by Quinn, Taryn
My grin faded. “Surely I have—” Then I fell silent. “You’re probably right. It was an oversight. I would love for you to come. You and Da. And Thomas and Maureen and her…belly.”
My mum chuckled drily. “She has a fiancé now too.”
“Him too. You’re all invited. There’s room. Unless—”
I broke off. Frowned. Likely would’ve choked again if I had anything in my throat but air.
Even that threatened to kill me.
“Unless what?”
“What if I got a place in Crescent Cove? I mean, if it worked out. If she hasn’t found someone else. If she still wants to see me again.”
“A lot of what ifs and just plain ifs. Seems to me you need to start asking some questions and listening—really listening—to the answers.”
“Yes, I do.” I wiped my mouth with my napkin and sat back in my chair. “I suppose I need to do that with you and Da too. I always assumed he was glad I’d gone.”
“Oh, my sweet boy. You couldn’t be more wrong. He believes you were glad to be rid of us.” She pushed aside her half-eaten stew. I hoped I hadn’t been the cause of her lackluster appetite, but I had to wonder. “I have to admit, the thought has crossed my mind too.”
“Never. I swear.” I reached for her hand and cupped it between both of mine. “That was the other reason I came here. You’re right. I’ve focused on work to the exclusion of all else. And I’ve made great strides, but I’m alone.” The word felt like a razor against my vocal cords. I could barely get it out. “I always liked my solitude.”
“Until now.”
Wordlessly, I nodded.
“Love changes everything. Opens up your eyes to what you’ve deliberately looked away from.” She squeezed my hand. “Like how you never could catch a decent fish.”
I laughed softly and met her unwavering gaze. “I’m so glad I came, Ma.”
Her eyes dampened for just a second before they were clear and true once again. “I am too, sweetheart. Now tell me you’ll stay for more than a few days.”
I nodded. I hadn’t planned on staying long, but it looked as if I’d be extending my visit a bit.
Once I returned to the States, I would be going back to Ivy.
Whatever that meant.
Nineteen
Two weeks later
I did two things upon arriving in New York after my visit with my folks.
And Thomas, my smart-mouthed little brother who thought he was teaching me something when he offered to take me to some gentleman’s club he had discovered. And Maureen, my now sizable younger sister with her equally sizable rock on her hand and her far too smiley husband. And the town at large, meeting friends old and new.
Leaving had been surprisingly difficult. I’d never wanted to stay as much as I did this time. Partly because my village—my family—seemed more welcoming than I remembered. Partly because I didn’t want to deal with what might be waiting for me on the other side of the pond.
But all good things came to an end, and I left promising to return soon. I even meant it.
Possibly even with Ivy.
Lots of possibilities there, and just as many chances for failure. I just couldn’t dwell on those now.
The trip back to the States was long and tiring. I was restless and couldn’t settle, never mind sleep. At least they didn’t lose my luggage, a minor miracle. I’d worn the fisherman’s sweater my mum had knitted me just in case.
The one she’d whipped up like a damn demon for Ivy was tucked away in my pack, along with the piece of jewelry I’d picked up for her on a whim in a small shop in Belfast. My sister was always one for shopping, and when she’d heard I had a “stór”, she’d taken me to all the best places featuring handcrafted pieces.
I’d tried to explain my relationship with Ivy was complicated, but she wouldn’t hear it. To her, the world was a rosy bowl of happiness.
It had to be the hormones swimming through her veins. No one had cause to be that happy. Pregnancy glow or not.
Now all of that was behind me, and the gifts I’d possibly foolishly brought home for Ivy were safe in my luggage.
Unlike me. I’d cast safety to the wind.
I rubbed my chest where I’d inked part of my soul. Dramatic? A bit. But an Irishman was entitled to some poetry when he’d found the love of his life.
Perhaps I was reclaiming that side of myself as well.
All that remained before I completed the final leg of my journey was to snip off two dangling threads.
The first was to open the mail Ian had sent me over in Ireland. I didn’t know how it had arrived so quickly. He must’ve paid a mint.
But when I pulled out the seemingly old-fashioned tape recorder—that somehow had a Bluetooth connection I could hook up in my rental car, whom I was now calling Silver Bullet of Despair after our multiple trips together—and slipped in the cassette tape he’d included, I understood why he’d paid extra.
His and Kellan’s voices soared from the tinny speakers. The sound quality of the machine wasn’t the best, but it didn’t matter. The combination of Ian’s rafter-raising voice with Kellan’s grittier one was an oddly interesting juxtaposition. And their song was bloody good too, even if I was already finding ways I would arrange it differently.
I grabbed my phone to jot some things down as I listened half a dozen times. Strings sooner, rather than starting with the piano. The piano coming in on the bridge. Adding a touch of broken glass sound effects to the very end, when the man with the crushed spirit was walking away.
In the song, Ian was basically the more hopeful half of the guy who had just endured a failed romance. Kellan was the voice in the back of his head saying not to bother. Why try when everything always turns out the same anyway in the end?
It could’ve been a chaotic mess yet the result so far was a kind of crazy poetry.
My hands tingled as I typed out the last of my first impressions and sent them over to Ian. I added a line at the end to make him laugh.
A tape recorder? Really? It’s not the 80s anymore. Also, I think Anthony Robbins has taken over your psyche.
It made me laugh, which was saying a lot since I’d just spent weeks with my family, more time than I had in years. Yet my mood was surprisingly buoyant.
I’d made some mistakes. Pushed people away unnecessarily. Not unlike the pessimistic bloke in Kellan and Ian’s song. Except today I was drowning out the negative voice in the back of my head.
Mostly.
At least until I took a deep breath and played Ivy’s voicemail. Make that two voicemails. She’d left them three days apart and I hadn’t replied or even nutted up enough to listen to them.
I was now.
Finally.
They said variations of the same thing. I need to talk to you. It’s really important. In person would be best, but I know you’re booked. So…call me.
I drove away from the rental place and hopped on the Interstate almost without noticing the signs. This trip was already becoming familiar. Good thing, because I scarcely heard the instructions from the GPS or the whistles on my phone that signaled Ian’s texts.
My entire focus was Ivy.
I wish I could’ve said my first worry was illness or a death in the family or some other catastrophic condition. That concern was in there too, but it was beneath the gut punch that she’d found someone else.
Maybe she hadn’t. Two messages and that was it. No texts, and I’d checked.
Of course I hadn’t texted her again after mine had gone unanswered.
Until she’d called…
Gripping the wheel, I squinted into the sun and blew out a long, slow breath. It was the middle of June. No threat of snow now. Instead, the heat index was climbing higher by the minute, and I was sweating through my short-sleeved button down. Humidity was a bitch.
Unless I was sweating for other reasons. And not even ones like having to meet her older brother.
Before, that had seemed problematic. I’d jus
t chosen to focus on that rather than the content of her voicemails. I knew full well I might not want to hear what she had to say.
I could call. That would be easier. Less traumatic. For her, I mean. I was a strong, tough guy. It wasn’t as if her news would destroy me. I was just worried because I couldn’t get a refund on the white gold bracelet I’d bought for her.
Right.
And if she’d contacted me because of something serious going on in her life—sickness in her family or job woes or God knows what else—most likely, she wouldn’t want to hear from me now. I hadn’t been there for her when she needed me.
I was a bastard. More concerned about myself than her possible tragedies.
Now I would own up to what I’d done. And what I hadn’t.
Let the chips fall where they may.
I found a spot down the block from the duplex Ivy shared with her brother. I went up to the door and hit the bell, then tucked my hands in the pockets of my trousers. My palms were actually damp.
Was this what it was like to meet the parents, so to speak? I hadn’t done it since Darla. It wasn’t an experience I was looking to repeat.
Yet if Ivy wasn’t with someone new—and didn’t want to maim me with her ice cream scoop—I would be doing it again with her actual parents at some point. She also had another brother.
Bloody big families. Another reason I wasn’t cut out for the coupled up way of life.
Almost on cue, Ian’s singsongy voice echoed in my head.
Anthony says what you focus on determines your results. Focus on what you love about your family. When bad thoughts creep in, smack your wrist to break the chain of negativity.
The asshole had actually said that to me in a text the other day. I’d wanted to kick his arse, but I’d actually found myself doing just as he suggested more than once.
If I ended up slapping myself a lot while talking to…Auggie? Was that what Ivy had called him? If I ended up slapping myself a lot while talking to him, maybe he’d think I had a twitch.
Or that I was a man in a strange land. I could use that excuse for any number of things.
The door swung open on my third ring of the bell. The guy was tall and well-built, the sort of fellow who wore T-shirts that nearly ripped at the seams from his flexed muscles. And in my case, the expansion of his chest as he stared me down.
“It’s you?”
I didn’t know how to answer that question. I looked over my shoulder. No one else on the porch. Just me.
I took off my mirrored sunglasses as I attempted a smile. “Hello…Auggie.” Sweat trickled down my temple and I rubbed it away. “I’m Rory. Is your sister around?”
“Auggie?” He smirked. “No, she isn’t. Can’t you use her name? Do you even know it?”
He stomped down the hallway, leaving the door open for me to follow. Probably hoping I would so he could spring out and strangle me.
Carefully, I walked into their living room and sat on the first piece of furniture that would hold me.
Auggie—not a fitting name, by the way—pushed a hand through his shaggy hair. It was cut short in back, longer in front, but from the way he was plowing through it, he might be bald soon.
“I’m guessing you’d prefer if I didn’t call you Auggie. So, August, is it?”
“I don’t give two shits what you call me. What’s important is what you call my sister.” He turned and crossed his arms over his bullish chest. “What’s your story?”
“Story?”
“Yes. Do you have a job? A dozen other children in other states? A record?”
“My own? No, not yet, although I’ve considered doing one as Carlos did, bringing in a variety of guest singers while I play the guitar. Of course I’d bring in other musicians too. I know my way around an acoustic, but I also know some very talented—” I broke off at August’s hard stare. “I’m guessing you didn’t mean that kind of record.”
“What are you blathering about?”
“She didn’t tell you about me?” It hurt more than I would have expected, although how could I expect her to tell everyone about us when I’d done little more than breeze in and out of her life?
I hadn’t earned my spot. I was just an occasional visitor in her world.
“What she told me could fit on the head of a pin. You play guitar? You realize that’s not exactly a stable job when it comes to having a woman and a family.”
I cleared my throat. How best to say this without sounding like a douche? “I do okay, no worries there. Not that Ivy and I have made it to the family stage yet.”
August narrowed his eyes. “You got a problem with stepping up and being a man?”
I took a quick glance between my spread legs. “Best as I can tell, I am one, mate, so if you have a problem with me, maybe you should just spell it out.”
“I’m not your mate, son.” He stepped forward and flexed his hands. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he dragged me up by the shoulders and showed me his opinion of me with his fists. But I was scrappier than I looked and wouldn’t back down from a fight.
Even if I had no clue why he was so angry. Yes, I hadn’t been back to see Ivy in a couple of months, but as long as she was okay…
“Is she all right?” I rose. “Look, I don’t have time for pissing matches with you, especially if there is something wrong with Ivy.”
“Oh, no, there is nothing wrong with my sister. She’s bright and beautiful and funny and far too good for the likes of you.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “You’re right.”
He crossed his arms again. “If I’m right, why the hell haven’t you stuck around? Sure you don’t have that other family or record I asked you about?”
“I live in California. For work. I do not have a wife or children or a police record. Other records, yes, there are many with my name listed as producer. I will agree that I could have done better by your sister. That’s why I’m here. To rectify things.” I exhaled and turned to head toward the front door. “Since I’m sure you won’t point me in her direction, I’ll find her myself. I should’ve tried the diner first anyway.”
“So, why didn’t you?”
Good question. It hadn’t even occurred to me. I’d been pulled toward her flat and clearly, that had been a mistake. I’d been lectured since I stepped onto the stoop.
Worst of all, I didn’t even know why.
“I don’t know,” I said finally, shifting back to face August. “Something told me to come here. Stupid, really, since it’s daytime and Ivy is always working.”
“You’re right, she is working, but not at the diner.” Before I could question that, he moved into my space. I held my ground and that seemed to soften some of the glint in his intense green eyes.
That could’ve been wishful thinking.
“My sister has a soft heart. Swing into town and give her a story about how you play guitars for a living and work with famous people, and her romantic heart probably kicked into gear. Not because she wants fame or money. She’d just see the artistic side of that and not the seedy fucking underbelly.”
“I didn’t give her a story about my work. In fact, I didn’t tell her a whit about what I do until my second trip to see her. Then I brought her to meet my friends at Happy Acres. She met them. Spent the day with them and their significant others. I can guarantee I’m not making up some farfetched nonsense to get into her panties.”
August’s jaw firmed. “No, you’ve done that already, haven’t you?”
Awkward. “Did Ivy tell you that?”
I didn’t know what it said if she’d told her brother we’d been intimate yet hadn’t mentioned my music career. Did that mean my prowess in bed was legendary? I’d always suspected I was better than the average bear, but I’d never had verification of the fact.
“Whatever she said, it’s all true,” I added, preening a little.
A muscle ticked in his temple. “Dude, I have no idea what’s spinning around in your head right now, but she�
�s my sister. Gross as fuck.”
“Oh. Right. Yes. Of course.”
“But even if I wasn’t her older brother, she definitely didn’t say anything complimentary about you. Short of you being a one-minute man. In and out. Wham. Bam. Done.”
I cocked my head. “I highly doubt she said that, since my staying power is—”
He pointed at the door. “Get out.”
“You’re a bloody rude sot.” I stopped in the doorway then turned to find August right behind me with blood in his eye. My blood. I could only imagine the vicious things he would do to me for daring to soil his beloved sister.
I couldn’t even blame him.
I also couldn’t let things stand on such awful terms. If Ivy didn’t plan on dumping me for some local yuppie with a Harvard business degree, I’d be seeing August again. He was her family, and they lived together. She obviously adored her brother, and from all I’d seen, Ivy had good judgment.
Most likely, August was a decent bloke under the bluster and brotherly threats of violence. Both implied and otherwise.
“Look, we got off on the wrong foot.” I held up my hands palms out. “I only came here to make things right with Ivy. I never meant to hurt her or cause her a moment’s unhappiness, but from your attitude, clearly, I must have.”
“My ‘attitude’ is the least of what you deserve, pal. She isn’t a truck stop for you.”
I nodded. “I understand that, and I regret deeply if my behavior indicated to her I didn’t…care for her.”
“Care for her?” He cocked a brow. “Gee, don’t be so effusive. Vowels are free, just in case you missed the memo. And did it ever occur to you maybe she moved on?”
The pang in my chest nearly knocked me back a step. Was this the confirmation I’d feared? Perhaps that was exactly why I’d chosen to come here rather than to look for her at the diner.
This way, there was a chance that August would clue me in that Ivy was no longer interested. I hadn’t consciously expected him to be home on a weekday afternoon, but maybe I’d been hoping to be let down easier.