Hooked: A Christmas Romance: The Doyles, Boston Irish Mafia Romance

by Sophie Austin

  Kieran winces at my continued red-faced crying. No one’s seen me like this since they told me Drew died. I couldn’t even cry at his funeral. My parents had warned me not to embarrass them with unseemly blubbering.

  “I’ll go back and finish the job,” Kieran says. “I swear to fucking god. I don’t care if he’s been my friend for a decade. I’ll snap his goddamn neck if you say the word.”

  The earnestness in Kieran’s voice as he threatens to murder someone breaks something in me. I hug him. “No murder on Christmas Eve.”

  “Okay, but if you change your mind the offer stands. I’m open for business even on Christmas.”

  I let out a strangled laugh and he gives me a squeeze before standing up to leave.

  “Drink that water,” he says. “We’re going to bake the shit out of some cookies later if you’re feeling better.”

  “Thanks, Kieran. I’m glad you told me.”

  He nods, then ducks out of my room, leaving me to mull over my troubled thoughts.

  18

  Vinny

  Sia’s suitcases sit in the entryway of my house. I can’t bear to look at them. But I can’t bear to move them out of the way, either.

  I hadn’t even shown her the portfolio yet.

  That’s still sitting on the passenger side of my truck, buckled in because I’m a goddamn idiot.

  My face throbs. It’s what I deserve for becoming a sentimental idiot who fell for a sentimental woman obsessed with Christmas.

  I need to go.

  Get the hell out of here. Grab Taco and find a new place where no one knows me and I can forget about Kieran, this fucking fish shack, and all of the demons from my past

  And Sia?

  Do I want to forget her? The sweet taste of her on my lips? The sound of her laugh, her arm threaded through mine? The warmth of her pressed up next to me?

  She trusted me. She cared enough to tell me the hard truths.

  And I hurt her like my foster parents had hurt me. Hit her where she was the most vulnerable. Shredded her like her uncle had.

  I’m so goddamn ashamed.

  It had been a relief when Kieran came by and beat the hell out of me.

  Gave me something to focus on other than the look on Sia’s face when she’d realized what a despicable human being I am.

  In the bathroom, I clean up the gash on my cheek. It’s substantial. I mop up the blood, swipe on some antibacterial ointment and put on a butterfly bandage.

  He came by, treating me like some kind of hero and I couldn’t stomach it. Told him what I did.

  “You said what to her?”

  A second of heavy silence had passed between us, and then I was on the floor, Kieran slamming his fist into my face. I punched back once, out of instinct, but then just let it happen.

  “It’s only because of Sia that I’m stopping,” he’d said, his voice icy.

  He was under the impression that it would hurt her if he beat me to death.

  I wish I could disagree with him. It’d be easier to deal with her anger than her disappointment.

  I finish cleaning the blood off my face. Kieran split my lip, and I’m going to get one hell of a black eye. Maybe two.

  At least my nose isn’t broken this time.

  “The only reason I’m not telling my family what you said is because it’ll make it harder for her, Vinny. But you either make it up to her, or you get the fuck out of here.”

  How could I make it up to her? How the hell could I take back something so horrible?

  Leaving is probably better for both of us.

  I climb upstairs to my room and sit on my bed, watching Taco swim around.

  “Where do you want to go, buddy?” I ask. “Maybe to some remote island off the coast of Georgia? An old mining town in Colorado? Or how about Alaska? Live off the grid?”

  He doesn’t respond.

  The loneliness of my life suddenly crashes over me, and I feel like I’m going to vomit. Why did Sia have to come into my life? Why did she have to remind me of that sad sack kid I was, desperate for any kind of affection?

  And why, when I had an actual chance at it, did I ruin everything?

  Gripped by raw, empty pain, I stumble to the bathroom and dry heave into the toilet. I’ve spent years avoiding this exact feeling by shutting people out.

  That first morning with Sia, I’d made up my mind that she was a silly, materialistic brat, and I couldn’t wait to be rid of her.

  But I was wrong. She’s a complex, thoughtful woman who’s been hurt too, but she keeps taking chances because she’s a hell of a lot braver than I am.

  And I’ve lost her. And Kieran. And God knows how many other relationships because I let fear dictate my actions.

  My stomach clenches as I ease back from the toilet. It’s cliché, but I stand in front of the mirror, take in my busted face, and think about what I wanted when I was a kid.

  I wanted a family. I wanted to be seen and loved for who I was.

  That’s all Sia wants too.

  That’s what I want to give her.

  I want us to have that. Together. We’ve both developed defenses that aren’t serving us anymore. We’re both hemmed in by our pasts.

  But what do I do now?

  I touch my jaw and watch myself wince in the mirror. It hurts. But ignoring the pain doesn’t make it go away. Sia’s right about that too.

  You have to face it, treat it, deal with it.

  I head downstairs to get some ice from the freezer. I’d cleaned out the spoiled food but left the water in the ice cube trays to refreeze.

  I pull the door open, shivering as a blast of cold air hits me.

  Wait.

  Where did all that food come from?

  I open the fridge door too and stare at the contents while the cold air pours out into my kitchen.

  Sia.

  She didn’t have to do this. She doesn’t owe me anything. I don’t want her thinking I’m another person she has to balance the sheets with.

  “Sia, you read too much into these gestures. Into making them and receiving them. Sometimes there isn’t a deeper meaning than someone just wanting to be nice. It’s not a validation of you as person.”

  My words come rocketing back to me. I’d called her a hypocrite, but I’m one too. I’ve assigned meaning to her gestures that might also not be there. She’d accused me of making assumptions about her and about myself.

  And I had.

  I grab the ice tray from the fridge, close the door, and drop a bunch of the cubes into a plastic bag. I wrap the bag in a dish towel and look out the window. Danny’s house is lit up. I wonder how Sia feels. If she’s able to enjoy her time with family given how I behaved.

  She’s equal parts soft and strong. I owe her an apology. I just need to be brave enough to be vulnerable, like she is.

  But not tonight.

  She deserves the time with her family now—the reunion she’s been waiting for. Which I spoiled, at least partially, with my fearful outburst.

  I’ll talk to her tomorrow if I can live through the shame tonight. If I can live through the memories of lonely Christmas Eves past that are battering through the defenses that Sia helped bring down.

  With my face swollen, I find it too difficult to read, so I flip on the TV. It’s a Wonderful Life is on again.

  This time I sit through the whole thing. George Bailey had wanted to be erased to escape his fear and pain, and so had I. I’d erased myself through isolation. George Bailey realized living was better, and I’ve finally just realized the same.

  19

  Sia

  It’s Christmas. With my family.

  It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.

  I miss Drew, still, but it feels less raw now.

  I throw on clothes and head downstairs. I’d cleaned myself up enough to participate in the cookie baking last night, and the kitchen is bustling again this morning.

  It’s packed with my cousins. They’re grabbing pots and pans, yelling o
ver the loud banging, arguing about who makes the best bacon, the best toast. Whether cutting toast into squares or triangles is better. The chaos is punctuated by an occasional rebuke from my uncle Murphy.

  But I recognize the affection in his voice.

  Though it’s tinged with something else. Sorrow? Regret?

  He sees me standing at the bottom of the stairs and eases up from his chair. His sons part around him, moving like they share the same central nervous system. What’s it like to be so in sync with other people?

  Murphy beckons me to follow, so I do. We go into the lounge and he tells me to sit.

  “Happy birthday, love,” he says. His voice is gritty from years of smoking, and he coughs as he lowers onto the couch next to me. “Kieran tells me you’ve had a bit of a hard time?”

  “Oh no,” I say. He’s dying of cancer. I can’t let him take on the burden of my feelings. “I’m fine.”

  “We’re family, aren’t we, Sia?”

  I nod emphatically.

  “Then don’t stand on ceremony, honey. We’re not your fancy party guests.”

  I flinch and hug myself, suddenly cold.

  He clicks his tongue at me. “You’ve always been sensitive. Since you were a wee little thing. Not that you got much bigger.” He smiles, lost in memories for a moment. “I’m not scolding you, darlin’. Just saying that you don’t work for us. You can ask for what you need.”

  I wrap my arms more tightly around my body. “I don’t know how.” The words tear their way out of me, quiet and ragged at the edges. “I’m afraid of what will happen if I do.”

  He sighs and pats my arm. “I was scared when I lost my Kathleen. Thought about leaving town. Leaving someone else to care for the boys while I drank myself to death.”

  “You never would have,” I gasp.

  “Thought about it a lot,” he says. “Told myself it’d be easier for them and me. Did the scarier thing and stayed though. Don’t regret it. Never have. And you don’t regret coming back here for Danny, do you? Even though tough memories live here?”

  I’m sure this place holds difficult memories for him as well.

  “No,” I say, letting my body relax. “I don’t regret it.”

  “And you won’t regret asking for what you need, Seraphina. You deserve to be happy, but most people aren’t mind readers.”

  Irish psychic is a thing, though. Uncle Murphy has it in spades.

  “Give people the chance to be there for you. Most of the time they’ll come through.”

  I nod, my thoughts wandering to Vinny. After we’d had sex, I’d asked him what was next instead of telling him that I wanted to give us a try because I’d been afraid of what he’d say.

  It’s a mistake I won’t make again. Better to know than to let yourself be blindsided.

  Murphy gets back on his feet with difficulty. “Stay here. I’m going to make the boys bring you breakfast. It’s your birthday, after all.”

  He’s waiting to see if I’ll argue.

  Instead I nod again, smiling.

  “Thatsa girl,” he says, chuckling.

  Soon the whole family is in the lounge and we’re eating and laughing. Kieran tells a terrible story about his Roomba encountering a massive shit his St. Bernard had taken in the kitchen, and the subsequent carnage that had followed when the robot vacuum had dragged the shit throughout the house. I’m crying with laughter when Kieran’s smile drops from his face. My skin erupts in goosebumps and I force myself to look at the doorway.

  Vinny stands there in that ugly fucking pine tree sweater, holding a big wrapped box. His face is mottled with cuts and bruises.

  I can’t believe he’s here.

  Kieran goes to stand up but stops after a glance from his dad.

  “What the fuck did you do?” Seamus’ girlfriend, Evi, snaps.

  Seamus shushes her.

  “What? He obviously did something fucking egregious and I’m just saying I can handle it if you want.” Evi folds her arms over her chest.

  Vinny looks scared shitless. Because of my cousins? There’s five of them, plus their girlfriends who may be even tougher.

  Or is it because of me?

  “Hi,” he says, staring out across the gauntlet of people who surround me. “Sia, do you have a minute?”

  I nearly look over at Kieran, but I don’t need permission to make my decision.

  Do I have a minute for him?

  His terrible words have played through my mind over and over again since I left his house.

  What do I want?

  I see the hurt in his eyes, and I don’t want to fix it.

  Because I can’t.

  Because he has to do that.

  But I do want an explanation. I deserve one.

  I unfold my legs and get up, picking my way through my family, who stare after me.

  “I know where you live,” Evi shouts. “You better watch yourself!”

  Seamus shushes her again. He’ll pay for that later I’m sure.

  I follow him to the hallway and sit on the stairs. He slides down next to me, close but not touching. I keep my gaze on my knees.

  “Sia, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said yesterday. I’m not trying to make excuses for myself. But I need you to know that what I said isn’t true. It came from my own fear and had no basis in the reality of your relationship with your cousin.”

  I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that.

  His hand moves closer to my leg, but he pulls it back.

  “No one who truly sees you could ever forget you, Sia. Whether they want to or not.” He laughs wryly. “God knows I wanted to forget. Forget how you made me feel, and how I blew up at you like a coward.”

  Normally I’d say something at this point. Something to absolve him and diminish my own feelings. But that’d be unfair. To both of us, honestly.

  “I wanted to run,” he continues, clutching the box on his lap. “Go back to hiding from what happened in my past that shut me down.”

  His honesty shocks the hell out of me, and my gaze snaps up to his face.

  “But you’re right. Pain needs to be dealt with. And people.” He pauses and flashes me a grin. “Well, certain people are worth facing it for.”

  Smiling with that split lip can’t be comfortable.

  “I can’t be who I was before I met you, Sia. And even if you can’t forgive me, I had to see you again. To thank you for inspiring me to try again.”

  He hands me the box.

  “I want to be the man I saw reflected in your eyes when we danced at your party. Happy birthday.”

  How did he know it was my birthday? I never mentioned it. Uncle Danny, maybe? I gingerly take the package from him. Silver ribbons are tied messily around green wrapping paper. I slowly undo the bows. Drew always used to yell at me to rip the paper—that I was being too precious about it.

  I put the ribbons to the side and slide a finger under the tape at one end of the box. I follow the seams all the way around, and soon the paper is off in one piece. Vinny isn’t a very neat wrapper.

  I pull the lid off the box. Inside is a book that looks like one of my portfolios, only slightly different. My business name is embossed in bolder letters across the red cover. I lift it out, and he moves the box out of the way, putting it on the stairs behind us.

  I open the cover and flip through the pages. When I get to the last one—the event I did to raise money for a homeless shelter in Boston that serves a population deeply impacted by the opioid epidemic—I choke up.

  “I took the originals to the historical society,” Vinny says. “The preservation team couldn’t make the originals like new, so they reproduced one for me instead. They can do the rest if you want. But I wanted you to have this one today. For your birthday.”

  The tears pooling in my eyes threaten to cause water damage to this new book, so I close it, hugging it to my chest.

  He inhales deeply.

  “Sia, I’m so sorry for what I did. But from h
ere on out I’ll fight like hell to be the man you deserve. If you want me, that is.” He goes to rub his hand over his face but winces at the pain and drops it on his lap.

  What do you want, Sia?

  I want to give and receive joy. I want to shine bright for myself as much as for anyone else. I want to believe I deserve love.

  And I want to forgive Vinny. I don’t want to be a vessel for grief.

  “You really hurt me,” I say.

  “I know.” His voice is rough with shame. “And I’ll regret that for the rest of my life. I want nothing more than to promise you that if you take a chance with me, that I’ll never hurt you again.”

  That’s not a promise he can make. We both know it.

  “But I’ll make mistakes, Sia. I can promise that I’ll never be the monster I was yesterday, but I’ll stumble as I learn how to be a good partner.”

  “I’ve never expected perfection, Vinny.”

  Okay, strictly speaking, that’s not true, and he gives me a look that tells me he’s onto me.

  “You do, Sia. From yourself and for the things you create. And those expectations can be really harmful.”

  The fearful part of my brain flares up, warning me that anything less than perfection will leave me shut out again.

  “You need to let go of thinking you can control the world around you. I flipped out because I didn’t know how to handle my strong feelings for you, not because of some intrinsic flaw in you. The flaw was mine.”

  I’m crying again. I’ve done nothing but cry these past two days and I hate it.

  Vinny strokes a thumb across my damp cheek. “You can use my sweater as a tissue. I know how much you love it.”

  I lean against his chest, and he curls his arm around me.

  “I want to give you some time to think about what I’ve said,” he murmurs, kissing the top of my head. “I also want to make you a nice cioppino because it turns out that some generous, sexy as hell woman left all the ingredients in my fridge.”