by Jennifer Ann
“Mickey,” I coo in a calm, even voice, pulling on the back of his shirt, “we’ll figure it out. Give them a chance to explain.” Mick turns to me, blanching as if realizing he was out of control. With a reassuring smile, I slip my hand into his.
The young nurse sitting behind the counter flashes me a look of gratitude. She’s as vanilla as they come with long blond hair pulled into a neat french braid and virtually no makeup. An older woman in an outdated suit stands at her side, arms crossed and deep scowl making her look like a bulldog. “Mr. Flanagan, I assure you, protocol was followed on all ends. Your mother was in a locked unit and no visitors have been allowed in or out since curfew.”
I frown at the woman. “Then how did she get out?”
“We’re doing everything we can to find an answer,” the woman answers, quite obviously fighting with herself to remain civil. Her nostrils flair. “The police are coming to sweep the area for her. If you’d please, have a seat—”
“I’m not sitting on my arse while she’s missin’,” Mick snaps. The woman calls after us when he pulls me along with him through the automatic doors and into the parking lot. Hands linked around his neck, he stares into the warm glow from the sunrise filling the horizon. His labored breath puffs in little white clouds. “She’s been gone for hours. She could be anywhere by now.”
I wrap myself around him and kiss his shoulder. “Hold on. What about that little park we take her to? She loves to watch the ducks playing in the water. I know she doesn’t remember much of anything, but it’s worth a shot.”
Mick looks to the direction of the park and nods. “Yer right, let’s go.”
Somewhere between the home and the little park, our speed walking morphs into a slow jog until we’re standing on the edge of the grassy knoll covered in frost. The playground is understandably empty, the metal swings swaying in a chilling morning breeze. At the far end of the park, the angle of the sun on the pond gives it a golden color and we have to shield our eyes. First a jogger comes into view, then two people standing at the edge, watching a gathering of ducks. We’re too far off to see them clearly, so I tug on Mick’s hand. “C’mon, it could be her!”
My heart pounds as we close in on the man and woman. Brigid turns, taking us in with a deep frown as if we are total strangers. It’s nothing new, but it still breaks my heart every time she regards her son with confusion. Though she’s disoriented as usual and her fading red curls are in complete disarray, she’s wearing her heavy winter coat over her pajamas.
When the man turns at her side, Mick halts, pulling me to stop along with him.
There’s no doubt in my mind the graying man is Mick’s father. They share the same dazzling smile and eyes. Dressed in a suit and overcoat, I would guess he’s someone of a respectable professor rather than a terrorist. “Mick, m’ boy, so good to see ya.” Their voices have the same pitch, made enduring by their very similar accents.
Until Mick steps between us, I completely forgot about the list of sins the man has accumulated. “What are ya doin’ here?”
Mr. O’Donnell’s green eyes float over to me. “Are ya goin’ to introduce yer friend?”
“I asked what yer doin’ here,” Mick repeats, anger rumbling through his tone.
His dad jets his chin out with an unamused sneer. “I came to visit yer mum.”
Brigid looks on the verge of tears. “Is there a party? I’m not dressed for a party.” She pats her hair and looks down at her coat.
“No party. We just came to see ya, mum,” Mick tells her in a patient tone. “Ya gave us a scare when you weren’t in yer room.” No one else may catch the subtle way Mick tenses, but I can tell he’s afraid. “C’mon, mum. Let’s take ya back.”
I’m suddenly worried what his father will say when he hears the truth, that Mick is going against his father’s wishes by promising to be with me. Are we all in danger of finding out what he’s capable of? Would his father hurt Brigid?
Brigid looks between her son and husband before shuffling our way. She stops midway, reaching for her forehead and frowning. “I can’t…I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
I hold my hand out and smile, encouraging her to continue on. “I know, sweetheart. We’re here to help you find your way back.” When Brigid stops to look at me, her face lights up and she finally shuffles to my side without taking my hand. “Everything will be okay, Brigid.” I touch Mick’s arm and whisper, “I’ll take her back if you want a minute alone.”
“No, love, I want you to stay.” Mick wraps his arm around my back and nudges me forward, as if formally presenting me to his father. “This is Chloe, the love of m’ life. One day I plan t’ marry her.”
My stomach flips and I bite down to stop from smiling.
Mr. O’Donnell remains stolid, his serious eyes flipping between us. “I’m sure she’s a nice girl, but Viv—”
“I don’t love her. I love Chloe. Yer done controllin’ m’ life.” Mick clutches me tight. “Why’d ya come to America? Go back home before the authorities know you’re here. They’ll lock you up for the rest of yer life.”
“Come back with me, boy, an’ learn the family business.” Mr. O’Donnell holds out his hand, inviting Mick to literally join him. “I’ll pay for yer mum to have the best care in Ireland and we’ll leave all this nonsense behind.”
“Me an’ Tess have our own family business, tendin’ bar. I’m goin’ to the university so I can earn an honest livin’.” Mick nestles me against his side and kisses my temple. He turns back to his dad, frowning. “I plan to properly care for m’ family and won’t drag them into yer dirty work.”
Mr. O’Donnell shakes his head over and over. “And your little bar is gonna pay for all of it? How can ya plan to care for yer family with a load of debt hangin’ over your head? All it would take is a few deals at m’ side and it would all be paid for.”
“If you ever cared for me, ya won’t stand in m’ way.”
Sirens screech through the chilled morning air. Mick and I turn in search of the police cars. My pulse races a thousand miles per hour, waiting for Mick’s dad to explode with his son’s disobedience.
“You better go,” I tell Mr. O’Donnell. “They called the police to find Brigid.”
“Listen here, young lady,” he sneers, coming toward me. “I won’t have ya breakin’ up my family!”
Before he can reach me, Mick swings his fist, landing it in the center of his father’s face with a loud thump. Mr. O’Donnell crumples into a pile on the ground. “Don’t you ever lay yer filthy hands on her! If ya don’t haul ass outta here, I’ll bring the police over here m’self!” Mick takes my hand, getting ready to turn away. “As far as I’m concerned, I no longer have a father! Don’t ever come lookin’ for us again!”
Brigid’s hands cover her mouth, likely from the act of violence rather than the fact that it’s her husband lying on the ground. I gently rub her back to comfort her.
Mr. O’Donnell, with a hand held over his nose, watches on with big eyes as Mick and I spin around with Brigid. “Yer makin’ a mistake!” he calls after us. “I won’t turn the other way!”
“Don’t be listenin’ to him,” Mick tells me, bending to kiss my cheek. “It’s over.”
My heart flips around like a fish out of water as I peer around the corner. Flanagan’s is packed to full capacity. Dozens of people eagerly wait their turn to be served, while it appears every table has been claimed. A loud buzz of voices amplifies the energy level, shooting through the roof. While I know Mick used some of his musical contacts to hype me up, I can’t help but wonder how many people just came for the beer special and how many are going to walk out once they hear me.
“Are ya ready to blow them away?” Mick asks behind me. His arms encircle my waist and he nuzzles my neck. “I don’t know that I’m ready to share ya.”
The muscles in my stomach jump, giving me my first real bout of stage fright. I consider telling Mick to find a last minute replacement and bolting the hell ou
t of the place, but I rest my head against his and take a deep breath instead. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“They won’t know what hit ‘em,” he whispers, spinning me around and planting a long, lust-fueled kiss on me. Leaving me breathless and out of sorts, he takes the stage and grabs the microphone from the stand. “Good evenin’! Everyone havin’ a good time?” A round of cheers rise through the bar. “I want to thank all of ya personally for comin’ out tonight. The beautiful woman about to take the stage and rock your world is the love of m’ life and I know all of ya will be instantly charmed by her talent.” A few cat-calls ring out and my face reddens. “This is her debut as a solo act, so I’d like ya to give her the warmest New York City welcome. Lads and lasses, it’s my honor to introduce to you Chloe Cirillo!”
As I climb up to the stage and take the microphone, the crowd cheers with an extra zest from the usual, although it could be the adrenaline spiking through my veins making it sounds louder than it is. Mick bends down to kiss me, even dipping me backward in a cheesy Hollywood-style kiss. The crowd eats it up, still cheering wildly as I scoot up onto the bench and position my new guitar in my lap. Memories of Blue Beauty smashed to bits and everything I’ve been through with Beckett make it impossible to breathe.
I’ve never taken the stage to perform feeling this nervous and afraid.
Tears threaten to spill as I look up to the now silent crowd. Kelly, Jewels, and Glori stand front and center as always, warming my heart with the knowledge that so many people care. They beam brightly, giving me a collective thumbs-up. I giggle at the campiness of it all.
“You’re going to kill it, Chloe!” someone hollers.
Theo and Adam, standing behind their wives, move aside for my brother pushing Gwen in her wheelchair. Gavin’s bright smile takes me back to the old days, before his fall into depression. He presses his fingers in his mouth to whistle. Someone starts chanting my name and everyone joins in.
Mick moves into the crowd next to Kelly, flashing me one of his brilliant smiles. “You can do this,” he mouths, clapping along.
“Okay, okay,” I say into the microphone, breaking into a little giggle as the applause grows wilder before dying down. “Thank you for being here tonight, guys. This first one goes out to a particularly sexy Irishman I know who stole my heart.” When I wiggle my eyebrows at Mick he throws back his head, laughing.
The crowd falls into another round of general applause until I start to strum my new guitar and sing the opening lines of Death Cab for Cutie’s “I Will Follow You Into the Dark.” My fingers flow graciously over the strings and I’m surprised how bold my voice sounds all on its own, blasting through the bar’s speakers, without Beckett’s bass guitar or power chords or Landon’s brash drums. Everything else fades away as I pour my heart into the song, glancing up occasionally to meet Mick’s gaze. I don’t allow myself to react to his sexy bedroom eyes, knowing I’ll lose all concentration and blow my first gig as a solo artist. I stop looking at him all together when I notice his eyes have started to water.
With the final notes, the crowd breaks into a roaring applause. My friends jump up and down, squealing like I just won a Grammy. Maybe it’s just my imagination, but I swear the response is over-the-top compared to the acclamation the band would usually receive. Wiping tears from my eyes, I glance at Mick and mouth, “I love you, baby.”
“I love you,” he mouths back, completely undressing me with his laden eyes.
I end my set with the song I wrote for Kelly and Theo’s wedding, overwhelmed to tears by the warm reception it receives by the crowd. They coax me into playing two more songs. It dawns on me while I’m finishing up that either Mick started bribing them with free beer, or they really like me without the support of a band. And it seems more people trickled in over the past hour, packing the place beyond its capacity.
After securing my new guitar in its case and setting it behind the stage, I fight my way through the packed crowd to Mick’s open arms. He hoists me up into the air before kissing me and whispering in my ear that he’s proud beyond words. Our friends surround us, taking turns to congratulate me with boisterous hugs and kisses.
First I found Mick and the kind of love I thought I’d never know, now this. I brought so many fears up on the stage with me that I didn’t know if I’d be able to perform all on my own. I didn’t think I was strong enough to play the acoustic guitar without longing for the electric purr of Blue Beauty. I wasn’t sure that anyone would get me unless I was singing my trademark sound of gritty, hardcore rock. When my brother wraps me in his arms, telling me I should go after my dream because it’s what I’m meant to do, I break out into happy tears.
“Excuse me!” someone yells over our boisterous celebration. “Can I have a minute with Chloe?”
Jewels moves aside to let the person through, her eyes shooting from her skull like some kind of cartoon character. “Mother-fucking A. You’re Rod Vaghel!”
The beautiful man behind her tucks his shoulder-length hair behind his ear, laughing in good nature. His teeth are even whiter in person, surrounded by a nest of dark facial hair. He looks over his shoulder to someone behind him. “See, I told you that’s who I am. You never believe me.”
Theo chuckles loudly at the joke, but the rest of our group falls quiet, stunned beyond words. Anyone who has listened to music in the past 20 years knows Rod from being in not just one, but two legendary bands. Even Kelly, who was once clueless to the music scene gapes at him like she can’t trust what she’s seeing.
St. Elmo, dubbed as the last real rock and roll band of our generation, has won so many Grammys that I’ve lost track. They probably have too, because every record they’ve made has been packed full with hit after hit. Rod, known for being a music genius, has guest performed with at least a dozen other successful bands, organized music festivals for charity and produced several albums. Hell, he even filled in for a late-night talk show host one week. The man has done it all. And he’s asking to talk to me.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. That was so freaking rude,” Jewels tells him, suddenly looking mortified. She touches his shoulder then draws back like she was electrocuted. “Oh crap, I didn’t mean to touch you. I mean I did, but—holy shit I just touched Rod Vaghel!”
“My wife has a bit of an obsession with your band,” Adam apologizes, reeling Jewels into his side. He throws the rock star a wink. “She’s usually not this psycho.”
“It’s cool,” Rod answers with a chuckle. He holds his hand out to Jewels, flashing her the million-dollar smile surrounded by his mustache and goatee that have become a trademark of their own. “Rod Vaghel, but I guess you already know that. Nice to meet you.”
Jewels extends her trembling hand to meet his. “Jewels Peterson.” Her eyes grow wide again. “I mean Murphy! Shit, I’m Jewels Murphy!” She turns to Adam, shaking her head. “I’m sorry baby! I know that’s my name!”
Rod cocks an eyebrow at Adam. “Newlyweds, huh?”
“Pretty much,” Adam grumbles. “You’re probably the only person other than Chris Martin who could make her forget her name.”
“So you’re into Coldplay, huh? I guess I’ll let that slide and still thank you for being our fan.” Rod laughs in a rolling, angelic-like sound and drops Jewels’s hand to push his wavy dark hair behind his ear once again. I’ve frozen in awe, seeing the man in person. He’s exactly what I expected after seeing him in numerous documentaries and TV appearances, plus watching him perform several times in concert.
Theo sticks his hand out, grinning like the Cheshire Cat when Rod accepts it. “Theo Roberts. I’ve seen you twice at The Garden. You rocked the shit out of that place. I’m a big fan too, maybe just not as crazy as that one.” He nods his head at Jewels and the men break out in laughter.
Stanly Rawhoki—the drummer of St. Elmo who is just as attractive as Rod only with blond hair and soulful, brown eyes—steps into the mix and introductions go around. My knees threatened to buckle. The only way this could be an
y more surreal would be if Maria Brink came through the door and offered to loan me one of her bustiers before adopting me as her sister.
After everyone has had a chance to meet Rod and Stanly, Rod turns back to me. “You made it pretty clear tonight that you know your way around the guitar. And you have an amazing voice. Really, you fucking blew me away.”
Staring into his dark eyes, I can’t form any words. The god of rock just complimented me on my voice. My eyes drift down to the extensive tattoos on his arms and I blink, trying to form something intelligible to say.
“This one’s a rare talent,” Mick tells him, gently sticking his elbow in my side.
I start, forgetting my boyfriend was standing two feet away. “Thank you!” I blurt. It feels like I’m stuck in some crazy dream. In what alternate universe does the lead singer of St. Elmo approach me? “What are you doing here?”
Rod chuckles heartily. “I’m in the city to make a few TV appearances. One of the producers from my studio got a call from a very persistent Irishman who was really insistent that I come around and give you a listen.” He smirks knowingly in Mick’s way. “He must’ve pulled some pretty big strings to get me the message.”
“It’s good t’ have friends who know people,” Mick answers, nodding at Theo. Gasping under my breath, I turn to Mick. He grins with pride as he squeezes my arm, winking back at Rod. “Some talent is too big t’ go unnoticed.”
“So I see,” Rod answers quiet seriously. “I’m really glad I came down tonight.” He tips his chin at Mick. “If I can steal your girl away for a minute or two, I want to have a little talk with her about her plans for the future.”
Jewels slaps her hand over her mouth a second after she releases a high-pitched squeal. The others make small noises of excitement around me.
I turn to Mick, shaking my head. “Baby, we talked about this,” I whisper.
