Love and The Liffey

by Sarah Beth James

  Sarah Beth James

  All characters, settings, locations, and other content contained within this book are fictional and are the intellectual property of the author; any likenesses are coincidental and unknown to author and publisher at the time of publication.

  This work and its components may not be reproduced without the express written permission of the author.

  Cover image by Lily Luchesi of Partners in Crime Book Services

  Editing and interior formatting by Lily Luchesi of Partners in Crime Book Services

  © 2020 Sarah Beth James

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Dedication

  To all the people who have spent my entire life telling me I will never be good enough, doing their best to break me. I’m still here, still fighting. You didn’t win and you never will.

  Dedicated to those who have been there for me through everything, you know who you are.

  Chapter 1

  The problem was that movies, books and the entertainment world gave me a false viewpoint on the real world. A screwed-up idea that love was real, the whole knight in shining armour swooping in to save the fair maiden true love bullshit. That, however hard things were in your life, you would always have someone there for you. A family, friends, love, someone, perhaps not to save you per se, but to allow you to save yourself with their support. To pull you back from the edge when you needed it. Someone to notice when you were breaking. To listen, or to get drunk with you, or even just to hold you as the tears started to fall.

  The reality was always much different than that. You ended up alone, desperate for something or someone to hold onto to stop you from drowning in the endless ocean of pain. Begging for help from loved ones, medical services, depression groups and councillors only to be abandoned. Left to live or die under your own power. Trying to struggle through everything completely alone when you just felt so heart sick and exhausted, you wanted to do nothing apart from sleep for a few years. Your heart hardens as you start to understand that no one actually cares. That if you were gone, if this were your last night on earth, no one would try to save you; hell it was doubtful if anyone would even notice you were gone until they required something from you.

  Of course, it wasn’t always that way.

  Once upon a time, almost too long ago to recall. There had been one person, one wonderful, beautiful, amazing, pure person whom I had deeply and passionately loved. The only man that I ever had. We had been through everything together. I gave him my heart, my trust, the whole of me. And in the end, he had betrayed me also. Leaving me a broken husk of a person that could not be saved. Now I was all alone in the world.

  Which is how I ended up here, in Dublin city, on the banks of the Liffey late at night staring into the water. Not sure if I was going to walk away, go back to a bar and get myself shitfaced trying to forget him or just give up and jump in, forget all of my pain and just be free of everything. Why Dublin of all places? I wasn’t entirely sure. I had always wanted to visit, and never had the chance to. Perhaps in the back of my mind I was ticking off a bucket list of sorts. Or perhaps I was just trying to recapture something long since lost. Or I was just trying to find any reason to hold on and not do this. I hadn’t been expecting any answers. No guardian angel swooping in to save me. No knight in shining armour, hell not even one in rusted armour. I knew inside that this was the end for me.

  I idly checked my phone; he didn’t message me, of course not. Even though his icon was blinking as online. I was sure if I checked that his new toxic partner would be online as well, more than likely crowing over the fact he finally forced us apart forever. All we were to each other, all we endured, and me spending half my lifetime keeping him alive. Giving him anything and everything he needed, day or night whatever the time zone, and here I was. Shucked off like a used condom. The fair-weather friends surrounding him, talking trash about me, turning him from both my friendship and my love. I was kind of used to it. The fame, the leeches around him, they often pulled us apart until he manned up enough to say no. He always saw through it all eventually and returned full of apologies and promising it would never happen again. But it always did, a few months later. And this time, I was certain he left for good. He made his foolish choices, and I did what I had to.

  The one thing I knew I had to do was free myself. Remove the pain locked so deeply inside of my heart and soul. I texted him one last goodbye before throwing the phone into the river. He would never be able to contact me again, even if this did go wrong and somehow yet again, I survived. I sighed, staring into the waters trying to find one last moment of inner strength to make that jump. Watching the bubbles as the phone sunk to the depths never to be seen again. I heard someone behind me clear their throat, I ignored them. I cared not for the words of a random stranger.

  “Young lady, as I am not entirely sure if you are admiring the wonderful view of our city or considering throwing yourself in, may I please assure ye that the water is freezing and offer to buy you a drink?” a deep voice offered with an all too sexual Irish lilt. But of course, I was in Ireland, what other vocals could I expect?

  I turned, taking in the gentleman that faced me. Tall, well dressed, raven hair, clean shaven, polite, arms that looked like he worked out almost too much. I knew who he was straight away, even in the semi darkness of the street. “And may I ask why Mr Adrian Sparks, lead singer of The Pumpkin Spices and all too famous Irish bestselling artist, wanta to take some random stranger for a drink?” I asked coldly. “I am far too old for Cinderella stories and not too stupid to not know who you are. I already did the whole best friend with an artist bullcrap. I am not eager to put myself through it again. So, kindly take your self-righteous, famous asshole attitude and go fuck yourself. I am fine.”

  Adrian sighed. “Look, the Liffey will still be here in the morning should you still feel like throwing yourself in. Why don’t ye give me tonight to see if I can change your attitude towards ‘stars’, which I honestly don’t blame ye for having one. Most of us are total assholes, but I like to think I am not like that. If I can’t, I won’t stop you from leaving. But at least allow me to try and show you that some of us aren’t alcoholic, drug addicted, sex addicted scumbags that would sell out their own mother for a joint. Please.”

  It was the please that stuck in my mind, he would never have been so polite, nor would he have cared if he found me in this kind of state. Not anymore. And what exactly did I have left to lose? I was already broken far beyond any form of putting myself back together again. “Fine,” I snapped. “One drink only and then I am leaving.”

  Adrian offered his arm like a true gentleman. “I know the perfect place. It’s just a few streets away.”

  If only I knew what I was getting myself into at that moment. The choices I would make because of that one acceptance of a drink. Would I still have taken his arm, or would I have jumped? Would he have jumped in to save me? I would never know. But, for now at least, I had my Irish Prince Charming.

  Chapter 2

  I sat awkwardly at a corner table, swilling around a half-drunk pint of cider. Half listening to some tourist caterwauling her way through some old girl band song. “If I wanted bad karaoke, I could have stayed in England,” I commented drily.

  “Look, I know this isn’t the grandest of bars. Hell I can’t stand the tourist nights when they throw it open as karaoke, not open mic bands. However, it was the closest. I figured ye might run off if I tried to take ye any further away. Personally, I would much rather be listening to some ‘real’ music. This burns my ears,” he commented quietly staring at his barely touched pint of Guinness.

  I sipped from the drink, staring around the bar taking everything in. I loved to people-watch, but one thing bothe
red me. “Why do none of them notice?”

  He looked confused, like we skipped over two pages and he had lost the thread of our conversation. “Notice what?”

  “Who you are. Why do they say nothing? In England you would be swarmed with people asking for autographs and photos.”

  He laughed. “Darling, this is Dublin. No one gives a shit about who ye are. It is only the odd tourist who notices me. In fact, there is a rumour that some ‘big artists’ refuse to come here because they do not get bothered by fans. Or at least, the tour guides in town tell the story. Now, my dear, just relax or at least go and give us a song. I am sure ye have a lovely voice.” As the singer went off key again, he winced. “Ye certainly couldn’t be any worse.”

  I went pale, taking a much bigger swig. “I can’t, I drank now, it’s impossible.” He stared at me waiting for a real answer. “I might be flat, no, never mix singing and alcohol. Ruins the pitch of your voice. Have to be perfect.”

  He grabbed his pint before downing it and slamming the empty glass down on the table so hard that it nearly cracked. He spat the next few words out with a clear distaste. “Who. Ever. Told. You. That. You. Have. To. Be. Perfect?”

  Feeling scared for the first time in his company, I finished my own drink also before placing the glass down more carefully. I couldn’t meet his gaze; it was time to leave. “You can fill in the blanks.”

  “Outside, right now,” he snapped slamming out the door.

  Grabbing my coat and bag, I followed silently. I felt tears threatening to fall as I waited for whatever came next. Which would no doubt lead me back to the Liffey. My first instinct already was to run from him. I stood there shivering, too nervous to even put my coat on in case it enraged him further. “I am sorry, sir, for whatever I did wrong.” My eyes to the floor, angry men terrified me from my abused past.

  “Listen here and listen good, woman,” he snapped. “Music is not about being perfect. It is about the vibe, the atmosphere, the connection to the audience, the whole experience of the event. And if ye fuck it up, so fucking what? You are human, deal with it. Whatever that man said to ye, he was a fucking fool that knows nothing about music. I’m fairly sure his whole sum of knowledge could fit on a postage stamp and what he doesn’t could fill the halls of Trinity College! Now, ye are going to damn well come with me and unlearn all of this fucking shite he filled yer head with!” He noticed me shivering in the drizzling rain, his temper fading. “And for God’s sake, get ye coat on before you freeze. And while we are at it, never call me ‘sir’ again. I am your friend, not your Dom!”

  He waited impatiently for me to cover up before striding off across the streets with barely a glance behind to see if I was following. Twisting down dark alleyways and roads with few people travelling them. We were disappearing from the heart of the tourist area. I could almost start to fantasise about him leading me somewhere to murder me with no witnesses, but I guess I could only dream of being that lucky.

  We stopped outside a bar, which looked disused, the paint peeling off. The only clue that it was still active as a bar was the bouncer stood beside the door checking ID and a half dozen people stood around outside smoking. “Now woman, ye will learn the real truth of what music is.” He slammed open the door, pushing me inside. I was hit first of all by an overwhelming level of noise. The bar was filled with hundreds of people. Young, old, kids, all coming together in a feast of noise. Playing music, singing along, stamping their feet, dancing on the tables to an upbeat song I barely knew of. I wasn’t much of a chart hits person. If I followed music still, I would see him. Not something I longed for anymore. I stood there trying to make sense of what I was seeing. “What is this?”

  “Welcome to the craic,” he answered warmly. “Where everyone gets together, gets shitfaced and has a great time doing it.” He held out a glass to me filled with some amber liquid. “Get that down ye, some good Irish whiskey and get the fuck out there and join in. And ye be damn grateful if I don’t end up teaching ye to Riverdance by the end of the night!” He peeled my coat and bag off of me, throwing it and his own under a table. Before downing his drink, he held out his hand to me to drag me up to dance.

  “Well, can’t hurt to try I guess,” I mumbled, downing the bitter drink, trying not to gag and then that was it. I was swept into the middle of it all. Swung around in countless dances. A few more of those strong drinks later and I couldn’t help myself but start singing with the rest of them, caught up in the moment and the mellow feeling creeping over me from the strong liquor. I was happy, for the first time in a long time.

  He smiled at me as I threw my head back, half singing/half shouting the chorus. “Good lass! See? In the craic it doesn’t matter if you have a few flat voices. The blending of the tones makes it sound sweet anyway.” He pulled me into an embrace so I could hear him over the voices around us. “And, youse have the voice of an angel, I promise!”

  I felt an irresistible urge to kiss him as I looked into those sweet, kind, brown eyes. But why should I resist? He was right there. Our faces almost touching. I reached out, crossing the distance between us. Kissing him, feeling his arms wrap around me as he broadened the kiss. His tongue danced across my mouth, making me almost moan at the slight touch. We lingered in the moment for as long as we could before we had to break for air or die.

  He studied my face before stroking my cheek. “So? Another drink?”

  I nodded, watching as he danced his way through the crowd to refill our glasses. Maybe he was only after one thing, like most men, but right now. I would happily give it to him, even if I risked losing everything again in morning light. I finally felt like I had a home, a place where I could completely be myself.

  Chapter 3

  We danced until the early hours, falling out of the bar door onto the drizzling streets as the last few people wandered back to cars or taxi ranks. He put his jacket around my shoulders even though I already had a coat on. It was a cute motion, he smelled of whisky and strong cologne. Kissing my cheek before throwing an arm around my waist. We were both a little drunk, or maybe a lot. It was hard to tell anymore. I knew the world had a very slight spin to it that was unnatural, maybe not so slight as the cold air hit and I snuggled more into his shoulder.

  “Where are you staying? I will walk youse home.” Adrian offered.

  I scrambled in my pocket for the scruffy piece of paper, now damp from the rain with my address and the door access codes written down. “Wherever this is?”

  He took it, studying the letters, having to focus his eyes a few times more drunk than he had expected. “Fuck, this is all the way across town past O’Connell Street.” Glancing over at the queue for taxis, he said, “We could be waiting a while.”

  “I am good to walk,” I answered straight away; no way was I standing in the rain waiting for a ride.

  “I am not, and you are not walking alone in a strange city for like forty minutes,” Adrian snapped, he thought about options for a few moments. “Lily, my place is maybe four streets away from here. If ye trust me enough and are comfortable enough to come with me? Otherwise, we can wait for a taxi.”

  I smiled at him, if he was trying something with me, I was sure he would have by now. “Okay, we can walk.”

  We were one of the last couples walking down the riverside to our home. I found myself snuffled into his shoulder as we walked. He felt warm, safe. Feeling safe was rare to me, it had been that way for longer than I could remember. The lights shined on the river, making a romantic setting much different to the view of earlier that night. I could hear a smattering of fireworks going off in the distance, the end of someone’s party. Adrian’s hand stroked my back gently, pulling me closer to his side as a shady looking guy crossed the road. Watching until the man turned the corner out of sight before he turned to speak with me again. The setting got the better of me once again, as I found myself kissing him. Locked in a spell that neither of us were able to break. Nor did we wish to. It felt like a little Hollywood musical mom
ent, two people kissing with dramatic fireworks flashing in the background of a stunning riverside scene.

  When the kiss ended, Adrian stroked my face. “Youse are drunk, darling.”

  “So are you.”

  “I am not asking this of ye, I am not asking anything. Youse can spend the night without doing anything for it. I just want ye to be safe. We can part in the morning, no hard feelings. Or not, it is completely your choice. I just wanted to show ye that you are not alone,” he promised.

  “I am always alone.”

  “Not anymore, not if you don’t want to be. I’m here for ye,” Adrian promised.

  Those last few words pushed me over the edge, I needed to feel him, to believe that it was true. That there was one person who wouldn’t abandon or give up on me. That I could one day be free of all of the pain that was inside of me. He was so perfect. Everything I had ever wanted or needed in a man. I knew it was more than likely far too good to be true and he would throw me away as soon as we had fucked, but in this instant, I needed more than just talking. I pulled him against me, not caring if anyone in the street saw us. Needy kisses, trying to find a reason to wake up tomorrow. My hand under his jumper stroked his chest. I surprised myself when I found a nipple ring hiding.