by Tessa Bailey
He parks the car in the garage and we walk back toward the Claymore, holding hands. Just as I’m thinking the connection isn’t enough, he drags me into his side and kisses the top of my head. We stare at each other for a moment. I sense he’s about to say something, but the door of the Claymore flies open and Kitty steps out onto the sidewalk. I start to pull away, as if we’ve been caught committing an illegal act, but Shane’s hold on my hand only tightens.
She claps a shaky hand over her mouth. “Thank goodness. I thought you’d been kidnapped right along with Faith.”
Shane stiffens against me. “Faith? What do you mean?”
Kitty gestures wildly. “She’s gone. I knocked on her door to ask if she’d help me with the tea service, but she didn’t answer. So I went in. Very tidy, her room. She takes after me in that way.”
With a curse, Shane plows a hand through his hair. I can see his face transform with worry and guilt, obviously remembering their fight from the night before. It’s so palpable, I can’t bear it. I rack my brain, trying to think of where Faith would have gone. The answer is so clear, I can actually feel relief swimming in my chest. “I know where she is.”
Shane looks at me sharply.
“I mean, I think I know where she would have gone.”
“Where?”
“You’re not going to like it.”
He searches my face. “Ah God, not the street performer.” I bite my lip and Shane looks up at the sky, as if praying for patience. “I don’t suppose you know where he lives?”
The way he asks me, I know he’s mostly hoping I say no. “Brian and Patrick both live with their mother, but I have no idea where.” I rummage through my bag for my phone, feeling Shane’s sharp eyes on me. “I have Patrick’s number, though.”
Shane laughs without humor. “Patrick, is it? Well, I’ve been dying to kick his ass. I guess I’ll have to settle for his brother.”
“You can’t.” The hand holding my phone drops to my thigh. “You can’t go in there like you did at O’Kelly’s and drag Faith out. She’ll never forgive you.”
His jaw hardens, and I feel sick over our peaceful morning slipping away. I already miss the warm ease of it. “She can add it to the growing list of things she hates me for, because I’m going to get her. She’s my little sister.”
“She’s one year younger than me.”
He shifts on his feet. “Jesus, I could have done without hearing that.”
Shaking my head, I dial the phone. Kitty is still standing in the doorway of the inn, only now she’s feeding the toast from her apron to a group of gathering pigeons. Patrick answers on the fourth ring, his voice groggy. “They say it’s an ungodly hour, but that can’t be right since an angel is calling me. What’s the weather like in heaven today, sweetheart?”
One look at Shane’s face tells me he heard the gist of Patrick’s words. Hoping to spare Patrick’s life, I turn my back and walk a few yards away. “Oh, I’d bring an umbrella. There’s a storm brewing.”
“Thanks for the warning.” It sounds like he’s propping himself up in bed. “Does this have anything to do with the girlish giggling coming from my brother’s bedroom? Or is Brian just playing dress-up with Ma’s clothes again?”
Thank God I’d walked out of earshot. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. Mind texting me your address?”
“Ma!” he shouts, forcing me to yank the phone away from my ear. “Put the kettle on. Beyoncé is coming over for a visit.”
A smile plays around my mouth. “Don’t let her go to any trouble. I doubt we’ll be staying for a social visit.”
“We?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Shit.” He sighs. “Ah, Brian is due a good fight, anyway. It’s been days.”
Hiding my nerves over Patrick’s final comment, I hang up the phone. I turn to Shane just as I receive the incoming text message with the address. His eyes are unreadable, but his posture makes it pretty obvious he didn’t like me walking away to talk on the phone to another guy. Since I wouldn’t like it either, though, I don’t give him any shit for his needless jealousy.
“The address, Willa.”
I push my phone into the back pocket of my jeans, ignoring the shiver that goes up my arm when he growls at me. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll come with you.”
“We don’t need a referee.”
“You totally need a referee.” I start toward the inn, noticing for the first time that Kitty has gone back inside. “But I’m not going for you, I’m going for Faith. When you drag her out of her boyfriend’s house for doing something every other eighteen-year-old is doing, she’s sure as shit not going to get into your car. She’s done nothing wrong and she shouldn’t have to take the bus by herself.”
“Nothing wrong?” He’s right behind me as we enter the Claymore, of course, our feet pounding on the floorboards of the pub. “Leaving without telling us where she’s going? Worrying my mother sick?”
I don’t say anything, just turn and look at him. He finally hears himself and his features cloud over. It’s not what I meant to do. I didn’t set out to make him realize he’s getting angry with Faith for the same thing he did at her age. Leaving without a word, worrying his mother. But there it is. It’s unavoidable. Wishing I could take back the last five minutes, I walk toward him with no idea what my intentions are when I reach him.
He turns before I get there, walking stiffly toward the office. “Meet me outside in ten minutes.”
Staring after him, regret swimming in my gut, I’m starting to think I push people away whether it’s intentional or not.
Chapter Nineteen
I’ve brushed my teeth, ran a brush through my hair, and changed my clothes. In a replay of the night before, Shane is waiting outside for me with the red car. This time, he’s leaning against the passenger side, arms crossed, expression closed off. When he yanks the door open for me and jerks his chin to indicate I should climb in, I sigh and do as he asks. At the very least, I seem to be getting the hang of picking my battles.
He climbs into the driver’s side. “Address.”
I read it off the screen of my phone.
His head drops forward with a curse, telling me Brian and Patrick either live a good distance away, or it’s a bad section of Dublin. I’m betting on the latter. The drive only takes about ten minutes but the atmosphere in the car is so strained, it feels like an hour. Light-years away from the lightheartedness of this morning. I miss it. I miss not having to overthink, and now I’m playing Whack-A-Mole with my worries and insecurities. Did I overstep my bounds? Is he regretting last night, trying to figure out the quickest way to get rid of me?
Part of me is actually a little relieved to think these typical thoughts because they distract me from the big picture. In a week, I won’t be here to run interference between Shane and Faith. To witness this family’s tragedies and victories anymore. I’m just along for the ride.
We pull up in front of a row of connected houses, desperately in need of a paint job. Children are kicking a soccer ball around in the street, using overturned garbage cans as goals. I’m sure to Shane, this looks like poverty. But I’ve seen what poverty looks like, I’ve lived it, and this isn’t it. These people are making an effort. Their cars are clean, they have banners for their favorite sports team hanging in their windows. The kids are laughing, wearing warm jackets.
I follow Shane up the path to a red two-story house. When he knocks, I can hear the laughter inside cut off immediately. He notices it, too, and shakes his head. Without a thought, I reach over and take his hand. He looks at me in surprise, which makes me uncomfortable, so I stare at the door willing it to open. I feel a sudden, fierce need to be on his side here. I’ve said my piece, and I’ve ruined our morning. He’s about to face a firing squad for being a caring brother and dammit, he shouldn’t always have to be the bad guy. Hell, if I’d snuck out without telling Ginger where I was going, she and Derek would have kicked the fucking door down to drag me ou
t of there. Maybe I think he’s overreacting, but he badly needs an ally.
The door swings open and Faith is framed by the peeling, white-trimmed frame. She crosses her arms over her chest, and I notice she’s wearing my Clash T-shirt. Probably not a good time to ask her about it, though, because she looks righteously pissed. “Listen to me well, brother. I’m not setting foot outside this house with you. I’m a grown woman who knows her own mind. Just because I’m your sister doesn’t mean I don’t have womanly desires. I need a boyfriend to get that sorted.”
“Jesus, Faith,” Shane and I say at the same time.
Brian appears behind Faith, laying a calming hand on her arm. “You know, my ma can hear you, love.”
Faith flushes a little, but doesn’t lose her head of steam by any means. “You might as well get in your silly car and drive back to the inn. At the moment, I’m not going anywhere with you. I’ll be in for my shift later, but I’m taking the bus.”
I raise an eyebrow at Shane. He smirks at me before addressing Brian, who for all intents and purposes is cowering behind Faith in the doorway. “Fine. But I’ll have a word with him before I leave.”
That gives everyone pause. Shane is planning on leaving Faith there? I try and get a read on him, but his face gives nothing away. Faith and Brian exchange a perplexed look.
“Whatever you have to say to my boyfriend, you can say in front of me.” Faith’s spine is so straight, I’m positive it will snap at any moment. Brian nods in agreement. Clearly Faith is wearing the pants in this relationship. “You’ll be gone soon, Shane. You won’t be around to chase me across Dublin every time I do something you don’t like. Say what you have to say. I’m old enough to make my own choices.”
His face shows no reaction to that, but his grip on my hand increases fractionally. He nods at Brian. “You’ve had two opportunities now to introduce yourself to me. Once at O’Kelly’s and the other night at the Claymore. If you’re going to date my sister, that’s the least you could do. Maybe even…come to the Claymore for dinner some night. Meet Kitty.” He clears his throat, rolls his shoulders. “It’s just how it should be done.”
Brian gulps audibly. “Right. I’d love to.” He shifts on his feet. “Sorry, man. I didn’t think you’d want me around her.”
“I’m not thrilled about it.” When Faith narrows her eyes at Shane, he holds up a hand. “But I’d feel that way about anyone. She’s my sister. She deserves to have this done properly. Come to the Claymore.”
Without another word, Shane grips my hand tighter and leads me back toward the car. I cast a quick look over my shoulder to see Faith gaping after her brother, mouth hanging open. Inside, I feel the same way. How did I not see that coming? Orla’s words from the other night come back in startling clarity. Irish men are a complicated sort. They’ll knock you on your arse when you’re not looking.
“Shane!” Faith is running after us on the path. “Wait.”
I let go of his hand and step back just in time for Faith to throw herself into his arms. Over her shoulder, Shane’s startled eyes meet mine. Slowly, his arms band around her, and he holds her close, as if he can’t quite believe what’s happening. What he made happen. Unable to watch it for another second, or I’ll burst into tears and ruin the moment, I pull open the passenger side door.
“Beyoncé, are you not staying for tea?” I turn at the sound of Patrick’s voice to find him standing in the doorway, wearing an apron and holding a kettle. “I cleaned the mugs with soap and everything.”
I send an inquiring glance at Shane, who is already shaking his head at me. “I’ve made more than enough concessions for one morning, girl. Get in the car.”
Smiling to myself, I wave apologetically at Patrick and climb inside.
…
When we reach the Claymore, we both seem to be in thoughtful moods. Shane appears a little thunderstruck over the scene with Faith, but every so often, I feel his gaze slide over me from across the car’s console, heating me a little more each time. There’s something different about the way he’s looking at me now, but I can’t figure out what. It’s still ripe with attraction, but there’s speculation now. If I wanted to drive myself crazy, I could analyze that look to death. I’m even feeling close enough to him to ask him straight up. But it’s getting late in the morning, and I know Shane has to set up the bar for lunch. We walk inside to find Orla cutting up lemons, the delicious smell of soup filling the space, courtesy of the new cook, Samuel.
Kitty looks up from wiping down the tables. “Did you find your sister, then? Was it the gypsies that took her?”
“No, Kitty.” Shane’s mouth quirks at one end. “She’ll be along now.”
“Grand.” She props her hands on her hips. “Do you smell that chowder? Samuel is an absolute phenom in the kitchen, he is. I say we’re well rid of Martin.”
Orla, Shane, and I try to keep our amusement hidden, but it explodes from all three of us at the same time, and we’re laughing so hard that Kitty has no choice but to join in. It feels like the tension of the morning is pouring out of me, out of Shane. Our eyes meet and there is something indescribable in his that cuts off my laughter abruptly. With a smile at Kitty and Orla, I head toward the staircase at the back of the pub.
I hear Shane behind me. I’m beginning to expect him to follow me, actually. Something about that certainty is comforting now, instead of exasperating. Knowing he’ll never let me leave a room without giving me something to think about until the next time we’re together. I start to climb the stairs, but change my mind, turning instead to meet him halfway at the center of the hall. As if it’s the most natural thing in the world, he catches me up against him. His mouth is on mine, lips teasing mine open with a low groan. Immediately, my head is spinning and I can’t remember why I’d been walking away in the first place. It’s startling how quickly he can blur every thought in my head, narrow it down to just him.
I want more. Want to drag him up to my room and let him take me under again, the way he had only hours ago. When he drops his hands to my bottom and slips them into my back pockets, I make a whimpering sound into his mouth. Shane’s tongue licks out along the seam of my lips, as if to savor the noise, but then he pulls back. I’m momentarily distracted by the layer of fog in his eyes, the new way he’s looking at me. Then I see my phone in his hand.
He presses a few buttons on the screen and pulls up my contacts. I watch as he deletes Patrick’s number from my phone, then hands it back to me.
“You delete the other one.”
I know what he’s talking about. Evan’s phone number. He’s asking me to delete it. It occurs to me then that we’re standing in the exact spot where I told him I still loved Evan. Where he first tried to kiss me. Was it even true then, all those weeks ago? Had I ever loved Evan? What I’m feeling now, what transformed inside me last night, compared to what I’d thought of as my first love…it’s like comparing a monsoon to a drizzling rain. One is something you can bear without an umbrella, a nonevent. The other can pick you up, shake you until you scream, and set you down somewhere else. Somewhere new that you don’t recognize.
Shane is a monsoon.
That’s the only description I can give it now. Weather patterns. I’m not willing to go any further than that. Barely one day into this “letting go” phase with Shane and I’m already losing sight of reality. I know one thing for certain, though. I haven’t thought of Evan in days. There hasn’t been a speck of room for him. I could no sooner go back to the relationship I had with Evan than I could forget about Shane, which I instinctively know I never will. Evan has been wiped away so quickly, I wonder if he was ever there at all. If it was just my guilt, the bitter taste of failing someone I cared about, that I’ve been feeling all along.
I’m quiet for a full minute, but Shane doesn’t retreat. Oh no. He backs me up until I hit the wall and plants his hands on either side of my head. “Delete. Him.”
His expression isn’t unreadable now. He’s baring himself to m
e, daring me not to accept him. It’s anger, passion, and a touch of uncertainty. This is it, the honesty between us that has my fingers moving over the screen, deleting Evan from my phone. When I hit the button, I feel nothing. He was already gone from me.
Shane’s eyes close briefly, before he leans in and drops a single kiss onto my lips. “Now you’ve gone and done it.” I have no time to question that odd statement because he’s walking back toward the pub. “I’m taking off after lunch. Will you be ready for me?”
Pleasure jabs me below the belt at the double meaning I know he intended. “Don’t keep me waiting long.”
“Insatiable little thing, aren’t you?”
“We’ve already established that.”
He winks at me and disappears through the swinging door, working his swagger again. I practically float up the stairs, not bothering to wipe the dopey expression off my face.
Chapter Twenty
“All right, now the first stage of learning how to drive a stick shift is to accept you will stall the car your first few tries. Try not to get frustrated.”
I nod, letting my hand run over the gearshift. Shane is talking in his professional voice and it’s doing funny things to my stomach. “Just call me Zen.”
True to his word, he left the pub after lunch late this afternoon. I’d passed out for a few hours in my room, exhausted from last night and the chaotic emotions of the morning. When I woke, I’d started to pull on my jeans, then changed my mind, putting on the only dress I’d brought to Ireland with me. A soft blue, floral dress that I’d bought once when Ginger begged me to, insisting the color looked good on me. The tags were even still on it, since I’d never worn it. Since I’m sprinting outside of my comfort zone, though, I decided to go all out.
When I heard the knock on my door, I’d pulled it open knowing it was Shane. The appreciative look on his face told me he was debating backing me into the room and forgetting whatever plans he’d made. Instead, he’d dragged me from the room with a curse. Without telling me where we were going, he’d driven us out to Bull Island, to a beach called Dollymount Strand that ran the entire length of the narrow island. The wide shoreline was deserted this time of day, the sun just beginning to set over the water. At first, he’d only planned on showing me the island, walking along the beach, but when I’d admitted I didn’t know how to drive a manual transmission, he’d basically gone apoplectic.
