Claiming Cari (The Gilroy Clan Book 2)

by Megyn Ward

  Con, set his glass down and sighs. He knows I’m right. “At least let me take you.”

  “No fucking way,” Tess says.

  “What?” he says, his mouth lifting in a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not hot enough?”

  Tess opens her mouth, but I rush in before she can say something insulting.

  “You’re in the wedding,” I remind him, shaking my head. “We all are. She needs someone who’s going to be there, exclusively for her.”

  “Fine.” His jaw goes tight before he slumps back in his seat, the picture of defeat. “But I’m doing a full background check on whatever dickbag you manage to scrounge up.”

  “Like I can’t find a decent guy who wants to go out with me?” Now it’s Tess’s turn to look wounded. “Thanks.”

  “Christ—” Con rolls his eyes, heaving a put-upon sigh that sounds nothing like him. Hearing it makes me wonder what’s happened to him since I left. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “What about the new guy?” I say, casting a quick look over my shoulder. Logan and Patrick are manning the bar, flirting and smiling at the crowd of women around it. Is it my imagination or are there way more females in the place than usual?

  “Logan?’” Tess says, craning her neck over the back of the booth. “You think?”

  “Yeah,” I say, shooting Con a quick look. He seems mollified by the prospect. Good. That means whatever his questionable past might include, Logan is a good guy. Con never would agree otherwise. “He’s got the hot nerd thing going on.”

  Suddenly, my view is blocked by a set of massive shoulders, and I look up to see Declan standing in front of our booth.

  “Hi,” he says to me, like he saw me yesterday, before looking directly at Tess. “Can we talk outside?” he says, his gaze leaving her face long enough to catch sight of the envelope on the table in front of her. He doesn’t look surprised to see it.

  “Where’s Jess?” Con pipes up slamming his empty pint on the table. “Off, polishing the jar she keeps your balls in?”

  “Stay out of this, Conner,” Dec says quietly, barely sparing his brother a glance before re-focusing on Tess. “Please.”

  It a few seconds before Tess nudges me with her knee, and I slide out of the booth, Declan stepping back to give me room. He looks wrecked. 3-day beard. Sunken eyes. Dark circles. Like he hasn’t slept in days. Tess grabs the invitation off the table and slides across the seat behind me before pushing her way through the crowded bar, trailing Declan in her wake.

  As soon as they’re gone, Conner pushes his way after them.

  Shit.

  I follow him. I’m not sure what I’m going to do, but I follow anyway.

  Just when I think I’m going to have to jump on Con’s back to keep him from following them all the way outside, I realize he’s bypassing the front door completely. He’s heading for the back office.

  Keying the lock, he pushes his way in, leaving the door open, his only concession to the fact that I’m following him.

  “So, they’re actually talking to each other now?” I say from the doorway, still not understanding what we’re doing in here.

  The automatic lights click on a second before Conner lowers himself into the chair. “You’ve been gone for almost a year—shit didn’t just stand still, waiting for you to trot your ass home.”

  Another jab. Another reminder that Patrick isn’t the only person I left when I went back to Ohio. “But why wouldn’t Tess tell me—”

  “Get your ass, over here, Legs,” he says, jiggling the mouse on its pad to wake up the computer. “You’re gonna miss the show.”

  By the time I round the desk, his fingers are flying over the keys. A second later, the large screen is split into several different panels, each of them showing a different camera angle of the interior and exterior of the bar. Clicking on one of the windows, its camera view fills the screen pulling Declan and Tess into sharp and sudden focus.

  Con uses the mouse to shift the angle of the camera until he can see both of their faces.

  “I never wanted this,” he says, his voice oddly void of emotion. “I never wanted any of this.”

  “Really,” Con says. “That’s funny because this—every bit of it—is your doing.”

  I look from Con to the screen and back again. It takes a second for me to realize what he’s doing.

  “Are you reading their lips?”

  “You’re being unfair, Tes—”

  “Am I? You’re fiance stopped by the garage today.” On the screen, Tess holds up the envelope. “How’s that for un—fucking—fair?”

  “I know. That’s why I’m here. I don’t—you don’t have to—” Declan swipes a hand over his face before holding it out to Tess. “I’m sorry. Just give it to me. He drops his hand when she shakes her head at him. Please, Tess... just give it to me. I’ll tell her you can’t make it.”

  I’m feeling increasingly uncomfortable. We should not be watching this. We shouldn’t be listening. “This is wrong,” I tell him. “We shouldn’t be—”

  “He knocked her up,” he says in a hard, emotionless tone, his eyes never leaving the screen. “He got her pregnant and fucking abandoned her. She had no one. No one.”

  I shake my head. “But—”

  “She lost the baby. She went through it alone while he went on with his goddamned life like nothing ever happened. Like she was nothing. He doesn’t get to hurt her again. Not ever.” He flicks me a glare. “Now, shut the fuck up or get the fuck out.”

  I think of the way I prattled on this afternoon about Grace and Molly. What a blessing Molly is. How lucky we were to have her. How strong Grace was for raising her alone. The way Tess looked like she’d been stabbed in the chest. Like she was bleeding out right in front of me.

  I turn away from the camera but I don’t leave. Instead, I sit on the desk and place a hand on Con’s shoulder. He’s tense. The muscles under my hand are shaking like it’s taking everything he has to stay in his chair. He watches the screen intently, eyes flicking over the images in front of him but he doesn’t narrate for me anymore. Probably because he knows I’m right.

  “Let’s go,” I say to him, my fingers tightening around his shoulder. “Patrick’s probably wondering what the hell—”

  “MOTHERFUCKER!” he roars, shoulder snapping tight under my hand an instant before he lunges up and out of his chair. He looks poised to run, but his eyes are fixed on the screen like he can’t look away.

  I turn, letting my gaze fall to the screen and my mouth falls open.

  Declan’s got his hands clamped around Tess’s arms, lifting and crushing her against him. He’s kissing her.

  And she’s kissing him back.

  Before that fact can register, Tess is tearing herself away from him, eyes wide, twisting out of his grip even as her fist comes up and catches him square in the jaw.

  Declan’s head jerks back but he shakes it off, unmoved by the assault, so she plants her hands on his chest and shoves him back, putting space between them. When he finally lets her go, he looks just as stunned as she does.

  Thirty-eight

  Patrick

  I watch Cari and Conner bolt through the bar—Conner’s long-legged stride full of purpose, while Cari chased after him, scrambling to keep up. I watch, customers shouting drink orders, while she follows him down the hall, headed toward the bathrooms.

  Something ugly flared in my chest. Just as quickly, I put a lid on it.

  Con is not taking Cari to the bathroom. Cari would never do that. Neither would he. While he’s not above fucking another guy’s girl, he’d never do that to me and she wouldn’t either.

  Something else is going on.

  I want to follow them, but I can’t leave Logan alone behind the bar. We’re barely keeping up with shit as it is. If I bolt, he’ll be in the weeds in a matter of seconds. Like he’s reading my mind, he shouts my name, and I look up to see him looking at me from the other end of the bar.

  “You need
to get that?” he says, jerking his chin in the direction Con and Cari disappeared. “I can hold it down for a minute or two.”

  I shake my head, shoveling ice into glasses. We’re got four shotgirls circulating with trays of pre-poured shots to alleviate some of the pressure, in addition to our usual cocktail waitresses, but it’s hardly making a dent. The bar front is swamped. Because thanks to that goddamned magazine article, it’s me they’re here to see. “Nah, it’s fine,” I shout back, building a round of Long Islands.

  Whatever is going on, Con and Cari can handle it.

  That doesn’t stop me from wondering though. I fly on auto-pilot, slinging drinks and mopping up slips. Just when I’m about to say fuck it and hop the bar, the front door flies open and Tess barrels in, shoving her way through the tight throng of people, heading for the bar.

  A shell-shocked Declan is hot on her heels.

  Tess fights her way behind the bar, jerking her arm out of Dec’s grip every couple of steps. “I’m sorry, Tess.” He reaches for her again.

  She pulls away from him and shouts, “Fuck you!”

  Rinse. Repeat.

  It’d be comical if there wasn’t a small, red welt on his chin and Tess didn’t look like she was on the verge of tears. She barrels past me, and I step in front of Declan, barring him from grabbing her again.

  “Get the fuck out of my way,” he snarls at me, wounded gaze following Tess down the length of the bar. A muscle in his jaw twitches, flashing dots of white at the top of the scarlet welt on his face. Four of them. In the shape of a fist.

  It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what happened.

  I plant my feet. “Not happening,” I say shaking my head. “Go home, Declan.”

  Behind me, Tess opens her mouth and tosses a can of gas on top of a raging fire. “Hey, new guy—want to go to a wedding with me?”

  Declan goes still. For a second, I’m not even sure he’s breathing. “Tesla.” He says her name softly but everyone within listening range heard it for what it was.

  A warning.

  I don’t look at them—I don’t dare—but I can tell from the silence that follows her question, Logan is just as confused by what’s happening as I am. Behind Declan, I see Con and Cari push their way through the crowd. Con looks like he’s ready to rip his brother’s throat out.

  Behind me, Logan answers her. “I’d love to.”

  Shit.

  In front of me, Declan lunges, and I throw my hands up to stop him. “Go home, Declan,” I say quietly.

  “Fuck you,” he growls at me, gaze nailed to whatever is happening behind me.

  “Get the fuck out of my bar.” I snarl back.

  It’s not the first time I’ve said it, but it’s the first time I’ve meant it.

  My bar.

  First time it’s ever felt like mine. First time I’ve ever felt like I had to defend it against my own family and I hate it. I hate feeling this way, but I suddenly understand what Con tried to tell me months ago when we finally had a discussion about his father’s decision to sign everything over to me.

  I’m it.

  Sometime, in-the-not-too-distant future, my aunt and uncle will be gone, and I’ll be the only thing holding them together. Without me between them, Conner and Declan would tear each other apart. It might not always stay that way, but it’s the way it is now. It sucks, and I hate it.

  But I finally understand. I finally accept it.

  The words seem to snap something inside Declan and his shoulders slump. His jaw goes soft.

  “Leave,” I say. “Now, Declan.”

  He casts one more look over my shoulder before turning on his heel and weaving his way back through the crowd. “Let him go,” I shout at Conner as Declan passes and he does as I say, glaring at his brother as he makes his way out the door.

  The entire bar is dead quiet, everyone in the place staring at me.

  Fuck it.

  “Who wants a shot on the house?” I yell over the crowd, and it erupts into a roar of shouts and whistles.

  Sometimes, family sucks.

  Thirty-nine

  Cari

  Con takes Tess home. Maneuvering behind the bar as soon as his brother leaves, he picks her up and pushes his way toward the fire exit, her shoulders shaking silently, face buried in his chest. After seeing what I saw on the security camera, after what Conner told me about their past, I understand Declan and Tess better.

  I go upstairs. It’s barely midnight, and the bar is an hour away from closing. Mounting the stairs, the cacophony of Gilroy’s fades away until the rowdy noise of it is barely a whisper. I think about the old place, how it was nearly impossible to hear yourself think on a Wednesday for all the drunken shouts and loud music. A year ago, I’d be down there, louder than any of them. These days, I just want the quiet.

  As soon as I shut the front door, the noise disappears completely.

  I clean the kitchen and straighten up the living room, plumping mashed pillows and wiping down the pristine coffee table before taking a shower. I use the same shower Patrick did earlier. His soap and shampoo. Lathering and washing, I think about the things Patrick said to me before dinner. Not just the dirty things—all of it. I think about what he wants from me.

  Forever.

  He said forever.

  I thought I was ready for that. I thought I was ready to give him everything. That’s why I came home. Because I tried living without him and it almost killed me. So why can’t I say it? Why can’t I say what I wrote on that card eleven months ago?

  I love Patrick. So, why can’t I tell him?

  Because a part of me is beginning to doubt that the man I left behind and came back for still exists.

  Stepping out of the shower, I wrap myself in a towel and collect my discarded clothes. I pad my way down the hall, toward the room I claimed as my own. Halfway down the hall, I stop and listen. I hear the low murmur of the television.

  Patrick.

  Despite my reservations, I quickly pull my dress back on and head for the living room, sending up a quick prayer that he’s alone before stepping into the room. I see the back of his head, slumped against the back of the couch.

  He must hear me because he speaks. “I told you not to bother with the dishes,” he says, without moving from his spot on the couch.

  Pushing myself forward, I round the back of the couch and his face comes into view. He has his eyes closed like he’s half-asleep. I almost stop. He looks exhausted. So tired, I almost retreat. Almost go back the way I came. Almost leave him alone.

  Almost.

  “You cooked, I clean,” I tell him, using the towel to squeeze water out of my hair. “That’s fair, right?”

  He looks up at me for a second before looking away. “Yeah, that’s fair,” he says, his words pitched low. He looks uncomfortable. Unsure of what’s supposed to happen next.

  “Can I sit down?” I gesture to the seat next to him on the couch and hold my breath, suddenly sure he’s going to tell me no.

  He clears his throat. “Of course,” he says, scooting over a bit to make room for me and I sit, molding myself against his side, legs curled under me. I put my head on his shoulder, and I feel it stiffen under my cheek.

  “Is this okay?” I say, even though I know it isn’t. I’m pushing him. Testing his limits. It’s not my intention—I just want to be close to him. As close as he’ll let me get.

  He lets out a long breath, his chest deflating under my hand. “Yes,” he says, turning to press his lips against my forehead. “It’s fine.”

  “Am I keeping you awake?” I ask. “Do you want to go to bed?” My fingers flex, digging into the hard muscles of his chest at the thought of Patrick in bed.

  “No, I usually hang for a few hours after my shift,” he says, totally circumventing my question. Picking up the remote, he starts flipping through channels. “What do you want to watch?”

  “Reality Rapper Bachelor Housewives,” I say, and like I’d hoped he laughed at our inside joke
.

  “Well, you’re in luck,” he tells me, the tension between us melting away. “Where are you at in the season?”

  “I haven’t watched TV since I left,” I tell him. “We only have one television in the house, and it’s Paw Patrol and Bubble Guppies all day, every day.”

  He laughs, shaking his head. “I don’t know what that is.”

  “Well, if Grace and Molly make the move to Boston, you’ll be hip deep in grilled cheese and Nick Jr. in no time flat,” I say a moment before I realize what I’m implying. That he’ll be around. That we’ll be together.

  His face slides into a crooked smile, the corner of his mouth inching up enough to show that lickable dimple of his. “Sounds fun.”

  Using the remote, he cues up the DVR and selects the reality show I’ve forced him to watch since I moved in. There are over twenty episodes saved. “That Tanya bitch found out her assistant is—”

  “You kept recording my shows after I left?”

  “Sure,” he says, the corner of his mouth tilted up in a crooked grin. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  For a second, everything melts away. The doubt and the differences. For a second, when I look up at him, he’s Patrick again. My Patrick. “Thank you.”

  He tips his face down to look at me. “You’re welcome,” he says, his gaze drifting over my face like it did at Benny’s like he’s trying to convince himself that this is real. That we’re together.

  “I missed you,” I tell him and he smiles again, angling his neck to bring our lips close enough to kiss me.

  “I’m glad.” He says it against my mouth, and I laugh.

  “You weren’t kidding—” I lean back a little, catching his gaze with mine before I smile. “you’re kind of a dick these days.”

  “You love it.” He presses his lips against the soft underside of my jaw. I can feel the wicked curve of them against my skin. “Historically speaking, you have a thing for assholes.”

  “Just the one,” I whisper, my lashes fluttering against my cheeks when I feel his mouth against the pulse pounding in my throat. “Patrick...” I say his name as his mouth slides over mine. The moment our lips touch, a moan pushes its way through my chest, and I open my mouth to set it free, moaning again when his tongue licks and swirls against mine. “Is this okay?” I ask between kisses, hand fisted in his shirt, desperate to keep his mouth and hands on me. I don’t care if this is okay or not. This is happening. I’ve waited too long to have him against me. Inside me.