What are the Chances

by Brittany Taylor

  “Fucking hell, Char. You’re so...” He stops talking and leans forward. Kissing my ear, he continues to whisper. “You’re perfect.” Then he thrusts into me, and I let out a loud moan. “Shhhhh.” Mason laughs from behind me, then thrusts again, and I shove my face into the pillow.

  Oh my God. Was it possible to die from an orgasm? A second later, the damn bed starts creaking, just like last night, and I laugh into the pillow as the creaks match Mason’s thrusts.

  “Stop laughing. I can’t concentrate when you laugh,” Mason whisper-laughs behind me.

  I lift my face. “I’m sorry. I can’t stop.”

  He laughs again and falls forward but doesn’t stop his rhythm.

  “Mianach,” Mason whispers in his Irish dialect. It’s hot, so freaking hot. I stop laughing and let the desire I have for him take over. Reaching back, I rest my hand around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. Mason lets out a low groan and grips my sides as he goes deeper. I feel my orgasm building, from the bottom of my toes that legitimately want to curl to the dizzy, blinding stars behind my eyes. I cover my face as I let out a scream. I wasn’t a screamer—not a single time with Kyle or the one other guy I’d been with—but there was zero chance of keeping all that locked inside after what Mason just did to me. I can feel him tense behind me and let out a small groan as he chases his own release, breathing hard behind me, half draped over my body. My face is still shoved into a pillow that has Mason’s cedar smell attached to it. I inhale and smile.

  “You think anyone heard that?” I whisper as I lower the pillow.

  Mason plants a kiss on my forehead and shifts back with a little creak of the old bed until he’s sitting on the edge. He turns to look at me with that perfect smile of his, his reddish hair mussed from sleep and sex. I was right about it being the perfect pulling length. He’s barechested, showing off those abs and corded muscle, smiling at me. Seeing him like this does something to me. It transcends sex. It’s beyond attraction. I blink and move to sit up to try to separate myself from whatever feeling it is—a feeling I won’t name, one I won’t give merit to.

  “Char, I think the next county likely heard you, but I don’t care,” he laughs and tugs on my hand until I’m leaning toward him. “If I had it my way, we’d stay in bed all day, screaming and eating,” he smirks and leans forward to kiss me. My stomach flips as I mold my lips to his and stomp on that damn rogue emotion that keeps churning behind my chest.

  “I’m going to head down to see if I can start the coffee for everyone and sort out breakfast. Why don’t you go hop in the shower? We’re off to see your fam today.” He stands abruptly and grabs a black t-shirt, pulling it on.

  I stand as well, gather my things, and head to the shower. As the hot water hits my skin, I think about seeing my family, this one person who’s supposed to be a relative. All we have is an address and a last name. I can feel my stomach flip and dip with anxiety as I think about what they might do when they meet me. I want them to like me… to want me.

  Once I finish dressing, I head downstairs to find Mason making eggs while Danny and his husband Richard stare at me with little smirks on their faces. I give both men a weak smile and will my face not to blush. I’m a grown woman, doing grown womanly things. I don’t need to be embarrassed. I let my eyes drift past the two men wearing matching robes and matching slippers and focus on Mason. He’s grinning like an idiot, plating eggs and toast for me—at least it better be for me. I sidle up to the coffee pot and reach for a cup when Mason shakes his head,

  “Yours is already on the table, álainn.”

  I smile, and without thinking too much about it, I lean in and kiss him on the mouth. It’s just a peck, but Richard and Danny still make happy little gasping sounds behind us. I head over to the small table and see Richard is fanning his eyes and Danny is shaking his head.

  “Come off it, lads,” Mason jokes, serving up more food.

  “You two are just so cute together,” Richard chimes while pouring more coffee.

  “Yeah, and clearly, you have chemistry if you know what I mean?” Danny winks at me, then elbows Richard in his side. They laugh, and I bury my face in my hands. I can’t do it. I can’t be a proud, modern, grown-ass adult. I’m so embarrassed, I might vomit.

  “Laugh it up, ya jokers, but do it in private,” Mason jokes again. “We’re about to eat.” Both men sober up as Mason walks to the table with his plate.

  “We’ll just leave you two alone then,” Richard offers, snagging a red plate off the counter and turning for the stairs.

  Thank the good Lord they’re gone. Mason smiles and touches my knee under the table.

  “Relax. It’s fine, they’re just having fun with us.”

  “You’re right,” I nod, feeling a bit lame for being so embarrassed. I place my hands on my face again to cool the redness there.

  “So, what’s the plan?” I ask after shoveling bits of egg into my mouth. Mason sips his coffee and watches me with amusement and slowly answers.

  “Well, I’m going to shower after this, then dress. We’re taking my father’s car over to Ballyalla.”

  I don’t know what I was expecting him to say, maybe that we could take a detour to a spa first or something. I hate how nervous I am. This feels like my first real lead, and if this person doesn’t know who I am or about my family, I’ll be devastated.

  “You okay?” Mason’s eyes narrow a fraction, causing his dark eyebrows to come together.

  “Just a little nervous,” I nod, tipping back my cup for another swig of coffee. His reach to grab my hand has my heart rate picking up. Threading his fingers through mine, he stares at me.

  “What if this one doesn’t work? What if you don’t find anyone you were looking for? What will you do next?”

  His tone is soft, but I can feel the concern behind it. We just met each other, slept together, and now things are shifting. I want to know his plans as well but don’t want to ruin anything by pushing.

  So instead of begging Mason to marry me or something ridiculous like that, I just lift my shoulder once, indicating I have no idea because I really don’t. I’m a muddled mess. Mason’s lips form into a thin line, a quick storm passing through those green eyes before he stands up and stretches.

  “Alright. Well, I’m headed upstairs to shower.”

  “I’ll clean up down here while you get ready,” I smile, gesturing toward the dishes. He gives me a small smile and nod before he walks toward the stairs.

  ***

  Rolling green hills spread out on either side of the car for miles and miles. The trip from Roslevan to the edge of Ennis where Ballyalla is located is only about fifteen minutes. Or at least that’s what Mason’s phone says. I’m squeezing the wide, rectangular device harder than I probably should. Glancing down at my lap for the hundredth time, I see our little yellow navigation route, still heading the same direction, bringing us closer and closer to the address typed into the search bar. I had to internally pep talk myself into looking out the window, smiling and keeping up with the conversation Mason was carrying. I think he was trying to help with my nerves, telling me stories of him, Sam, and Noodge.

  “We couldn’t find the scamper. Our Ma had warned us already about losin’ Noodge. If we couldn’t keep track of the cat, we’d never be allowed to get another pet again… and we’d get five lashes each with our Da’s belt.” I peek over and see a ghost of a smile grace his lips. He shakes his head back and forth, down shifting to third gear as the car in front of us slows.

  “What happened?” I ask, hoping his story will distract me from how close we are now—six miles left. I swallow and wait for Mason to continue.

  “Sam and I make up this big plan to sneak out after our parents go to bed. It’s pitch black outside, and we dress in all black to blend in. We sneak downstairs and exit out the back door, all quiet like and tiptoe through the front lawn when all of a sudden, a bright light hits us in the face.” That small smile has erupted into a full-blown grin, and it�
�s infectious. I’m smiling too, waiting to hear what happened.

  “Who was it?” I ask expectantly.

  “It was our da, shinin’ a flashlight in our eyes. We were scared shitless. He made a big show of catchin’ us sneakin’ out.” Mason’s Irish accent gets more intense when he talks about his childhood. It’s as if the longer he stays in Ireland, the more his accent unconsciously grows thicker. It’s hot.

  I look out at the green hills and stonework houses, trying to erase how much an effect that accent has on me. Everything here looks so old and like it belongs in the movie, PS I Love You. I smile and look back at Mason who’s beaming.

  “So, how did you guys get to keep Noodge then, where was he?”

  Mason situates his body in the seat and puts on his blinker, the sound causing an entire swarm of butterflies to flutter beyond my chest until they’re in my throat. I search the road in front of us, nothing but green meeting me as I frantically search our surroundings. I look down at the screen, and it shows there are only two miles left. Oh God.

  “Ma and Da make a big feckin’ show of us getting in trouble, being grounded, doin’ extra washin’ and chores. We try explainin’ Noodge got out, we weren’t tryin’ to run away or anythin’. Sam starts to cry, and finally, my mother breaks and pulls Noodge out from under her sweater. She starts laughin’, sayin’ the cat had been curled up in her room all day. She knew where he was the entire time we were secretly lookin’ for him before we even went to bed. She said it got us out of her hair for the afternoon, so she didn’t see the harm in it.” Mason looks over at me, the smile plastered on his handsome face is like a sledge hammer to my gut.

  I’m falling for him. Shit, I’m falling so fucking hard. I try to focus again on the story and push aside the alarming new feelings I just admitted having. A giggle erupts from my anxiety ridden throat as I picture little Mason and Sam getting pranked by their parents.

  “I want to meet your parents,” I blurt without thinking and immediately wish I hadn’t said it. Heat threatens to consume my face as the seconds tick by in silence. I resist the urge to pull my sweater up over my face until the car stops moving. Mason finally lets out a restrained sigh and pulls my hand into his.

  “I would love nothing more than for you to meet them. They’d love you, Char,” he softly promises with a squeeze of his hand. My heart is galloping in my chest. I never met Kyle’s family, not a single time. I never really wanted to. I was desperate for family, but he rarely called his mother or sisters, and they never called him.

  I squeeze Mason’s large hand back and let the feelings rattling around my chest settle in my stomach. Hopefully, like a Big Mac or milkshake, I’ll digest them, and they’ll leave my body in some capacity—I can’t do love again. Not so soon and not when I should be focused on me. I lived in Kyle’s shadow, like a wraith, for years. I wasted away into nothing with no friends, except his and no hobbies, except his. I don’t even know my favorite kind of ice cream. I’m not Julia Roberts-Runaway Bride bad—I mean I know what kind of eggs I like and all that—it’s just nothing else has been only mine.

  Mason drives slowly down a dirt road. The town of Ballyalla isn’t really a town so much as an outskirt, mostly just farmland. The GPS directs us to the next house on our left. Our wheels lightly crunch gravel as the car turns into a narrow driveway a small, red hatchback parked under a carport. The house looks like a small cottage out of a storybook—tall, stone chimney, small windows with white shutters, dark grey stone and mortar shaping the rest of the house. The door, however, is red. I take a deep breath and open my door. Mason walks around the car and takes my hand.

  A sense of calm comes over me, so much so, I snuggle into Mason’s shoulder, fully willing to let him take the brunt of my anxiety. He walks up to the door and knocks three times. We wait fifteen agonizing seconds where the sun chooses to peek in and out of the thickening clouds like a game of hide and seek. The wind has picked up, and a cold chill runs up my arms. Finally, the door swings open, and standing on the threshold is our seat mate from our flight, Alma.

  Her watery blue eyes search the remote space between my body and Mason’s. It takes only a second before recognition seems to sink in, and she smiles wide.

  “Well, I’ll be. If it isn’t my two flight mates,” she exclaims excitedly before confusion sets in. Mason and I look at each other, unsure how this was even possible. Mason pulls out his phone and touches the map icon, then looks at the house, but there’s no number listed.

  “How on earth did ya find me, anyhow?” Alma squints at the small batch of sun temporarily shining through the clouds. Mason coughs uncomfortably, and I stare, scrambling for an answer.

  “Uhh…we… that is to say, we are looking for someone,” I say, sounding like a degenerate undercover cop.

  Mason gently holds up his phone in front of Alma until she can see it.

  “Is this your address, or are we turned around?” His eyebrows draw together in question.

  Alma wipes her hands on the white apron wrapped around her large midsection. Her greying hair is whipped into a loose bun with little tendrils falling all around her round face. She pulls out a small pair of glasses from the pocket of her shirt and continues to narrow her eyes, squinting as she stares at the screen.

  “That’s me. Come on in, and let’s chat about who you’re lookin’ for.” She turns, and we follow her inside to a small living room just beyond the door. A large stone fireplace takes up half the wall, one small couch sits against the window, and a brown recliner is angled across from it.

  “Take a seat, I’ll grab some tea.” Alma’s voice echoes as she heads toward a small kitchen past the living room.

  Mason takes a seat on the three-seater sofa, and I sit next to him and place my hand on his knee.

  “Maybe it’s whoever lived here first?” I ask him. With his thick eyebrows still drawn together, he nods as Alma walks over and sets two coffee mugs in front of us.

  “Actually, Alma… this is a little strange. Maybe you can help us find the people who used to live here?” I ask confidently, pulling up on the string that dangles from the side of my mug, dipping it in the hot water. Alma perks up at my question while settling into the oversized recliner.

  “I’d certainly love to help you, but I’ve lived here my whole life.”

  My hope dips and my stomach churns. A dead end, exactly what I feared would happen. Mason must sense my mood, he wraps a strong arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer.

  “Just out of curiosity, why are you looking for the previous owners?” Alma asks, sipping her tea.

  “We were told the Kelleys from the line I’m looking for could be found here,” I sigh.

  Alma narrows her eyes in confusion. “Why are you lookin’ for Kelleys?”

  I swallow the disappointment on my tongue and chase it with a sip of peppermint tea.

  “I’m trying to track down my relations… my family. I took one of those ancestry tests, and it said I had family in this area… Ennis, to be exact.”

  Alma’s cheeks look a little pink, and her confused expression hasn’t changed. She gently sets her tea cup down and leans forward.

  “And is Kelley, in fact, your last name dear?”

  I gulp and quietly answer, “It is.”

  Alma breathes in a sharp breath.

  “From your mother’s side or your father’s?”

  I blink at her question. It feels like Alma and I are scary close to getting somewhere, and I’m not sure my heart is ready for it.

  “My mother’s side. I never knew my father.”

  Alma seemingly leans closer although it could have just been my conspirator imagination.

  “And your mother’s name?” Alma asks with a slight rasp.

  “Faye,” I whisper, staring into her eyes. “Faye Rose Kelley. Her mother’s name was Lauren.”

  Alma’s eyes mist for a second before she lets out an odd sound from her throat like a sob or shock. Mason looks between us, not sure what to d
o. Neither do I. Finally, as tears well in Alma’s eyes, she explains.

  “Faye was our mother’s name. Rose was our grandmother. Faye got most of our family’s name lineage. It always made me so angry she got it and took it away with her to America.”

  My breathing hitches as I absorb her words. Words that sound a lot like she’s admitting to being my family, but I have to be sure. Hope can be a son of a bitch.

  “What are you saying?”

  Alma wipes her tears and sits up straight.

  “I’m saying, my dear girl, I am your great aunt. My sister Lauren moved to America when she was just nineteen. Broke our family’s heart. From what we heard, she met a bloke, got married, and had a baby, but we never heard anything about the baby or much else. We stopped hearin’ anythin’ from her until we were notified via letter she’d passed away from a car accident. The letter had no return address. I had no idea she had your mama or that your mama had you.”

  My aunt. My great aunt. My family. Tears spring to life in my eyes and emotion clogs my throat. I stand, not sure what to do next, but Alma knows. She stands and moves forward until I’m wrapped in her arms. Her hug is so tight, so reassuring, I nearly burst. Alma sobs into my hair, saying things in Irish I don’t understand. I thought back to the plane, how fate had sat us right next to each other, and we didn’t even know it. Maybe it wasn’t fate, but what were the chances? I cling to Alma’s arms as if I’m a kid again. I cling to the knowledge I’m not alone, that I was never alone, just misplaced in the world.

  I think back to how it felt when I landed in Ireland. How free I felt. How connected. I stupidly chalked it up to the mystery around traveling and never leaving America, but it wasn’t. It was the blood in my veins crying out for purchase, for its legacy. I cry into her shoulder until I don’t have any tears left.

  ***

  “So, what is it that you do in California?” Alma sips her soup and watches as I sip mine. We stayed for dinner and stories—history of a life I never knew about, lives I never knew about. Alma informed me it was just her and my grandmother born into her family, but Alma had three kids. All lived fairly close and had kids of their own. So, my family tree just became a tiny orchard, and I couldn’t be happier.