Save Me

by Cecy Robson

  “You trying to call us flamingoes?” Angus asks, his face turning beet red with anger.

  “No, leopards, dumbass,” Finnie fires back.

  “Jesus,” Tess says, like she can hardly believe she’s stuck around this long.

  “We’re not trying to make her feel bad.” Curran signs as he speaks, seeing Melissa isn’t all the way caught up. “Believe it or not, it’s a compliment. Allie goes to church and volunteers at orphanages and leper colonies. Helping out that nerd with the Fraggle Rock looking hair pop his cherry and fasten his Velcro shoes is just one more thing she’s done out of the goodness of her heart.”

  Allie makes one of her famous squeaky noises. I snag her carefully away from Tess and lead her to Ma. No one is going to say anything to Allie with Ma right beside her. Besides, Ma will be the biggest test yet.

  Time to get down to business.

  CHAPTER 12

  Allie

  This is a complete disaster. I’ve always known the O’Briens as a lively and eccentric bunch, but I have never known them like this. Once free of Tess’s protective hold I feel doomed, like a convicted felon ready to be stoned.

  I glance back at Tess and Sofia, silently pleading with them to rescue me. They offer encouraging smiles, Tess’s toddler reaching to Curran to hold her. Curran scoops her with his free arm. His opposite hand strokes Tess’s backside as he speaks to Declan and his fiancée Melissa.

  I’m literally on my own because, goodness knows, Seamus has been absolutely no help. “You having a good time?” he asks me.

  Now is not a good time to kick him in the groin, I remind myself. I simply look at him silently, at a complete loss of words. How do I explain that no, I’m not having a good time. In fact, I’ve died and gone to Hades. But I can’t hear why I’m condemned to eternal damnation. You see, the O’Briens are in Hades with me, yelling at Oedipus that he’s poking his eyes out all wrong, and calling him a dumbass for marrying his mother.

  Five minutes. How is it possible that I’ve only been here five minutes? And now I’m to meet Seamus’s mother.

  Seamus often jokes that his mother is the midget of the family. In all actuality, she’s close to my size. But when your smallest sibling is Wren at about 5 feet 8 inches, I suppose it’s fair to classify anyone smaller into little person status.

  What makes her appear tiny is her thin and delicate figure. There’s barely a wrinkle on her fair skin and while she’s petite, the stern gaze she pelts me with squashes any misconceptions that I could take her in a fight. This woman would snap my neck like a taco shell before I could finish screaming.

  “Don’t panic,” Seamus says through his teeth. “You’re totally panicking. Ma is like a hornet. She’ll smell fear and sting your ass.”

  I return his smile, speaking through my teeth. “If this is your idea of cheering me on, I’m going to rip off your pom-poms and throw them at you.”

  “You can’t do that. I’m you’re ride home. Besides, the pom-poms are good for covering unmentionables, and if anyone asks, can I brag that you’ve used some to cover yours?”

  “Of course. Why not?” I spit out. “We’ve gone this far.”

  “Thanks. You’re a real doll,” he tells me proudly.

  The room closes in and all eyes fall upon me. This must be what it’s like to walk down the corridor of an ancient insane asylum, right before the door shuts tight behind you and the shock therapy begins.

  My throat tightens and my breathing quickens. I shouldn’t be so afraid. She’s one woman. One.

  A soft, light blue cardigan that matches her eyes, wraps around the bodice of her denim dress. Brown Ugg boots, cover her feet. As long as I’ve known her, Mrs. O’Brien has never worn pants or jeans. She’s not a woman who fusses over fashion, nor does she fret about how others may see her. After a lifetime of being judged and talked about in whispers, she doesn’t care and perhaps she never did. Simply speaking, she’s a woman comfortable in her own skin who dresses for comfort in return.

  “Hey, Ma,” Seamus says. He practically bends in half to kiss her cheek. “I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Allie. She goes to church and everything.”

  This is how he introduces me to his mother. Perhaps I should be grateful he didn’t bring up the green woman with tentacles Andres supposedly pleasured himself with.

  “Hello, Mrs. O’Brien. I don’t know if you remember me.” I offer her my hand. “It’s nice to see you again.” She doesn’t take my hand, keeping her arms crossed over her small chest. I try not to take offense, grateful instead that she didn’t rip my limb off at the shoulder and smack me across the face with it.

  “It’s okay, Ma!” Finn yells from his position on the couch. Sol remains on his lap. I now presume to keep him put and out of trouble. “It’s not Allie’s fault she had sex with a loser. The important thing is she’s having sex with Seamus now. Isn’t that right, Seamus?”

  “That’s right,” Seamus agrees, proudly.

  “Jesus,” Sol says, her hands returning to cover her face.

  “What?” Finn asks. “We’re all adults here.”

  “No, we’re not,” Tess snaps, motioning to her daughters.

  “Tess, Fiona doesn’t know what we’re talking about,” Curran says, coming to his brother’s defense. “Remember the time she caught us going at it? All she cared about was me putting you down long enough to get her a cookie.”

  “Curran!” Tess says, blushing, although she doesn’t strike me as someone who blushes.

  “Where are you going?” Curran asks, chasing her into the kitchen. “I gave her the cookie.”

  “Animals,” Molly mutters. “Just a bunch of animals.”

  As my skin returns to a somewhat less dangerous temperature, I wrestle with what to say to connect with Mrs. O’Brien. Perhaps I should ask her about the upcoming church social, the one to raise money for that family who lost their home to a fire. I change my mind, not wanting to appear disingenuous. My office is contributing to the event, but I want her to like me for me. Not necessarily the things I’ve done.

  “I know you,” Mrs. O’Brien says before I manage to speak. “You took care of my children. Every Sunday before mass.”

  I swallow back the sigh of relief that wants to escape. She does remember me. “Yes, Mrs. O’Brien. I taught your youngest children Sunday school.”

  A small sad smile appears on her face. It’s my first glimpse of the mother behind the impenetrable matriarch. “You helped my Killian when those boys attacked him in the bathroom.”

  I don’t mean to appear as surprised as I am, but I had forgotten the moment until now. Killian used to be a small, almost frail child, not the Goliath he is now. I remember that day. He’d raised his hand following the Lord’s Prayer and asked politely to use the restroom. Two other boys hadn’t shown up for class. They walked in shortly after Killian’s departure, their shirts ripped and stained with drops of blood.

  I knew right away what had happened and ran to the boy’s bathroom. I found Killian crying in one of the stalls. His tears embarrassed him and he wouldn’t initially show me his face. I stayed on the floor with him, until he regained his composure and allowed me to clean up his bloody nose.

  When I returned to the classroom, I made the boys who hurt Killian apologize and rewrite the Hail Mary a hundred times in their copy books. Killian was very young, no more than eight. He probably doesn’t remember me helping him, but his mother does and that means more to me than she’ll ever know.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say. “That was me.”

  “I never had the chance to thank you like I wanted to,” she tells me. “But thank you for looking after me son.”

  I nod, her kindness and love for her children choking me up. She looks up at Seamus and then back to me. “We have a few things to finish in the kitchen before we can eat. Would you like to help us put out the food?”

  My chest warms and I almost can’t speak. “It would be my honor, Mrs. O
’Brien.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Seamus

  “You seem upset.”

  “Now, why would I be upset?” Allie asks.

  “Because I was late,” I remind her.

  She flips open the tiny little black purse she’s carrying, groaning when she checks a text on her phone.

  “Mamacita?” I ask.

  She scrolls though her texts. “And my aunts. All five of them.”

  “Again?” I ask. “What do they want this time?” Christ, we can’t go anywhere without them hounding her.

  “My mother wanted to make sure we were on our way and wouldn’t be late.” She sighs. “And my aunts wanted me to call my mother to tell her we are on our way, so she wouldn’t worry. After all, she has enough to worry about.”

  “Boy, they’re going to be pissed when they find out we are late. Feel free to blame it on me, since it’s my fault.”

  “You weren’t late,” she says, turning off her phone.

  “Yeah, I was,” I reply. “I was dead tired after my run and took a longer nap than I intended. I was supposed to be at your place by six-thirty. I didn’t get there till almost seven. Considering we have dinner reservations, that’s pretty damn late.”

  She tosses me a knowing glance like I don’t know what I’m supposed to know. “Seamus, you run seven miles every Friday after you close your shop. After that, you take a hot shower to relax your muscles and end up face down on the couch. You usually snap awake, remembering you have to be somewhere.”

  “I do?” I ask.

  “Mm-hmm.”

  Damn. She’s right, I do.

  “It takes you fifteen minutes to get dressed and fluff your hair—”

  “I don’t fluff my hair,” I fire back. “I style it.” She tosses me another know-it-all look. “All right, a little fluff, but not much more than that. I am a real man, you know.”

  “Yes. I know. You mentioned it once or twice.” She continues. “It takes you another ten to get to my place so, in all actuality, you were five minutes early, because I really needed you at my house no later than seven.”

  I flick on my turn signal to make a left at the light. “You saying you have to lie to me in order for me to be somewhere on time?”

  Allie pulls down my visor and flips open the mirror, coating her spectacularly full lips with a light pink gloss. I didn’t pick out the shade for her. But damn, I would have if I’d seen it. She looks amazing.

  She rubs her lips together. “I’m saying that maybe I know you and your routine better than you think,” she says. Her smile is the biggest yet, gleaming and as bright as her gloss.

  Considering how much time we’ve spent together, maybe she does know me by now. It’s weird. After she met my family, it’s like they couldn’t get enough of us. We were invited to Angus and Molly’s for dinner that Friday following brunch. The next week, we were out with Killian, Sofia, Finnie and Sol, as guests of honor for the MMA match-up Killian and Finnie were hosting. The topper was last night. As a gift to his groomsmen, Evan bought us box seats to the Phil’s game. We lost our minds when the Phils won, everyone jumping and hugging each other. For the first time, I wasn’t just high-fiving my brothers, I had my own woman to hug.

  To prepare for each “date,” we’ve shared a few meals at my place or hers, talking and cooking, and getting to know each other so we seem like a real couple rather than pretending to be one. Allie is a great gal. Do I still want her? Hell to the yes, especially the more I get to know her. It’s not just because she’s hot, it’s because of everything she is. Everything that probably doesn’t need a guy like me.

  “Are you all right?” she asks.

  “Yeah. Just getting hungry,” I mutter.

  There’s mist in the air tonight, enough to see droplets spinning along the broad funnels of my truck lights and make me set my wipers. The blades glide across my windshield every few seconds. Every time I start to think I should set them faster, they wipe the glass and clear the way.

  “Okay,” I say. “So you’re not mad about me being late, because I was a little early. Are you mad about the toast I made at the Phils game?”

  Allie clears her throat, feigning annoyance she doesn’t quite manage. “You mean the one about virgins in Velcro shoes never hitting a homer like that?” Her voice drops to imitate mine, “To whores and homers. Yeah!”

  “I was just glad to have you there with me and wanted to make the moment all about you.”

  “Are you implying I should be honored?”

  “Yep.” I point at her. “You’re welcome.”

  We crack up.

  “It was a show of support for you, and to let you know you’re better off without Andres and all the nerd vibe he had going on,” I explain. “You don’t need nerds. You need hot guys like me in your life.”

  “Is that right? Seamus, don’t you know it’s the nerds, not the meek, who will inherit the earth?”

  “Not my earth,” I disagree. “We need less pocket-protectors, fewer Doctor Whos, and more high-tech devices that emit fewer harmful gasses and doctors to cure cancers and all those diseases killing kids and destroying families.”

  She blinks at me, stunned. “What?” I ask. “I read stuff.”

  “Seamus, you do realize those same engineers developing high-tech devices and researchers creating breakthrough medications are likely nerds themselves?”

  “Nerds who deserve to get laid,” I say. I shudder. “Unlike Andres. All he did was create something to blow more things up. You noticed that, didn’t you? That machine or whatever only helped him and his bank account.”

  “I did notice that,” she says. Her voice quiets, but then she smiles. “But have you noticed how much you enjoy the company of nerds?”

  “Oh, Finnie’s always liked to read urban fantasy. I even stood in line for an hour behind a couple dressed in chainmail to get an autographed copy of Jim Butcher’s book for his birthday. But Finnie and Jim know eight million ways to kill someone, so that makes up for it.”

  Allie laughs, the sweet way it rings drawing my focus back to her. “I meant me. You’re entertaining the company of a nerd in sheep’s clothing and you don’t even know it.”

  “No. I’m entertaining the company of a sexy woman who will soon have her arm around an equally sexy guy. That’s me,” I add. “In case you were wondering.”

  “I wasn’t wondering,” she says, her voice fading.

  The fact that she agrees I’m sexy gives me pause. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t know I’m sexy. Are you kidding? Those grays hairs on my chest practically bow to me, happy to lay across my chiseled torso. It’s more like I’m not convinced my kind of sexy is the kind Allie would like, or need.

  Did I catch her checking me out that first time at the bakery? Sure. Most women do. But women like Allie require a special kind of attraction to keep and hold their interest. That kind requires a degree, a medical license, or at the very least a doctorate. I’m not saying she’s a snob. I’m saying someone like Allie needs someone that’s not me. Someone she won’t grow tired of just talking sports and busting balls.

  Yeah. A woman like Allie needs something more.

  My gaze travels in her direction. I can’t see much of her now. She’s looking outside the passenger-side window. But I see enough to know she’s smiling, and that’s good enough for me.

  My F-150 barrels down the street, mowing through a recently patched pothole and making it my bitch. The city workers had done a poor job sealing it. With all this traffic and all these potholes, I suppose they can only do so much.

  My focus is back on Allie. I’m not sure if she realizes how often I look at her. If she does, she gives nothing away. I knew she wasn’t really mad at the whole toast thing. I saw her laughing. It made me laugh, too. I love drawing her smile and hearing her laugh with her whole heart.

  She’s not dressed like she was the other day at the game. There, she wore jeans and t
he pink Phils shirt I bought her. She looked cute, playful, and plenty beautiful.

  Tonight, she’s in the little black dress I picked out for her the day we went shopping. The halter top reveals a peek at the swell of her breasts. The waistband cinches her tiny waist and the skirt fans out to emphasize the perfection that is her ass.

  She wasn’t sure about the dress. She wasn’t sure about anything I picked out. Some things didn’t work out. I didn’t expect everything to. I’m no expert on clothes. What I know is women’s bodies and what makes their goods look even better.

  To my family, her new clothes proved she’s someone I could be interested in. To her coworkers and clients, her new business wardrobe spotlighted a successful, competent, and, more importantly, confident woman you’d be stupid not to trust.

  “Did I tell you I picked up twenty-three clients this week?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “You mentioned it.”

  “That’s a new record,” she adds, beaming. “I’m promoting all three of my assistants and dividing the listings to place them on the market sooner rather than later. If this keeps up, I’ll have to hire more staff.”

  “It’ll keep up,” I say, remembering how great she looked in that black and white Marc Jacobs dress she wore to my niece’s Christening last Sunday. “I say we go out and celebrate.”

  “Just you and me?” she asks.

  It’s been just us for a lot of things, but the enthusiasm in her voice and the blush that no doubt follows, makes me think that maybe, just maybe, I may not need that doctorate.

  Tonight, the way she’s dressed and carries herself, man. She’ll never tell her bitchy sister or her loser ex-boyfriend to fuck off, but she doesn’t have to. That dress and everything that makes Allie, Allie, will do it for her.