One and a Half Regrets: A Sweet, New Adult Romance (Love by the Numbers Book 1)

by J. A. Coffey

  ONE AND A HALF REGRETS

  A Love by the Numbers Novel

  by

  J.A. Coffey

  All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual individuals or businesses is purely coincidental.

  ONE AND A HALF REGRETS

  Book 1 of Love by the Numbers

  By J.A. Coffey

  Copyright (c) 2016 J.A. Coffey

  Cover by J.A. Coffey

  Editing by Jody Wallace of Meankitty Editing

  This e-book is sold on condition that it shall not be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the copyright owner's consent, and without a similar condition being imposed on a subsequent purchaser.

  About this book:

  I never expected Liam Hensley to rock and roll his way back into my life. Now he’s reminding me of things I thought I’d long since given up–my life, my love, my own music. He says he wants a second chance, to make up for mistakes of the past. There’s just one little problem…I’m hiding a secret that could ruin both our futures.

  I can’t tell him I had his baby.

  Classical violinist and single mom, Beth MacGuire works part-time at a bar while keeping tabs on her alcoholic mother and minding her sweet infant daughter—until a chance encounter with her high school crush, Liam Hensley, spells disaster for her plans to put her past behind her.

  When Liam signed with hot band, Wylde Ryder, he rocketed to fame and never looked back. He’s returned to Seattle for a bandmate’s doomed wedding, but seeing Beth rekindles feelings he thought he’d buried for good.

  Plagued by turbulent memories, their passionate reconnection sparks brighter than his concert spotlights. Beth is set against risking her precious baby’s happiness for life with a rock star daddy, but when Liam’s father discovers their little secret, the drummer must choose between stepping up or stepping away from being a family man.

  Find J.A. Coffey Books at http://JACoffey.com.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Information

  Blurb

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Dedications: To my daughter MacKenzie who watches me follow my own dreams while waiting for her own to begin.

  Huge thank you to my editor Jody Wallace and critique partner Caroline Lee for their insightful comments and assistance. Tackling a new series is always an adventure, but you ladies make it fun!

  Also thanks to Reese Wohlford, for her input on the life of a budding violinist. You made my story come to life. And to reader Tamara McLanahan for suggesting infant roseola as a viable panic-worthy parenting obstacle. You rock!!

  Sweet Readers,

  I hope you love this brand new series as much as I’ve enjoyed creating a new world for you. Love by the Numbers New Adult Romances feature younger heroes and heroines who struggle with life and love without the benefit of years of experience. I’m enthralled by the raw intensity of this new novel and I hope it becomes one of your favorites, too. Be sure to drop me a line and let me know what you think!

  Happy Reading!

  J.A. Coffey

  Chapter One

  Beth

  One thing about Irish pubs, they’re great for chilling out. Low key, dark and usually not crowded. Which is why it’s so unusual for me to see anyone famous—especially midweek in downtown Seattle in this part of the city. With a lack of trendy dance clubs and hookah bars, it’s usually pretty dead after midnight around here.

  Wind gusts through the front doors of the Auld Rogue Irish Pub, smelling like summer rain and Menthol cigarettes, as a group of scruffy rockers strolls in, singing at the top of their lungs and punctuating lyrics with the occasional bad air-guitar riff.

  I tuck the bar rag into my apron and check my watch. Almost two a.m. Really? So near to closing time?

  “An’ they just can’t keep me down!” The familiar refrain to “Keepin’ Me Down,” a chart-topper for alternative rock band trio Wylde Ryder, assaults my ears. I’m dead on my feet. No way I’m going down on anything but my downnnn comforter. I grit my teeth as the group collapses in a heap of rough laughter and smooth leather at a booth near the front.

  “Yo! Can we get a round of Guinness?” one of them calls out towards me and Patrick Murphy, the Rogue’s longtime bartender. Cigarette smoke follows in their wake, wafting over me like a bad memory, as I slice citrus for tomorrow’s bar prep.

  My eyes water and my nostrils twitch. Then I sneeze. Twice.

  “Uh, guys.” I croak loud enough to be heard over the music and the scanty pub patrons. A cough forms at the back of my throat, making me bull-frogged. “We’re about done for the night.”

  Working at Ma’s pub hadn’t been the best choice with my allergies, but it pays my rent and we’d been short-handed since we let most of the staff go last year. As most of my savings is tied up in the Rogue, I’m waitressing to keep myself afloat.

  Me and Cadence, that is.

  “Last call!” I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. Just one more hour and I can crash. The group laughs, two couples paired off for the evening. I can’t even remember the last time I was on a date.

  “Man, I think I left my cell backstage.” A fifth rocker strolls through the door, absently patting the pockets of his black leather jacket. “It’s not here or in the car.”

  Liam Hensley. There are times I wish I could toss back a shot or two while tending bar, and this is seriously one of them. My chest seizes up so tightly I think I might pass out. I turn my face to the shadows, so he won’t see me.

  “I swear, Liam. You’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached.” The woman brays like a mule at her own joke, her teeth overly large behind her hot pink lips.

  The group guffaws and my heart turns over at their easy humor. I hadn’t had it that easy in years. Not since high school and my after-school classes at the Conservatory.

  Not since Liam fecking Hensley.

  “Call Zane, see if he’ll grab it. We ordered a round of Guinness.” The guy points toward the bar, where me and Pat are standing like statues.

  I stifle a squeak of surprise and duck behind the counter under pretense of picking up a piece of trash. My body goes hot, then cold, then hot again as I struggle to get control of my emotions.

  “Bethany, what are…Oh, Lordy. Dere’s trouble,” Pat mutters. He moves squarely in front of me, blocking Liam from view. I’m being ridiculous, and I can’t see, so I stand up.

  “Is it him, Pat?” I peer around his shoulder.

  Liam frowns, peering through the gloom, as if trying to remember the lyrics to an old song. Or maybe the face of his old girlfriend. He shakes it off and snags a chair, flipping it in reverse to sit. His long legs straddle the seat back, as if he’s crouched in a drum pit.

  “Ya.” Pat makes another noise of disapproval. “It’s him.”

  I exhale noisily. Wait, why the feck am I hiding from Liam? I force myself to straighten on wobbly knees and wipe my slick palms on the backside of my pants. Had Liam seen me? Did he recognize me? Were my cheeks flushed? I press my hands against my face. Feck, I can’t tell.
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  Liam is the drummer for Wylde Ryder, the hottest rock band since the Foos. Record agent Marco DeSilva signed him a few years ago, stealing him away from me and Seattle, but I’d recognize him anywhere, despite the fact that his chestnut hair is now buzzed close to his scalp on the sides and spiked on top—a far cry from the messy waves and grunge look when we’d dated. I don’t recognize any of the people in the booth as band members, so I’m completely gobsmacked to see him. Yeah, it’s definitely him. His lanky silhouette is still marked by an ever-present pair of drumsticks poking out of his back pocket and tatted-up oversized biceps big enough to squeeze the breath out of me.

  Liam. My Liam.

  “You guys are rude.” Liam smiles good-naturedly and whips out his sticks and sets them rolling on the table.

  “Even me?” the blonde closest to him coos and bats her lashes. She’s pretty. Really pretty, with highlighted brows and contoured cheeks that probably took an hour to create.

  He looks away. “Nah. Not you, babe.”

  Yup, same guy. I imagine his hand on her knee under the table, but I can’t really see that far. And I remember to breathe.

  “Oh my gawd,” a woman to the left of the mahogany bar gushes. “It’s the drummer from Wylde Ryder!” A chorus of squeals and cheers follows from our younger patrons as they mob the front of the pub, tipping chairs and bumping beers as they go.

  Great. And I’m on clean-up crew tonight.

  “At least we’ll get some good publicity, courtesy of Himself over there, eh?” Patrick quips, watching the small stampede.

  “Yeah.” I bite my lip. My heart surges, aching to play melodies of songs I no longer know. “Lucky us.” I wonder how we can capitalize on this. The Auld Rogue is barely making it. The city is breathing down our necks, waiting for any excuse to demolish the pub and build a pay-for-parking lot.

  Liam frames his mouth with long fingers and hollers over the top of the crowd. “Hey, can you bring us that round?”

  I resist the urge to dumpster-dive behind the bar again. People paw at his hair, his clothing, all flailing arms and flinging phone numbers, until his groupies manage to stave them off out of respect for His Stixness’s privacy.

  I set the knife I’d used to slice lemons aside before I commit a felony. The noise in the pub amplifies to deafening as Liam and the others fend off requests for autographs and selfies. The dark interior of the pub is a strobe of camera flashes and glowing mobile screens as people rush to tag themselves on social media.

  “Liam,” some girl calls. “Liam, give me a kiss!” He obliges her on the cheek, allowing the mob of cell cameras to capture the event for posterity. My guts hurt for more than one reason.

  Because that girl used to be me. And because if Liam isn’t careful, his shit for a father will realize the band is back in town. I wouldn’t put it past the loser to try to cash in on his kid, if he hasn’t already.

  The asshole.

  Me and Pat watch Liam pose for pics and scribble his name a dozen times on the center of the Rogue’s white bar napkins—until the throng tries to climb on top of the booth for better access.

  “Uh, Pat?” I just can’t let Liam get overrun, as much as my common sense tells me to stay out of it.

  “Ho dere! Offa dat table!” Pat’s thick brogue rings out, and his broad, ruddy face splits into an expression of disgust. “Rock stars.” He shakes his head.

  “Get rid of him.” I tidy the counter with brittle movements, as if trying to set a watch face to the correct time. As if at any moment Liam might glance up and recognize me, and the heartbreak will start all over again. “It’s nearly closing, anyways. We need to shut the crowd down before things get out of hand.”

  There are already scores of people flooding through the doors. The last thing I need is to call Ma from the backroom where we’d set up her office so she wouldn’t be too close to the liquor. I wince as another pair of headlights swings into the parking lot. The Rogue is turning into a flash mob, and after last call, too, so we can’t even capitalize on the customers.

  “Are ye sure?” Pat raises his brows. “Liam’s your—”

  “I know what he is, and it doesn’t matter. The Rogue’s gonna close on time tonight.” I set my rag aside.

  My alma mater, the Seattle Music Conservatory, is hosting a luncheon tomorrow for current students and alumni. Despite the fact that I can’t enroll in the adult courses and don’t have time to make my own music, I really want to go. Like, really, really want to.

  Unless Liam will be making an appearance.

  “Hey, fellas. Last call’s over,” Pat hollers to the group. “Call it a night, eh?”

  Liam waves dismissively as a chorus of offers to purchase the round flood in. “Rogue’s always open for me, Pat.”

  I wince, remembering our teenage pact.

  “Good to see he’s cashing in on his rock star clout,” I mutter. But the tone of Liam’s voice strikes a chord in me. How long has it been since he’d been back to the old neighborhood? Did he miss it at all? Miss me?

  His pale eyes fix on the street outside the window. Eyes I know are the color of aquamarine, changeable as a Seattle sky. He’s probably checking for more crazed fans, but tonight his expression seems more pensive than posturing.

  “Give us a smile, Liam!” someone shouts. Liam’s face transforms into his signature smolder as he strikes a pose with his sticks in the air. Another round of flashes pops, and I see stars behind my eyelids.

  Oh, feck, he hasn’t changed at all.

  Same boyish charm. Same velvety soft voice that sets my thighs to trembling. Same self-centered, God’s gift to percussion, expecting the world to fall at his feet.

  And it had…oh, how it had.

  I swallow a lump of jealousy as Liam lets his pose drop. The brooding expression resumes control of his handsome features.

  “Your call, Beth,” Pat murmurs under his breath. “Want me to call your Ma?”

  “Pour a round of Guinness.” If either my mother or my older brother Cormack finds out Liam is here, there’ll be hell to pay. It’s only 1:45 and the Auld Rogue needs the money. “Technically we can serve until two and skirt the law. One round, and I’ll get rid of him myself.”

  I’d give it to Liam with a big serving of “get the ifreann out.”

  “Sure thing.” Pat pulls the tap on a set of pint glasses. A gorgeous head of foam caps the creamy, coffee-colored stout, oozing off one side. I catch the overflow before it drips onto the polished, carved bar top—a bar we’d had shipped all the way from Ireland—and mop up automatically, wishing I could tidy up my life as easily.

  Me and Cormack had taken over my mother’s pub last year, once she’d admitted she couldn’t stay off the sauce. She hadn’t checked into rehab, though, which meant we had to be constantly vigilant, or Ma would do something reckless like barter the bar for magic beans or something. Thus far, she’d stayed relatively sober and things had been…better. Not great, but manageable.

  Until today. There was nothing manageable about Liam showing up.

  I set my rag aside and steel myself. Patrick loads a round tray with the pints and sends me off with a skeptical shake of his head.

  As I thread my way through the crush of people, Liam is rolling his drumsticks back and forth as if he’s only half-paying attention to the conversation around him. He’s always been a little fringe, looking out the corner of his eyes for trouble. Now he just seems…worn out. I feel kinda bad for him, and my arms ache to hold him, but I’m determined not to let him know. A few years ago, I’d have claimed he was a creative musical genius. Now he’s just the jerk who’d dumped me.

  In a text message.

  Seriously, who does that?

  I stuff away the stab of hurt, balance the tray on my shoulder, and make it to Liam’s booth without spilling a drop. The Auld Rogue is a cave, with scuffed wooden floors and polished mahogany trim, dark and heavy as any good Irish pub should be, but right now
it’s overrun with rock-n-roll fans as word gets out that Liam is here. A small corner stage accommodates live music, but we haven’t brought anyone in in years. All our profits have gone into keeping the Rogue afloat.

  I thunk the pints of stout in front of the group. “Drink it and go. We’re not supposed to serve after last call.”

  “Thanks, doll.” Liam glances up and startles, seeming surprised to find me glaring down at him. “Jeez, Beth…is that you?”

  “Hello, Liam.”

  His mouth quirks at the corner. “What are you doing here?”

  “Cormack and I are part-owners. Where else would I be?” I rest the plastic tray on my hip, feigning a nonchalance I don’t feel.

  His pale eyes widen, his expression reminiscent of our earlier days when we’d been a thing. “I just…wow. I never thought you’d still be here. You were going to Julliard.”

  “Yeah, well. Plans change.”

  “I almost didn’t recognize you. You look different.” His easy smile slides over me like honey mead. “How you doing, babe?”

  Babe? Babe! Just who the feck does he think he’s talking to?

  I smooth my hands down my front. I’m still trim, even though I gave birth ten months ago. Long nights of pacing the floor with a colicky infant and living off of peanut butter and ramen noodles so I can pay the rent will do that to a woman. “I’m fine. You look…the same.” I try to impart every ounce of derision I feel for him in that single phrase before I turn on my heel to leave.

  His hand darts out and catches my elbow.

  He always had fast reflexes. Just like his dad.

  “Wait.” He leaps to his feet with that same cat-like grace, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a conductor’s baton. “You look good, Beth. Great, in fact.” He shuffles as if unsure what to say next.

  My heart rattles in my chest like a bird trying to escape a cage. “Finish your beer and get out before Ma sees you.” My mother still hasn’t gotten over the fact that Liam dumped me—not after we’d taken him in.