tommys (there were three so far) came by, I asked if he’d drive me home. He said words but they didn’t make any sense to me, so I just nodded which was a mistake. It made me sway. Looking down, I saw that my stool was messed up, at least eight stories off the ground.

  “Whass wrong with thish stool?” I demanded. Connor laughed.

  “It ain’t the stool, brother, it’s your lightweight ass. You need to go home and sleep it off. Drink some water.”

  “I can’t! Thish stool ish too high!” I was getting mad now. “Do you want me to bweak my neck?”

  Connor laughed so hard he smacked the bar with his hand, “Tom, you better get his ash out of here before somebody videos him and puts it on Twitter.”

  “Eh, Con, wouldn’t that be good for the pub though? Get us a bit of free publicity at Mickey’s expense,” he chuckled. I didn’t know what he meant because he kept moving around and my eyes couldn’t keep focused on him, but I sensed he was being a jerk.

  “Ash-hole,” I muttered, and all of them laughed again—both Connors and all three or four Tommys.

  They got quiet all of a sudden, which was rare enough in any O’Shea, but especially when two or more are together. I tried to follow their gaze to the door but wobbled and nearly fell off the stool. One of the Connors grabbed my arm and jerked me back, head still swaying.

  Karin was there. Only one of her. Glossy black hair, long tanned legs in white shorts, and some kind of top that made me dizzy with a lot of colors and covered up her perfect tits. I frowned at her top.

  “I hate that top. It coversh
her titsh,” I muttered to Connor. He elbowed me.

  “Shut your hole, boy. You can’t say that shit out loud,” he said crossly.

  “Hey, don’t you look at her titsh,” I warned. He clapped a hand over my mouth.

  “Karin, good to see you. What can I do for you?” he said.

  “Why are you covering his mouth?”

  “Part of our secret handshake,” he quipped.

  Chapter 8

  Karin

  He was at the pub. I had figured he’d be there, but he looked like shit. Or as bad as a man that hot could look, I guess. He was swaying off his stool, and his eyes were red. Great. Mickey O’Shea, drunk off his ass.

  As I approached, he said something I couldn’t hear, and Connor just slapped a hand over his mouth and kept it there. When I asked about it, he made a stupid joke. It was unlike Connor, who rarely joked at all, and I could see he was uncomfortable.

  I had gone to O’Shea’s to apologize for freaking out. The guy on the beach had scared me a little, and I didn’t handle being vulnerable very well. Any hint that I needed someone to save me always put my dander up. I had bristled at Mickey’s suggestion that he had rescued me, and I should be grateful. I owed him an apology and an explanation. I had too much respect for him and cared too much for his good opinion to leave things so unsettled between us.

  But seeing him clearly drunk made me think it was better to postpone that discussion to a time when he was in a better state of mind. So I just shrugged and went and got a table. I’d deal with a waitress for my order and get out of there as soon as I could. But Mickey had seen me and had enough balance left to get his hulking frame off the stool without injuring himself. He made his way over to my table. I had an impulse to bolt for the ladies room, but I held my ground. I’d get my Mai Tai and my corned beef sandwich with extra pickles.

  He tried to sit down at my table. He crashed into the chair a little before successfully pulling it out and dropping into it.

  “What’sh your problem?” he demanded, making a shush sound with his s’s.

  “We’ll talk when you’re sober,” I said coolly.

  I pretended to look at the menu and sighed. I snuck a glance at him. He was hanging his head like he felt bad about the whole thing. Or maybe his neck was floppy because he drank so much, I tried to tell myself. But the thing was, I had an impulse to take care of him. To make sure he got home okay.

  “I’ll drive you home,” I said.

  He met my eyes, too handsome even when he looked a little the worse for wear.

  “Please,” he said, managing to say it right. I nodded, not managing a smile.

  I assured Tommy that I’d handle getting Mickey home and we left the pub.

  I had to help him get in my car. It was a rental until I decided if I needed a car on the island or not. He was brooding and quiet on the ride. When we reached the cabins, I parked, waited for him to get out, and walked him to his cabin. I held his elbow up the three steps to his door.

  “You wanna come inshide?” he said. He gave me a crooked smile that was a little too big. I almost wanted to laugh.

  “Good night, Mick,” I said.

  “Hey!” he said too loudly, “why won’t you come in?”

  “You’ve been drinking,” I said quietly.

  “Sho what? We drank at the bonfire that time. Both of ush.”

  “Not this much,” I said wearily.

  Part of me wanted to take him inside, help him off with his shoes and get him some aspirin and water for when he needed it, tuck him in and tell him good night. But the rational side of me, the side that had some damn common sense, knew we’d end up in bed together. Things were rocky between us and it didn’t feel right to take advantage of him when his defenses were down. I wouldn’t do that. So I took a step back.

  “You don’t wanna go to bed with me?” he asked innocently.

  “Not like this, no,” I said.

  “Karin,” he said, then smiled a little as if proud of himself for getting my name right, “come on and shtay!”

  “It’s not a good idea, Mick,” I said sadly.

  “Not a good idea? Maybe we aren’t a good idea!” he said, his words stinging like a slap. He slammed the door in my face.

  I shook my head and walked to my cabin. He’d just been drinking, that was all. He was disappointed that I turned him down and he said something mean. It was no worse than me walking off on him at the beach earlier. It just hurt. I’d just chalk it up to drunkenness and try again in the morning. Maybe I’d take him some coffee and see if he wanted to talk then.

  I still lay awake for a long time going over it all in my mind. How it had been so easy to screw things up, so easy to be scared of getting serious and end up being hurt anyway.

  I slept through my alarm the next morning and had to hurry, stumbling around and twisting my hair up into a knot on top of my head. I slowed down long enough to make coffee to take to Mickey. I knew how he liked his and maybe he’d see it as a peace offering. We were both kind of assholes yesterday, but it was a new day.

  I knocked on his door, but no one answered. I tried again, but he must have already left for work. Disappointed, I set the cup of coffee on the rail of his porch, so he’d see I’d been there. It was a mug with an old-fashioned camera on it. He’d know it was mine.

  I thought it was maybe pathetic to leave it there, but I did it anyway. I wanted him to know I’d tried.

  Chapter 9

  Mickey

  The train that thundered through my head and seemed to shatter my skull was what woke me. Technically it was my alarm, but it might as well have been a nuclear blast. The headache was miserable, and the taste in my mouth was worse. I rolled off my bed, staggered to the bathroom, turned on the light and then turned it off immediately. A shower didn’t do much to help things. I didn’t remember much about the night before. I wasn’t a big drinker, and I’d had way more than my fair share at the pub. Now I remembered exactly why I didn’t drink that much.

  I remembered Connor giving me fries, and Tommy being there. I saw Karin. I think she offered to drive me home, but that was all I remembered. I hoped I hadn’t puked in her car. That would be bad. Was there a polite way to message someone and say, I think I saw you last night, but I was so wasted I can’t remember what happened. Did I puke on you or your car? Maybe I’d buy her flowers later. Except I seemed to feel pissed at her too. Maybe no flowers. It made my head hurt trying to recall anything from the day before.

  I had an early dive excursion. Fucking early bird tourists. I had a full docket, so I’d have to wait till evening to try and catch up with Karin. I missed her. I knew that, no matter how much my head hurt or what had happened the night before. Between the headache and longing to see her, I felt like hell, but I had to put on my game face and give my clients a good diving experience.

  I made it to the beach and readied the equipment and waivers fifteen minutes ahead of time. Proud of myself, I thought I’d take time to text Karin and thank her for the ride home. Maybe she’d respond and say she didn’t drive me home or that I’d puked. It was the best idea I could think of to fish for information. I reached in my bag and found my phone was dead. I had been too far gone the night before to charge it. So it was useless.

  My first group was a bunch of guys on a bachelor party trip. They were bitching at each other about the early dive time and several were hungover. I gave them safety instructions and got them geared up. By the time we were in the water, they were all excited about the dive. They had a great time and took lots of pictures afterward. They asked me to be in a photo, and I picked up the groom for the picture. They all laughed and hooted and promised to tag the dive business in their posts. It was good press, especially with a big group of people. If they raved about the double session they’d booked for an extra-long dive, that would boost my business even more. I was going to have to train and hire some full-time divers to help out if it got any bigger.

  I did an outing for a local couple next,
repeat customers. It was fun and easy. They came out every couple months for a day date and then ate at a favorite seafood place on this side of the island. My head was better by then but watching them enjoy one another made me miss Karin. What would be our date night? A cookout on the beach and making out by the fire? Lobster and champagne? That ice cream place I’d never gotten around to taking her to where they mix in toasted coconut? I rubbed my chest, feeling her distance acutely.

  My afternoon group was a gaggle of six girls, spray-tanned and bleached blonde. I had to remind myself I was getting paid to be patient with them at least eight times in the first ten minutes. It took forever to get through my safety demo because they stopped every two minutes to smash their faces together and take selfies. There was a lot of giggling and whispering. One of the blondes came up and asked if she could feel my bicep for a picture. Then when I reluctantly agreed, we posed and right before the picture, she freaking licked my arm. I stepped back, trying to be good-natured.

  “That’s enough for now, ladies. Let’s talk about your gear,” I said, redirecting the shrieks and salacious remarks back to business.

  “I’m sorry if I freaked you out,” she purred, touching my arm, “but I read on your site that you were a Navy SEAL and men in a uniform are just my catnip.”

  “I’m no longer in the military, and my uniform these days is for diving,” I said as affably as possible.

  “You’re so hot, though. Do you work out all the time?”

  “I like to keep in good shape,” I said, picking up the flippers and instructing them for use.

  The next thing I knew, they were chasing each other around the beach with flippers on, jumping on each other, squealing, falling over. I wondered if toddlers would be less trouble. I cleared my throat.

  “Excuse me, ladies. If you’ll all come back and listen to the rundown on the equipment, I’ll be happy to take a couple of group pictures of you all geared up,” I offered. They hooted their agreement.