by Cat Mason
“Fine.” Dominick opens my door, holding it open as I climb inside and settle myself before starting my car.
“I’ll be expecting that call, Ireland,” he says before letting me shut the door.
Walking over to his car, he leans against it. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stands there watching. Putting my car into gear, I pull out of the space and exit the lot. I don’t know how long he stands there, but I could almost swear I see him pass by my house right after I pull in.
Chapter Seven
Planes, Pubs, and Pints
Mack
Looking at my blank phone screen, I shake my head. Stubborn ass woman. I knew she wouldn’t call once she got home. Swiping the screen, I select her name, and type.
Are you alive?
“Daddy!” Jazz screams, bouncing on her heels like a rabbit on Redbull, the entire walk from the car to the front porch. Elbowing me in the hip, she bolts through the foyer, firmly grasping the cookie box, the second I open the front door. “Daddy, I’m home!”
“Hey, whoa! Freeze and hand over the box, and I won’t rip the heads off all your dolls, kid. Those cookies are mine!” I call after her, but she’s already barreling through the other end of the house, her screams echoing through the entire house. My phone buzzes. Tapping the screen, I scowl at her reply.
Minimal bleeding. That last few feet to the door were brutal.
Is that sarcasm? I fire back, smirking.
Slamming the door, I hang my keys on the hook and pocket my cell before going in search of Henry. I want some answers. While following Ireland, to make sure she got home safe in that clown car of hers, her being alone kept nagging at me. Now that I’m home, I plan to find out who dropped the ball. Watching over a member of the band that is plastered all over the front page nearly every day is a top priority. “Big Man!” I shout, rounding the corner, heading straight for the dining room.
As always, I can hear the laughter and loud voices carry down the hallway long before I reach the doorway. We aren’t a quiet group, that’s for sure. We also don’t apologize for the fun, non-filtered way we behave either. Take us as a whole, or get fucked.
It’s your loss if you can’t take us at face value.
“My favorite letter is O,” Hunter shouts, letting me know what they’re doing before I even see the damn Scrabble board on the table.
When usually a stupid board game would be reserved for senior citizens, our rowdy bunch has transformed it into a strategic game of x-rated debauchery. Gauntlets are thrown, bets shaken on, and before you know it, Hunter is running naked through the freshly fallen snow, screaming the lyrics to his version of ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’.
Good Times.
“I see how it is,” I say, rolling my eyes. “No one waits on me before picking teams and starting the game.”
“With you in a minute, Deuce,” Hunter says, waving me off with his middle finger. “Anyway, O is the first letter in orgasm. It’s the vowel that holds the word cock together, and it’s always at the end of fuck.”
“Um, wait. No, it isn’t,” Daisy argues, rolling her eyes.
“Oh no?” he asks, skeptically, cocking his head to the side.
“Now you’ve done it,” Chase says, burying her face in her hands. “It’s like feeding the bears at the zoo. Don’t.”
He smirks, a face splitting grin spreading across his face as he leans into the table. “Then someone obviously isn’t doing it right,” he challenges. “Allow me to demonstrate.” Throwing his head back, he clutches the edge of the table with both hands. “Oh! Ah! That’s it, baby. Take it all!” Hunter screams in a high pitched, Oscar winning, porn star voice. Thrusting his hips, he slams into the table again and again. “Oh! Oh! Oh! L, M, N, Ohhhhhhhh!” Breathing heavily, he falls back into his chair, with a grunt. “And that, lovers, fuckers, and cock suckers, is how it’s done.”
“There’s no O in anal,” I say, leaning against the doorjamb. Henry sits at the head of the table, in his usual spot. Rae sitting sideways in his lap, with her legs dangling over the arm of the chair while his hand moves protectively over her swollen belly while he stares off into space.
“Excuse me?” Hunter asks, getting my attention again. His entire body stills in shock. Looking up at me, both eyes widen and his jaw goes completely slack. “Seriously, am I the only one with a cock that knows how to use it?”
“Alright,” Chase says, pushing to her feet. “We gotta bring it down to a child friendly level since Jazzie’s home. I don’t think we need her doing the alphabet song, Cunter style, for show and tell tomorrow.” Making her way around the table, she scans the room. “Where is she?”
“Probably hiding under the stairwell, eating my damn cookies,” I mumble, kicking myself for letting her get her hands on that box.
Chase’s eyes fix on me, along with Hunter’s and Rae’s, all three sets narrowing. “What’s the rule, Deuce?” Hunter asks, grabbing the beer bottle off the table in front of him and tipping it to his lips.
“Yeah, I know,” I reply, flipping him off. “If the sugar keeps ‘er up past nine for the night, she’s all mine,” I murmur. “I’m buying that kid a giant hamster wheel and tying a fucking box of Chips Ahoy just out of reach.”
“Hey!” Hunter shouts, pointing his beer bottle at me. “Amazon has those, I bet.” He grins, arching a brow. “I bet it would be cool as hell to fu—”
“Daddy!” Jazzie shouts, barreling into the room like a runaway train. Her excited screams, are barely muffled by the damn dog going bat shit at her feet. Bit’s brown fur matted to his body by frosting handprints. “Mack took me to Happy Hut,” she exclaims, leaping into his lap and wrapping her arms around him.
“Hey,” Hunter breathes, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Have fun?”
“Duh,” she says, fumbling around in his lap so she can face him head on. He winces, the breath rushing out of him as he helps her get settled without crippling him with her knees. “We saw Ireland, too. Her tire broke and now she’s my best frannnnnnnd. We played games, and I got cotton candy, and Marina helped me carry the tray, because Ireland says Mack spends too much time on his knees.”
Aiden chokes, spraying a mouthful of beer across the table at the girls, who scream and dive for napkins. “Wait, what?”
“Um,” I stammer. I can feel my face turning red under everyone’s very amused gazes. The entire room waiting for my explanation as to where that interesting little comment came from. All except Aiden, who is damn close to coughing up a lung on his boots.
“Ireland?” Henry asks, suddenly taking an interest in the conversation. “As in our Ireland?”
“Nope,” I reply, shaking my head. “After I picked the kid up from school, we hopped a plane to Dublin and hit the pubs. Had a few pints, danced a jig or two. Hell, we auditioned for Riverdance before hopping the red-eye home.”
“Annnnd on that note…” Wrapping his arms around Jazzie, Hunter stands to his feet. “I think you need a bath, kid. After that, how about we get you something to eat that isn’t ninety-percent sugar and we can see if you have any homework in your folder?”
“Aw, come on,” Jazz whines, pressing her face into his chest.
Hunter looks down at the icing covered dog and laughs. “Hey, Chase?” he asks, waggling his brows at her. “Wanna help me wash my wiener?”
“I’ll bathe the kid,” she corrects him, taking Jazzie from his arms. “You handle your own wiener.”
Following her out of the room, Hunter stops beside me and pats my shoulder. “Just remember, bro, there’s a reason I call ya Deuce, and it’s not because you’re the shit. Ya feel me?” he asks, his lip twitching in an attempt to keep a straight face.
“Movie night in the den!” Aiden whoops, fist pumping the air as he leaps to his feet. “Whoever has the remote gets first pick!” The room clears faster than grocery store shelves before a snowstorm. No one wants to participate in another of his zombie flick nights. Poor Daisy didn’t sleep for two days
after he binge watched three seasons of The Walking Dead during their last break in tour dates.
“You wanna try that again?” Henry asks, once we are alone. “I asked you a simple question. I expect an answer, not attitude.”
“Sure thing,” I fire back. I can’t see beyond my anger and frustration at the situation. “As soon as you tell me who’s bright fuckin’ idea it was to let a band member go around unprotected? With Ireland on the front of nearly every gossip rag hanging at the grocery store checkout, I’d think we’d be keepin’ a tight leash on everyone this week. It’s lucky that Jazz and I were the ones that found her down in that part of town and not a van full of press or some crazy person.”
“Well, Deuce,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Since I am the one in charge here, let me bring you up to speed. Ireland caused a shit storm. Jared quit because he was fed up with her bullshit; I have spent the better part of today on the phone tryin’ to get someone who hasn’t already written her off as a lost cause.” Scrubbing a hand over his face, he blows out a frustrated breath. “Look, I’m gonna level with you. Jared is gone, Mike is down in Tuscaloosa with his kid, and I can’t possibly be in seventeen places at once. I had all but hoped Ireland would be comatose with tour exhaustion and at least give me a day or two to take a breath and find someone who can handle her ass.”
“No one will agree that she is a bigger pain in the ass than me,” I admit, taking a chair and sitting at the table across from him. “Doesn’t change anything though.”
“Well,” Henry says, smiling smugly. “If you think you can handle things better than me, have at it.”
“Wait, what?” I ask, my heart nearly stopping dead in my chest. “You’re gonna have to repeat that. I thought for a second that you were telling me to handle something important. Aren’t I here as like some kind of Shaft approved court jester? Comic relief?” I ask, knowing, more often than not, they see me as a joke. I am the big dope, good for a laugh, but never taken seriously.
Sometimes, it sucks being so hilarious and awesome…
Leaning up in his chair, Henry places his arms on the table. “If that’s how I saw you, I would never leave you in charge here while the rest of us are out on tour. Hell, I wouldn’t even let you walk Bits and we all know I can’t stand that evil fucker.” His face becomes serious, but his eyes soften. “I’m hard on you, but for good reason. You may think I left you with some fool’s errand while I’m off having a blast on tour, but that’s not it at all. I don’t trust anyone with our family’s lives more than you, Dominick. If you don’t believe me, go ask anyone else in the house. They’ll agree with me and say the same damn thing.”
“Okay,” I reply, unable to hide my shock. Guilt churns in my gut. I should tell him about Rae. This is my chance to lay it all out, but I can’t. Henry looks so worn, so stretched thin, that I can bring myself to say the words. Instead, I do the next best thing. Taking a breath, I look him straight in the eye. “What do you want me to do?”
“First things first,” he sighs, shaking his head. “We’ve gotta keep Ireland contained. You’ve known her a long time, right? Since you were kids…” he asks, popping a pretzel into his mouth from the bowl in the middle of the table. I nod my reply. Henry scratches at the stubble on his face. “Why don’t you go over and talk to her?”
“There’s no talkin’ to that stubborn ass. She absolutely hates me,” I mutter, making him laugh. “It’d be easier if I just clubbed her in the head caveman style.”
Henry laughs again, but sighs quickly. “Noted,” he nods, pushing to his feet. Making his way around the table, he stops and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Just promise me you’ll try to save the club as a last resort, okay?”
My phone buzzes in my pocket as Henry leaves the room. Pulling it from my pocket, I groan at her reply.
Yep. Sarcasm keeps me from becoming a serial killer.
“Yeah,” I breathe, scrubbing a hand over my face. “I’m gonna need more than a club.”
Chapter Eight
Linda, Listen
Ireland
Catastrophic.
That’s the only word I can use to describe the quiet dinner my parents planned with some friends. Turns out friends is code word for potential investors. The icing on the cake: someone tipped off the media, resulting in a restaurant and window front full of headline hounds and blinding flashbulbs.
That someone being my very own father. Go figure…
When my own father proceeded to flaunt me like an investment perk, you could say I felt betrayed and used. Needless to say, when I lost my shit and stormed out, there were plenty of video vultures ready to pounce on every morsel.
Padding down the stairs, I head straight for the kitchen. The coffee pot has been calling my name for hours, but I couldn’t make myself leave my bed. I couldn’t sleep either. Now, the need for the clarity, only a cup of coffee can give my frazzled mind, outweighs anything else.
I haven’t looked at my phone, or glanced to see how the story has been spun yet. I was supposed to lay low. Take my week off and keep my ass off radar so that the frenzy for photos and stories about me could die down before we hit the road for the last of the tour dates. Now, this little stunt is going to have me in hot water with everyone.
I have never been so tired, yet so wide awake in my life. My mind is on overdrive, running like the energizer bunny, but the rest of me feels completely drained. I’m helpless while my brain replays, not only last night, but all the greatest hits from the last few years. My parents less than impressed faces seeming to be the one common denominator.
As if living this shit wasn’t bad enough the first time.
"Good morning, Ireland."
The tone in my mother's voice tells me it's about to be anything but. Squaring my shoulders, I enter the kitchen, heading straight for the coffee pot.
"It was," I mutter under my breath. “I thought you’d already left for the lab.”
“I wanted to talk to you before I left,” she informs me.
“Oh,” I say, sarcastically. “Now, you want to talk? Hmm, I wonder if Satan has mittens for when Hell freezes over.”
"I don't believe I care for your tone," she returns, staring down at her coffee cup. "You made a mess of things last night. Let your father and me down when we were counting on you." Meeting my eyes, she narrows her gaze. "While you’ve been sulking, I have been on the phone trying to contain and control the damage you created. The least you could do is be apologetic and show some sort of remorse for your actions."
"Well, if that isn’t the pot callin’ the kettle black, I don’t know what is. Consider yourself lucky. I may have let you down last night, but you’ve let me down every day of my life. Do I really only exist to you when it has the opportunity to benefit you?" I ask, grabbing a mug and pouring myself a coffee. "I can’t believe you don’t or won’t see how fucked up that is! I am your daughter! Your goddamn flesh and blood. I never agreed to be paraded around like some show pony, Mother, but you also never told me your intentions. Did you? Do you even care how I feel about last night, or are you too wrapped up in your own little world to see that other people live in it with you?” Blowing the steam from my mug, I sip. Swallowing, I sigh and lean back against the counter. “You want an apology, Stephanie? I’ll give you one. I’m sorry I didn’t see your hidden agenda. You’ll have to forgive me for believing, that for a second, my parents actually wanted to include me in their lives. Not that you ever have before or anything. How stupid of me to believe you’d start now.”
“Careful, young lady,” she warns, her face hardening.
“What, exactly, did you promise them?” I continue, ignoring her completely. “Was I supposed to do birthday parties? School assemblies? Music lessons? Hell, I wonder what kind of investments a few quickies in the back would get you. I hear I’m a great lay.”
“That’s enough!” she screams, slamming her hand down on the table. “We taught you better than this. No matter what we’ve done for you, gi
ven you, Ireland, you’ve always been so selfish. The publicity could have been our chance to draw attention to the work we are doing. Work that will change the world someday. Can’t you see beyond that brat mentality of yours for once and see what you cost us last night? Your little tantrum set our research budget for next year back months.”
“That’s right,” I nod, placing my cup in the sink. “It doesn’t matter what it costs anyone else, does it? You’re not concerned with the fact that your actions cause problems for others.” Throwing up my hands, I round the counter for the doorway. “The selfish brat thing must be a family trait.”
“Ireland!” she shouts, “I’m not finished with this discussion.”
Stopping dead in the doorway, I glance at her over my shoulder. “You know what sucks?” I ask, my eyes and throat burning with the tears I refuse to let fall. “I think this is the longest conversation we’ve ever had. There was a time when I’d have done anything you asked for your approval and attention. All I ever wanted was for you to see one fucking thing I did and be proud of me. I ached for a close relationship with you; but now,” I shake my head. “I don’t even want to be here.”
“If that’s how you feel,” she sighs, looking down at her hands again, “then you should leave.”
Without another word, I leave the room. There is nothing more to say. My opinion and feelings don’t matter anyway. The lines are very clear with my mother. If your actions aren’t helping her, then you’re of no use to her.
Storming into my room, I start throwing my shit in my suitcase. She’s right, I should leave. That may be the only thing we ever agree on. The front door slams so hard, the floor shakes beneath my bare feet. Not like I expected anything else from her after that… It’s true what they say. If you stand back and pay attention, people will show you who they really are. The blinders are off and I have no choice to face facts. I never belonged here.
