“You play the guitar very well. Who taught you?”
We pause for a moment to lean on a railing overlooking the ocean.
The water is only in the 60s, but families are still braving it, playing and laughing together. Kieran points out a brother and sister duo who are building a sandcastle with an intensity I’ve seen in some of my scariest conductors. I can feel his body ease next to mine, the tension draining from him and into the water, I suppose.
There’s something about being next to the ocean that’s always soothed me. Always reminded me of the very natural ebbs and flows of music. Maybe Kieran feels something like that too, based on the way he played guitar in his father’s tavern the other night. And on the look that crosses his handsome face.
“My brothers said you were Coast Guard?”
He turns to me, the sun making his glossy dark hair seem almost copper in spots. It’s still a mess, though.
“I thought we weren’t talking about your brothers?”
My cheeks flush.
“You’re cute when you blush,” he winks. “I taught myself how to play guitar. We don’t have a lot of musicians in the family, though my mother was an artist. A painter. My dad would’ve taken me for lessons, but I was too unruly. He knew I had to do things my way or I wouldn’t do them.”
He turns from me back to the water with a half-shrug. “Which is, of course, why I ended up in the Coast Guard.”
Honestly, I hadn’t even realized that was a thing, military service instead of getting charged with a crime. It seems like a practice from another time.
I’d overheard my brothers talking about how he’d been shipped off to save his family the embarrassment of him going to jail. But now I know they were wrong. It wasn’t about saving face, it was about saving him.
Kieran didn’t seem like a man who would survive being caged.
He’d hate having my life, then.
Nothing like being jealous of the sworn enemies of your family.
“Come on,” he says, “I don’t want you to burn.”
He offers me his arm and I take it. I don’t let go for the rest of our walk.
11
Siobhan
The fish and chips restaurant has a line at least twenty people deep.
A handsome Italian-looking man leans out the window, passing brown paper wrapped parcels to his customers. The line moves rapidly, but constantly refills with customers. Clearly it’s a favorite of both locals and tourists alike.
We watch for a while, after the line has turned over about three times, the man behind the window leans all the way out and pulls down a “closed” sign. The remaining crowd utters a collective groan of disappointment as the window slides shut.
“Looks like we’re out of luck,” I say.
“Nah. I know a guy.” Kieran winks at me and leads me into the house.
There is an enormous dog sitting in the entrance. Truly, he’s the size of a small horse. I don’t know what type of dog it is, but its size makes me a bit nervous. When he sees Kieran, his tail begins to whip at a furious pace.
I’d be surprised if it didn’t leave a hole in the wall.
While I love animals, my parents never permitted us to have pets. I’d always imagined a dog that I could take places with me, like an elegant but zippy Italian greyhound. It seemed like it would fit into my life.
In that way, this big dog seems like the perfect fit for Kieran.
“Buddy,” Kieran says, letting go of my arm and scratching the dog’s ruff. “Are you having fun with your uncle Vinny?”
The handsome Italian man has come out of the kitchen and nods at me, completely unsurprised at my presence. A nasty part of my brain wonders if it’s because Kieran brings lots of girls home, but having watched the restaurant’s owner handle the crowds just now, I think it’s just who he is as a person.
Wondering about Kieran’s love life will have to wait for another time.
“Hello,” I say, “that was impressive.”
“Thinking of adding fried pickles to the menu next,” he says, taking off some gloves and flipping them into a nearby trashcan. He closes the lid and washes his hands.
“Vinny, this is my friend Siobhan.” I notice he doesn’t offer my last name. “She’s a musician.”
“Cool,” Vinny replies. “You hungry? I have some fish and chips left.”
“I’d love that.”
Vinny disappears back into the kitchen.
“Why did he close up shop, then?” I ask, curious.
“Vinny marches to his own drumbeat. He could open at midnight though and have a line down the block. Talent like his means he gets to make his own hours.”
Vinny comes back with two parcels wrapped in brown paper.
“We’re going to Danny’s,” Kieran says. “Want to come?”
“Nah. I’ll stay here with Boru and discuss my fried pickle recipe.” He sits on the floor next to the dog and, true to his word, starts asking him what he thinks would make for ideal breading for pickles. The dog looks up at him with adoring eyes.
“Well, we’re out of our depth here,” Kieran says. “See ya, bro.”
“Coast Guard buddies,” he explains as we wander up to his uncle’s house.
That makes sense, and I start to ask a question when the building in front of us cuts off any train of thought.
I know this house.
It’s the one my father has been trying to buy out so he can knock it down and develop the property.
“It’s a waste, Finn. Fitzgerald is letting it go to shit because his spoiled kid fell in with junkies and died. It’s a shame to let it rot, and the town manager agrees with me.”
My throat tightens as I cross over the threshold, like the house has eyes and knows who I am. Kieran leads me through the front hall into a side kitchen, which has long lost its charm. My father was right about that part. He plops the food down and washes his hands before rummaging through the fridge. He pulls out tartar sauce, ketchup, and a bottle of white wine.
“Kieran, you’re back. Oh, why hello there. Who’s this young lady?”
“Sit down, Danny. I brought you lunch. This is my friend Siobhan.”
“Is it Vinny’s fish and chips? No thanks, Kieran. It’s delicious but I’ve eaten enough to last me twelve lifetimes. Looking forward to the onion rings though.”
“Fried pickles now,” Kieran says, unwrapping the fish and chips. “Your loss.”
I feel terribly out of place. Danny comes over and shakes my hand. “Nice to meet you, young lady. I’m Kieran’s uncle Danny.”
He seems friendly enough. A little disheveled perhaps, but given the losses he’s endured, that can hardly be held against him. Sharp, bright eyes look at me intelligently, and he’s very welcoming.
I offer a shy hello. I know things about this man I shouldn’t.
Kieran sees I’m not eating and gets up, grabbing me some utensils.
“Boy’s an animal,” Danny says, ruffling Kieran’s hair. He pours me a glass of wine, and then gets one for himself.
The silverware makes me more self-conscious. I take a sip of wine and unwrap the fish. I decide to forgo the fork and pick it apart with my hands.
“What brings you to the Vineyard, Siobhan? You’re a visitor, or do you live here? Kieran never brings ladies over.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and I can’t help but laugh. Especially as Kieran rolls his eyes, a look of pure exasperation on his face.
“I’m here for the artist’s residency,” I say. “I’m a violinist.”
“She’s really good,” Kieran says over a mouthful of food.
“Such manners,” Danny says, smacking Kieran off the back of the head.
I wonder when he’s heard me play. Maybe he goes to the symphony between beatdowns? My cheeks grow hot at my uncharitable thought.
“Och, she’s a real ginger. Can tell what she’s thinking by how red she gets.” Danny pats my arm and winks. “Kieran’s mother was the same. Me too for that matter.”
“You look great, Mr. Fitzgerald.”
Kieran gives me a strange look. Those blue eyes narrow just a bit, appraising, maybe a little hard.
For his part, Danny Fitzgerald looks pleased with the compliment and continues talking.
But at the look from the other man, goosebumps burst out across my skin.
Mother Mary and all the saints save you, Siobhan. He never mentioned his uncle’s last name.
Now he knows you know.
12
Kieran
Siobhan’s blush doesn’t tell me anything I didn’t figure out on my own.
But it’s useful confirmation.
And she looks great with the trace of heat making those pale green eyes brighter and setting off the strawberry tones in her reddish-gold hewn hair.
She and my uncle are chatting, and it speaks to her upbringing that she’s able to be charming to the man whose house her father is trying to steal. Before now, I hadn’t been sure how much she knew. Her brothers and father keep her in the dark for the most part for her own safety.
The woman’s got guts, I’ll give her that. She’s not the first person to accidentally show her hand to me, but most people who do take off running. I always catch up, though.
Despite the concerned flicker of eyes, she holds her ground. She’s heard me say I’d never hurt a woman and it’s true. But I’m sure her family has told her otherwise. It seems cruel to keep her waiting.
“Uncle Danny,” I say, interrupting. “I want to show Siobhan Ma’s artwork. Is it still upstairs?”
“Oh, yes, my boy. It’s in the sunroom. It was very nice meeting you, Siobhan.” He sounds genuinely a little sad that I’m taking the young woman away.
For a second, I almost feel bad.
Until I realize that I’ve brought the wolves into the den – well, a wolf pup maybe – and who knows how he’d feel about that?
As I look across at the fresh faced, very attractive woman, my body’s reacting to her again in a way that’s not appropriate.
To the time.
To the place.
Or to the conversation we’re about to have.
Yet in typical fashion, it’s not overly concerned with the political difference we might have. Just with the way the light catches off her curls, how smooth I imagine her skin would be under my fingertips, and the faintest hint of a very expensive, very intoxicating perfume that smells like honeysuckle.
Focus.
“Nice meeting you as well, Mr. Fitzgerald,” she says, taking his hand in hers. I believe her, too. In a way, it’s impressive that she doesn’t run from her mistakes, seeing how she used my uncle’s last name again. No cover up attempt, no fast moves to get out of the place.
A Carney willing to have an honest conversation with a Doyle on Fitzgerald land. Now this might be a first.
She stands up, and I take her hand. It’s much colder than before. It’s the only thing that gives away how scared she must be. When I don’t let go, I don’t admit to myself that it’s not necessary to touch her.
If she really wanted to leave, I’d never keep her.
There’s way to sort this out that doesn’t involve her.
There’s part of me that wants to keep her safe.
Yet for some reason, I can’t shake the feeling that keeping her safe doesn’t mean keeping her on a shelf. Hidden away from the hard things of life. It just means giving her a chance to show that she can handle life head-on.
“Kieran, I’m going out to do some fishing off the pier. I’ll be back in a few hours.” Danny waves, heading out to his shed.
Now there’s no one to hear her scream, I imagine her thinking.
God, I feel like such an asshole, but now she knows who her father is hurting.
Maybe that’ll matter and maybe it won’t.
One way to find out.
The sunroom is in the tower, on the third floor. I’m sure the walk feels like an eternity to Siobhan, but when I lead her in the room, she gasps.
“It’s beautiful.”
The honest wonder in her voice, the way she effortlessly connects with the space, takes me by surprise. Reminds me of what I appreciate in this woman.
“I was eight when my ma died. But we’d come here every summer, and some of my earliest memories of her are in this room, her red hair tied up in a messy bun, paint all over her face and her clothes. She told me the light in this space was perfect for painting.”
Siobhan glows as she takes it in. The room is perfectly round, with large windows spanning nearly from floor to ceiling. My grandad installed them when he found out his daughter was an artist and needed proper light to work. Her paintings hang on the walls between the windows. There are all kinds of water scenes — she loved the ocean as much as I do. Despite the fact that I’d intended to come here, I hadn’t really prepared.
Distracted, focused, wolfishly trained on Siobhan; and now, being here, surrounded by the work my mother had done, it’s a little hard to breathe. She’s been gone a long time now, but there are moments when the strength of the grief hits you surprisingly hard.
“Is this you?” Siobhan’s hand rests on the frame of a painting of a little dark-haired boy.
“No,” I say, moving behind her. “That’s Owen. Last painting she ever did. She was so thrilled that she finished it, though.”
Siobhan is shaking now.
“Listen,” I say, turning her to face me. She looks even paler than normal. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I hope I didn’t scare you. I didn’t know if you knew, and I thought you deserved to. To know I mean.”
Seamus would have prepared a speech. In other circumstances, I’d have choice things to say. Threats. Demands. But as I look at this young woman, two things hit me. It’s very possible there’s nothing she can do. And it’s very possible that bringing her up here has more to do with my desire to spend more time with her, to show her something about myself, than it does with the job I’m working.
That’s a humbling, and a rather concerning, thought.
I’m stumbling over my words like an oaf. Would she be pissed at me for manipulating her? I’d probably deserve it. It’s a shitty thing to do.
She takes a deep breath.
“I only ever know things in pieces, Kieran. Part of me is angry that I’m kept in the dark, but part of me is so glad I don’t know.” She sniffles a little but doesn’t cry. Her eyes go back out the window and to my face.
“You must think I’m a coward,” she voice is close to breaking.
“Nah, any dude I know would’ve shit his pants going up those stairs with me, Siobhan. You’re brave as hell.”
She lets out another snort, and then finally starts crying and laughing at the same time. “You’re so crass.”
Something washes over me, like relief, that I’ve broken through whatever boundary there was in place between us.
“Way to ruin the moment,” I huff. “Come on, I’ll show you where the bathroom is.”
She’s not crying when we reach the second-floor bathroom.
“There isn’t any plumbing on the third floor,” I say, pointing to the tissues. “I’ll just be across the hall in the library.”
After showing her how to slide the pocket door shut, I walk around the library, touching the familiar books. Never was a big reader. Murphy had been afraid my bad attitude would get me kicked out of Coast Guard boot camp, but in reality, it was the classroom portion of that particular venture that challenged me.
Getting screamed at I was used to — I had Ronan for an older brother — and obviously the physical fitness wasn’t an issue. Frankly, I was lucky Vinny had helped me out. I wish all of my teachers had been as Zen as he had. Otherwise, my time in the Guard would have ended swiftly and with considerably more discomfort than I ended up facing during my enlistment.
I’m tracing the spines of the books when Siobha
n comes in.
“Oh wow,” she says her voice catching on a note of wonder. “There must be hundreds of books in here.”
The excitement in her voice is contagious as she scans the titles, admiring the built-in shelves. When she sees the rolling ladder attached to the wall, she lets out an honest to god squeak of delight.
“I always wanted a library like this,” she says, going over to the ladder and climbing up to the third rung. “Does it slide?”
Grinning like an idiot, I push her gently across the wall.
“We used to get in so much trouble up here. Definitely was told this ladder was not a toy once or twice.” My face is level with her waist, and it’s taking everything I have not to touch her.
“Well it should be,” she says. “Did you have any favorite books?”
She twists around to look at me, her eyes wide. There’s so much genuine curiosity in that look – like the idea of what stories or ideas spark a fire in my mind – that I’m completely off-guard. Women aren’t usually too interested in what’s going on my mind.
“Well,” I stumble over my words like a dumbass. She raises those eyebrows at me and a sly grin spreads across her beautiful face.
“Or did you just look for the dirty ones?”
Jesus Christ.
“My mother had a secret cache of romance novels.”
All the blood is rushing from my head, and I accidentally push the ladder off the track. It shimmies sideways, and Siobhan tumbles straight into my arms.
“Siobhan…”
Her arms wrap around my shoulders. She licks her lips, and before I can decide what to do, she’s kissing me.
What the hell?
Soft lips, the smell of honeysuckle overwhelming, a sudden heat pouring from her body. The raw passion of it throws me, but my body takes over, and I respond to her kisses with equal fervor. When the most beautiful girl in the world kisses me? Yeah, my body knows exactly what to do.
She moans, and I take the opportunity to press my mouth to her soft neck, dipping my tongue in the hollow. When I suck and nip at her throat, and she lets out a shuddering groan that makes my dick throb. We shouldn’t be doing this. The right thing to do would be to step away, apologize, and take her home.
Thug: The Doyles: A Boston Irish Mafia Romance Page 6
