NICK: O’Connor Brothers #3

by Kelly, A. S.

  As usual, it was my family’s fault.

  Did they really have to invite her to stay for dinner? Ask her all those questions? Treat her as if she were at home? And did she really have to get along so well with them all? Be so at ease? So…herself?

  Eight years ended things for us, even though there was never a beginning. Maybe it was just my imagination, a perverse, immature fantasy. Maybe I just wanted to have everything, including things that weren’t mine to have.

  Maybe Casey’s right. I’m not someone who sticks around, who lays down roots.

  I’m just passing through.

  I’m not a future.

  I switch on the ignition and let the radio play, leaning my head against the steering wheel. The passenger door suddenly slams closed, making me jump.

  “Jesus, Ryan, what do you want?”

  I have no intention of sitting here listening to him.

  “Don’t make me regret coming out here to pick up the pieces.”

  “What pieces?”

  “Don’t lie to me, Nick. You’re no good at it.”

  I scoff, letting my head fall back against the headrest.

  “Have you spoken to your other half by any chance?”

  “I didn’t need to.”

  “Then what do you want? Just say it – and make it quick, because I want to get home.”

  “To do what?”

  “None of your fucking business.”

  “This is costing me, you know. Seriously.”

  “Then piss off.”

  “I still haven’t totally forgiven you. It’s not easy, but I’m trying to take a step forward for you.”

  “Ryan, not now. Not tonight.”

  “You were there for me, when I needed you. Even though I’d have killed you, kept trying to push you away. Now it’s my turn.”

  Ryan looks at me, serious and determined, ready to put me in my place, to show me how much he’s grown. To prove that he’s capable of forgiveness, of love: capable of admitting when he’s wrong. Someone who moves forward, instead of lagging behind.

  “Don’t you think it’s time to sort out whatever’s going on in that huge head of yours?”

  “Hey, cool it with the insults!”

  “Insult? That was a sign of affection.”

  “Let me find the tissues in the glove compartment, I’m about to tear up with emotion.”

  “What shall we do, Nick?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The girl you let get away.”

  “I didn’t let anyone get away.”

  Ryan raises an eyebrow.

  “We were just chatting.”

  “A nice, friendly catch-up?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “No, of course not. It’s never friendly with you. I’m sure you’ve left a nice, long trail of shit behind you.”

  “Like I always do – right?”

  “Don’t you think it’s time to give up the shit and start planting flowers instead?”

  “Do we really have to talk in metaphors like this?”

  “Okay, let me get straight to the point.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve spoken to Ian.”

  “What a stupid question. Obviously I have. Your life is in our hands now.”

  “Oh, holy shit.”

  “I’m glad you said that. We’re going to stage one of those interventions that shows no mercy. And, this time, you’re going to go the whole way. No more drunken phone calls in the middle of the night. No more throwing your bag over your shoulder, heading to somewhere around the other side of the world. No more turning your back on anyone, especially not yourself. Got it?”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “Be serious, Nick. You’re so far from that point right now.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” I say, trying to kid around; but the look on Ryan’s face shuts me right up. “Do you really think I could do it?”

  “What: stop all your bullshit and start being a normal human being? No, I don’t think you can do it.”

  “Wow, thanks.”

  “I’m just being honest. I don’t think you can change. But maybe, if you start to show off your good side more often…then maybe she’d be able to look past the rest.”

  “You think there’s a good side?”

  “Obviously not for me. But I reckon that, for the right woman, you’d be able to pull out…something.”

  I stifle a laugh, which pisses Ryan off right away. “What the hell, Nick! Grow up!”

  And to think that, a few months ago, I was the one saying that to him. The tables are turning and our roles are switching – and I don’t like it one bit. Especially not when I’m the one on the wrong side.

  “You know what the problem is,” I tell him, defeated.

  “That’s not a problem. There are loads of ways you can get around that.”

  “It could be a problem for her.”

  Ryan sighs. “Was that why you did it, then?”

  “Maybe…I don’t know.”

  “We knew you weren’t telling us the truth, but me and Ian had already worked it out. You’re not that difficult to read, you know. Your brain is simple: a binary system, with one synapse.”

  “What?”

  “You’re predictable and easy to read. Better?”

  Ryan’s attempts to act like the older brother would be hilarious, if it wasn’t my life he was trying to fix.

  “So. What shall we do?”

  “We?”

  “Do you want to try doing this by yourself? Let’s face it, Nick. You don’t have the best hand to play.”

  “Fuck – have you spoken to Dad, too?”

  “Jesus, Nick. Haven’t you figured out yet how it works in this family?”

  I let my head flop onto the steering wheel. “She wouldn’t know what to do with someone like me.”

  “I’ll give you that.”

  “Maybe it was the way we met. It seemed like fate, but…”

  “Are you feeling sorry for yourself?”

  “A bit.”

  “You’re not allowed. Self-pity will get you nowhere.”

  “There isn’t anywhere to go.”

  “There is, and you know it.”

  “I do?” I turn to face him.

  “You’re about to lose yourself again.”

  “Maybe that’s for the best.”

  “I won’t let you. Family, blood, you know, all that stuff…”

  I laugh, despite myself.

  “Before we go on with anything, I need to know what really happened. I need to understand what we have to avoid so that we don’t ruin everything again.”

  “I think you’re moving a little too fast there.”

  “And I think you’re losing time. It’s been eight years, Nick. How many more do you want to waste?”

  I scoff and shake my head.

  “We need to move quickly. I know there’s a surgeon in your way, and trust me: that’s not a good thing. It’s hard enough with a doctor, even when he’s gay. Trust me.”

  “You’re not helping.”

  “Neither are you. Do you want to just sit there moaning about the past, or do you want to think about what the fuck we’re going to do?”

  She knows it’s too late as she’s walking on by… My soul slides away… “But don’t look back in anger,” I heard you say1.

  Ryan flicks off the radio, impatient now.

  “I hate that guy,” he says, gesturing towards the radio. “He does it on purpose. He just sits there, waiting for the best moment to play something that gets right on your nerves.”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “Liam Gallagher!”

  I look at the radio, then look back at Ryan, concerned.

  “Forget it. Let’s get back to us.”

  “O-okay.”

  Ryan calms himself down and stops yelling at the radio. He looks at me, serious again, and asks me brazenly:

  “You want her, right?”

  That’s
a tough question, Ryan. You should know I’m not that smart by now.

  “I…”

  I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it. Not until right now, or maybe an hour ago…two days ago…

  Images start to take shape in my mind. Not like in photos, but more like the negatives – you know, the ones from twenty years ago, that you had to take in to get developed. They’re dark, and unclear, but if you hold them to the light and really pay attention, you can just make out the important parts. Even though you can’t quite distinguish who the photo is of – their silhouette, their gaze, the light in their eyes – your heart knows who is in the photo, because your heart lived through that moment. It’s imprinted into your memory, and you can’t help but recognise it. Even though the negatives are burned, or lost, or forgotten in some dusty box underneath a mountain of useless junk, you can still remember that moment perfectly.

  And I have so many of those moments. They were hidden for a while, under a sea of crap and a kilo of dust, but I can feel them around me. They’re dancing in front of my eyes.

  They were all perfect moments. It was me who was the problem, because I couldn’t recognise that; and I let them go.

  And now it’s time to gather them all back up again, and create some more.

  With her.

  My heart is pumping ferociously in my chest at the mere thought of what could happen between us, in a way that we never had before.

  The only way possible.

  I turn to Ryan and nod.

  “This isn’t another one of your fuck-ups, right?”

  I shake my head no, as Ryan gets irritated in the seat next to me. “You’re not going to get bored of this toy as soon as you get a new one?”

  I shake my head again, and Ryan’s face becomes almost purple with rage. It wouldn’t surprise me if he punched me in the face.

  “What did you do, Nick? Or, what did you do to her? And this time, answer me, or I swear I’ll go and get Mum.”

  “I lied to her.”

  In the worst way. I lied to her and to myself, and I kept lying for eight years. And I hate lies. I’m pure honesty.

  I was scared of myself, of what I was feeling. I was scared of what I would’ve had to give up. Scared of what she’d have thought one day, waking up next to me.

  I was scared, so I lied.

  Nick O’Connor was scared. I’m ashamed to even think it, and thank God I didn’t say it out loud: Ryan would’ve used it against me until the day I died. Actually, I think he’d have it engraved on my tombstone.

  But I wasn’t the only one who was scared. As much as Casey pretends to be tough and indifferent, I know her.

  I know.

  And as I tell my little brother – who should be ready to rip my balls off, but instead, is sitting here listening to me – the whole story, I realise that I never want to feel either of those things again.

  I’ll never lie again. And I’ll never be scared again.

  And neither will she – that’s for sure.

  I’m an O’Connor, right?

  This is my moment, my challenge. My match.

  And I have to win.

  25

  Nick

  Eight years earlier

  “Your dad’ll actually kill you this time.”

  Casey glares at me, twirling the keys to the gym around in her fingers. “I don’t think he’ll find out.”

  “I think he’ll clock on pretty quickly when you turn up at home in this state.”

  “I’m not that drunk. Not as drunk as you, anyway.”

  “I know how to handle my alcohol.”

  “And I know how to handle a lot of things, O’Connor.” Casey slides the key into the lock and steps inside to turn off the alarm. “Come on, we have to celebrate properly.”

  “I thought we already were.”

  “Mmm…not enough. We have to make this evening unforgettable.”

  She motions for me to follow her and I do, because I’m incapable of saying no to her: especially when she looks at me like that, in that way that tells me she could eat me alive if she wanted to. And fuck, I’d let her. I’d let her do anything she wanted with me.

  We pass the gym and head straight for the pool. Casey studies the keys, then finds the right one and inserts it into the door. It swings open, and she smirks at me, suggestively.

  I can already feel that we’re going to end up in trouble.

  She goes into the room next to the pool area, and I see her fiddle around with something. Suddenly, music is blaring out from the speakers.

  This won’t end in trouble; we’re already in it.

  “Right then, O’Connor,” she says, sliding off her shoes. “How are you feeling? Are you nervous, worried…excited…?” she lowers her voice for that last word, as she slips out of her jeans and leaves them in a pile on the floor.

  Excited. Yep. That’s the right word.

  “Tomorrow you’ll be on a plane, ready for a new life.”

  “Uh-huh,” I say. I don’t want to blink, in case I miss a single second of her movements.

  Suddenly she turns to face me, flashing one of her looks that pierces right into your soul, before stealing it away.

  “You’ll be so far away,” she says, her voice trembling now. “And you’ll never look back. You won’t remember any of this,” she continues, stretching her arms out. “You won’t remember the guys…or me.”

  Jesus, Casey. I could never forget you. Not even if twenty men threw me to the ground and cracked my skull against the tarmac.

  “So I wanted to make your last night…special,” she says, grabbing the hem of her T-shirt, emblazoned with the team logo, and pulling it over her head. She drops it to the floor, along with the rest of her clothes, and stands there in front of me, naked apart from her underwear.

  “Casey…” Her name slides over my body, before brushing my lips, as if it had come from somewhere deep and hidden; somewhere no one but her could ever reach.

  She looks at me, her watery eyes a clear sign that she’s drunk a little too much. But they’re filled with light, seduction; they’re telling me that, in thirty seconds’ time, I’m going to find myself in a whole heap of shit.

  She brings her hands behind her back, and her bra falls slowly to her feet.

  Holy fuck.

  She turns slowly and slips off her panties with one finger, giving me a view of her arse. I had only ever imagined that arse, which was always hidden by her tomboyish clothes – and my imagination could never have prepared me for its reality.

  She takes her hair down from its ponytail, and it falls in waves down her back. She looks over her shoulder, calling me again: but this time, she doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to do a fucking thing. That one looks is enough, before she dives into the water, splashing me. Droplets slide down my face, awakening my senses.

  Casey swims out, away from the side, then turns to face me, waiting for my next move.

  I always make the first move, with no hesitation; except with her. When I’m with Casey, she makes the rules, and I have no control over anything. Okay, my body I can control. But the biggest problem is my lack of control over something that should never have been brought to light – not when you’re a dickhead like me. And not when she’s nineteen years old, and is your nearly-ex-coach’s daughter, and has a future ahead of her that is as far-stretched as possible from my own.

  I only realise that I’m taking my clothes off when she starts to bite her lip. It’s as if she’d been waiting for this moment: for me to dive in with her, breathlessly and hopelessly swimming out towards this enormous disaster.

  I want you here tonight… I want you here… ‘Cause I can’t believe what I found.

  Shoes, socks and jeans: gone. I head to the side of the pool.

  She tilts her head and lifts one corner of her mouth.

  My God, I’m about to be seriously fucked. And not in a good way.

  My shirt’s gone. One more step, and I’m at the side of the pool: so c
lose to the end. The end of me, of her, and of everything we have. I slide out of my boxers, toss them aside, and dive head-first into this huge mistake. A mistake that will take all the good out of my life.

  I reach her in a few strokes. I never break eye contact, trying to read everything that’s going through her mind; words that are slowly, painfully breaking through my skin.

  Just the two of us, at the end of the world.

  Because Casey is the only world I could ever live in.

  She ducks her head underwater and disappears behind my back. I turn, trying to follow her figure as it glides over to the side of the pool. She surfaces, facing me, and wipes the hair back from her face with two hands. She floats there, her beautiful eyes killing me gently.

  I swim over to her slowly, stopping just close enough to reach out and touch her; to slide my hands all over her, taste what my mouth is crying out for, and my body is longing for.

  I place my hands on the side of the pool, either side of her head, and I hold my breath as my lips brush lightly against hers.

  And your mouth, your mouth, your mouth1…

  For me, that first taste was already the end.

  It was sweetness, desire, friendship, sex, alcohol… A lethal combination that shot straight to my stomach.

  Jesus, this mouth. It’s hell, reaching up to heaven and taking over.

  I push my body up against hers, her breasts squashed against my chest, her glistening skin merging with mine; my lips still pressed to hers. They’re delicate, wet; they taste sweet and exciting, tinged with chlorine, desire and madness that burns away all my reason. I take her face in my hands and look her right in the eyes: there’s no fear there, no hesitation or doubt.

  This is exactly what she wants, and she’s taking it.

  “Casey…” Her name is painful. It’s desire. It’s everything.

  Because she is my everything, and she’s taking me with her own hands.

  This time, she’s the one who throws herself against me. And her kiss isn’t soft, or sweet, or hesitant. No. Her kiss is passionate, filled with a desire that needs to be answered. She needs to have me, tonight, all to herself, before I leave and never look back.

  I slide my hands over her desperately, seeking out her figure. They’re moving of their own accord, and I don’t want to leave without knowing how her skin feels under my fingers. Casey locks her legs around my waist, dangerously close to my erection, as I feel her hard, pert nipples tense under the palms of my hands.