But I know I’d still want more of that fine Irish-Italian body. Reilly is the perfect ten. He’s like a bronze god. I wonder if his hair is still as curly and luscious as it was five years ago. And I wonder if he still has that lovely beard across his tanned face. His hair is dark, but if you look close you can see tiny hints of red that make his hazel eyes shine like dewy moss. He has a defined, chiseled jaw, and he is tall—at least six-foot-four. His body is so muscular, and covered with so many intricate and beautiful tattoos, I couldn’t help but stare.
Ugh, all of his muscles drive me crazy.
Jesus, I haven’t even seen him in years, and that just makes me want him even more. “Damn it,” I curse, wishing I could move on to someone else. I’m no good for Reilly anyway. He deserves a woman that can give him everything he wants, and if I remember correctly, he wants a slew of kids. That’s something I’d never be able to give him.
A few years ago, I had experienced a horrible amount of pain in my lower abdomen. I’d thought they were really bad period cramps, but after the doctor examined me further, he diagnosed me with endometriosis. It causes abnormal tissue to grow outside of my uterus and it makes everything extremely painful. One of the symptoms? Infertility.
My phone dings, and Reilly’s name appears on the screen again, but my mood is ruined. It would be better if he and I never spoke again. Not that he would care, but for me, it would be so helpful. Over the last few days of us talking, my heart has somersaulted over and over again, craving his attention just like I did when I was the annoying teenage girl I used to be.
I groan at the sight of another message from him. He has left me alone for five years, but all of a sudden he wants to talk like we are best buds. Despite my frustration, I click on the button on the screen, only to find out that it isn’t a text this time, but a call.
My palms start to sweat on the steering wheel. When I answer the call on the speaker phone, I hear his breath on the other end of the line. At first, I don’t make a sound. Maybe it was a butt dial and he didn’t mean to call me.
“Gwen?” his deep voice grumbles.
I clear my throat. “Uh, yeah? Hi, Reilly. What’s up?” I ask, trying to remain calm.
“Just wondering if you knew what your brother wanted to talk to me about tomorrow. I really don’t want to go. I just want to drink.” I hear the slosh of liquid in a bottle as he swallows into the microphone.
So, this is a drunk dial. That doesn’t make me feel any better.
“I have no idea. That is client-attorney information only, Reilly. You know that.”
“Ah, shite. Your brother tells ye things. I know it. Fuck the paperwork,” he slurs, letting his Irish accent slip out. Reilly had been born in Italy during his family’s vacation one year. His ma and his da were visiting the paternal side of the family. His ma was pregnant at the time, and Reilly decided to arrive ‘a wee bit early’, as his ma says. The combination of Irish and Italian features makes Reilly one of the most beautiful men I've ever seen.
Even though he is also of Italian heritage, his Irish culture shines through the most because he was raised in Ireland during his most formative childhood years. I love it when his Irish accent slips out. It makes my body tingle and causes an aching between my thighs.
The sound of a bottle breaking brings me out of my dirty thoughts. “Really. I have no idea. He doesn’t tell me those things ever. Just go talk to him.”
“I miss him, Gwen. My grandpa. I miss him.”
The pain in his voice lodges emotion in my throat. “I know you do, Reilly.”
“I won’t ever see him again.”
I shake my head, my eyes filling with tears. “No, Reilly.”
“It’s hard to wrap me head around. That I won’t see him walk through the pub doors.”
A tear slips down my cheek as Reilly turns up the bottle again, swallowing heavily on the other end of the line. “I know.”
“He always said you’d be back, ye know,” he says between hiccups. “I wish ye were here, Gwen. Ye probably off with some guy, doing Portland things, but I wish ye could go with me in the morning. I’ve missed ye, too.”
“Reilly.” I pull over onto the side of the road and turn my hazard lights on, making sure the other cars are aware of me as they pass by. I want to believe everything he said. I want to believe he’s missed me all these years, but a drunk phone call only can only give me false hope and more insecurities. “Reilly, I’m on my way home, remember? And we haven’t talked in five years. You can’t miss me.”
“I’ve always missed ye. The years never mattered.”
My lip trembles from his admission, but then I hear him curse after something falls onto the ground. From the sound of it, I assume it was him who fell.
“I need to go. Don’t let that Portland prick touch ye. Ye mine, Gwen. Ye always been mine,” Reilly slurs.
The line goes dead.
My hands grip the wheel for dear life as my jaw drops to the floor. That bastard. I had always dreamed of the day he’d say those things to me, and yet he waited five years to tell me, not to mention that it was during a drunk phone call that he probably won’t even remember. He’ll just go back to not knowing who I was and ignoring me for another five years.
Yeah, I’m not believing his words for a second. My heart wants to, but my mind knows better. I’m not his. I was never his. And I will never be his.
I know that and he knows that.
Chapter Six
Reilly
“Me head! Damn it. I’m coming. Quit ye knocking, would ye?” My head is killing me. I had drunk an entire bottle of Jameson whiskey last night and I couldn’t remember a thing when I woke up.
My hand lands on the door knob, unlocking the lock and opening the door, only to reveal Ma and Anthony standing outside. “Damn, it’s too early. Come back later.”
I try to close the door, but Anthony’s foot stops it. “It’s two in the afternoon,” he says.
“Right. That’s early. Go away.”
“Not with how you’re spewing your lilt,” Ma replies. “Go sit down. I’ll make ye some tea. I can’t believe you’re taking your grandpa’s advice.”
“Only one way to find out if it works,” I snap back as I unscrew another bottle of whiskey and take a stip. “‘Hair of the dog,’ they say. Let’s see if it works.”
“Stop ye drinkin’! You ain’t too old for this wooden spoon to pop you in the mouth!” Ma yells, taking the bottle out of my hand.
“Ah, Ma, come on.”
“Don’t ‘Ah, Ma’ me. Sit down and drink the tea. We are going to listen to Anthony.”
I sigh, rubbing my hands over my eyes. “Yes, ma’am. But please stop yelling.”
She scoffs at me and starts banging pots and pans together in the kitchen, just for the hell of it. I hear the microwave beep, and a few minutes later, I have a steaming mug of tea in my hands. I know I have to drink all of it while she’s here, too, or else I’ll never hear the end of it.
She knows I’m not too much of a drinker. I work at the bar, and have a drink every now and then, but I never get too drunk, so this is new to me. She doesn’t like seeing me like this. Hell, it’s her own da that died, and yet she looks more put together than I do.
“Alright, Anthony, what do you have for us?” I sip my tea, groaning from how good it feels to have something on my tongue besides whiskey. Maybe Ma is right. Maybe I shouldn’t have listened to the old man.
“Well, it’s more for you than anyone else. Lucky requested that your mom be here, but he left everything to you, Reilly.”
I nod. “The bar. I figured that.”
Anthony laughs and shakes his head. “No, Reilly. Not just the bar.” He opens his brown, leather briefcase and pulls out a stack of paper. “Lucky left you fifteen billion dollars.”
I blink at Anthony for a minute and then the mug slips out of my hands, shattering onto the floor. Ma and I don’t move. We just stare at my friend like he’s lost his mind. “I’m sorry, Ant
hony. I thought ye said fifteen billion dollars.”
“I did.”
I shake my head with denial. “That’s impossible. The bar needs to be renovated. If he had all that money, he would have done it.”
“He didn’t want anyone to know he had the money. He won the lottery about fifteen years ago and let the money accrue interest in a private account. He never planned on touching it. He planned to give it all to you someday.”
“What the fuck am I going to do with it?” I shout. “I can’t use that. That’s his money. Ah, that old man. If he were here, I’d give him a good shake.”
“Language.”
“Sorry, Ma.”
I hold my head in my hands. This is a lot of information to take in. “You’re saying I’m a billionaire.”
“Sure am. But there is a condition.”
“Aye. There always is,” Ma says.
“You have to give your mom half of it.”
Ma gasps, covering her mouth with one hand. I reach out and take the other one in mine. “Of course I will. She deserves it more than I do. Hell, just give her all of it.”
“Yeah, he said you’d say that. But I can’t do that. He specified that he wanted you to split it.”
“I don’t know what to do with that kind of money, Anthony. I don’t want anyone in town to know about this, either. Grandpa was right. People knowing about this, in this town, would be a big deal. We would get too much attention. We aren’t going to be able to touch the money. And of course he won the lottery. Damn, such a lucky bastard,” I groan, standing up to get paper towels so that I can clean up the mess the mug made.
“That’s why they called him Lucky, right?” Anthony laughs. “Listen, I can have the money to you in a few different accounts and I’ll make sure you’re all set up. You’re going to need accountants now. This money can change your life, if you let it.” Anthony’s eyes soften when he says that.
He knows we’re a lower middle-class family. My parents immigrated to America and my grandparents followed. Everyone had worked low-paying jobs until my grandpa opened the pub. It’s the one thing that makes us stable. We count on the pub.
“What I’d give to give him some lip right now, Ma,” I mutter as I pace, walking back and forth on the hardwood floors. “What are we going to do with all that money? Also, can’t Ma and I just have both of our names on the account? There’s no need to double your workload. Are you okay with that?”
She nods. “I don’t see why not. Is that okay, Anthony?”
“I don’t see why not, as long as the money is shared between the two of you.” Anthony leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “Fuck everybody else in this town. You have money now. So what? It doesn’t change the kind of people you are. Lucky’s pub is the place everyone goes. People love the O’Haras. Rich or poor.”
I narrow my eyes as he crosses his leg over the other and glances back down at the paperwork. “You aren’t telling me something.”
He closes his eyes and sighs. “I really hate that you know me so well. It’s complete shite, as you would say.”
I smile and Ma giggles. “Yeah, well I’ve known ye just about my entire life. I’d hope I’d know when you were keeping something from me.”
Anthony’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I’m not allowed to tell you until the date is closer. I’m sorry, guys.”
“What do you mean you can’t tell us?” Ma asks.
“Well, the bar is being given to Reilly, so this has to do with him. I’m not allowed to give you any details until later on, per your grandpa’s word. He wants to see if you can do it yourself before a fire is…” Anthony pauses, glances down at his paper, and chuckles. “Until a fire is lit under your ass,” he reads from the page.
“That’s vague. Thanks for that.”
“I think I’m going to need that drink now, son,” Ma whispers from beside me.
I lean forward, grabbing the bottle off the coffee table and handing it to her. She unscrews the top and takes a big gulp. “Better,” she says as she wipes her mouth with her hand.
“I know this is a lot to take in—”
“Ye think? I feel like my head is about to explode,” I say, rubbing my temples.
“That’s probably from the bottle you finished last night.” Anthony lays the contract in front of me, along with a pen. “The only thing missing is your signature. Both of you. I wanted you to know that he knew what he was doing. He wanted you to have a good life, Reilly. He didn’t want you to suffer. He could have blown his money, but he wanted you to be able to provide for the family you’d have one day.”
I scoff. “Family? I don’t even have a girlfriend, Anthony. The man loved to dream.”
“Yeah, he did. It’s a shame that ye don’t, Reilly,” Ma reflects. She sniffles a bit and takes another drink of the whiskey, as if she’s trying not to cry. “Ye know, ye always so against everything. Open ye heart up some, and maybe you’ll find that things ye never thought ye wanted will emerge from where ye buried them.”
I bury them so deep because the one person I want more than anything is my best friend’s sister, but I can’t say that. I have to bury it. I have to lock it up and keep it deep within me. I have to make sure that my desire for her is so lost inside me that I can’t remember how it feels. And now that she’s coming back, those desires are emerging again like spring flowers after a good, long rain. I play with my Claddagh out of nervousness, twisting it round and round on my finger.
“Ma, it isn’t like that. I’ve just been working. I haven’t found anyone I’m interested in. I swear.” It’s only partially a lie. I haven’t seen anyone that I fancy like I do Gwen.
“Ye full of shite.”
Anthony lets out a loud laugh, holding his stomach and tossing his head back. He doubles over on the couch and his perfect tie wrinkles. “I love hearing you guys speak when you get angry. After all these years, it still never gets old. Oh, man,” he says as he sits back up, wiping his watering eyes. “It shouldn’t be that funny after so long, and yet here I am.”
I glance at Ma, who is smiling. “You are always so easily entertained, Anthony,” she says.
Before this meeting with Anthony and Ma, the idea of going back to tech school had crossed my mind a few times. As I sit there with a contract being presented to me, I realize more school sounds so pointless, because I am the proud owner of the bar, not to mention a billionaire. I don’t need to go to school. I had dropped out back when my grandpa needed help with his pub. I never thought twice when it came to helping him, and I’ve never regretted the time I got to spend with him as a result.
I sigh, picking up the pen and rolling it in my hand. This is what my grandpa wanted. Ma and Anthony stop talking, and I can feel their eyes resting on me, waiting to see if I’d really make the first move.
In one smooth stroke, I sign the document. The scratching sound of the tip of the fountain pen as it hit the paper is the loudest thing in the room at the moment. I hand the pen to my Ma and she takes a deep breath before signing her own name on the respective line.
And just like that, we’re billionaires. Holy shite.
“It will take a few days for me to get everything switched over to your accounts. I’ll let you know when it’s all set up. Alright? In the meantime, continue burning your emotions.” He packs up the paperwork and put the documents into his briefcase, muttering something about crazy Irish people in the process.
I’m not even that Irish. Anthony knows I’m part Italian as well, but since my accent is as Irish as can be, I only assume that it sometimes slips his mind. But even though I sound like a true Irishman, I can only say a few words here and there. But my Ma? The Irish blood running through my veins is from her side of the family, and to be honest, I don’t know how people understand her half the time when her accent slips. My accent is more Americanized after living here for so long, but somehow, hers stayed authentic.
Anthony stands up and so does my Ma. I forgot that they had com
e in together. “I know it’s a big change, but something tells me it will be worth it,” Anthony says.
“There’s something you aren’t telling me. Don’t think I will forget,” I remind him.
“I don’t think you will. I just hope you start dreaming like your grandpa did and maybe, just maybe, I won’t have to see you when this date gets closer.”
“You’re speaking in tongues, Anthony,” I say with a laugh, leaning against the doorway as Anthony opens the car door for Ma.
“Have you listened to your family speak? I’m not the one speaking in tongues here.”
I wave his concern away and shut the door. I sit down on the floor, my back against the door. I’d learned way more than I had expected to when Anthony had said he needed to meet with me. I get my phone out. The first person I want to tell the news to is Gwen. I always want to tell her everything first.
Knowing she’s coming back has lit a fire inside me that I thought I had put out a long time ago. I had let her go for years, but I don’t want to fight my feelings anymore. I have to figure out a way to talk to Anthony about it.
I place my phone down and think about the new worry that weighs on my mind. I’m a billionaire and I can’t tell a soul.
And that means I can’t tell Gwen.
Chapter Seven
Gwendolyn
After four days, three hotels, and four hundred dollars’ worth of gas, I finally pull into the driveway of my parent’s house. It’s one in the afternoon and I am exhausted. My POD has already been delivered. I see it sitting on the side driveway, usually reserved for parking an RV. I take a deep breath as my head rests against the seat. “Finally,” I sigh.
The driveway blurs as my eyes droop shut. I can’t remember why I moved across the country after driving the distance, but I won’t be doing it again any time soon. The sun glares through the window of the car, warming my skin and causing this sleep-deprived woman to sink deeper into a comfortable, dreamlike state.
Lucky Daddy Page 4
