My Life in Shambles: A Novel

by Halle, Karina

  I need to be tethered.

  I need to keep my heart intact.

  We’re barely into this façade and if I’m feeling this way already, what’s going to happen in a week and after that?

  Deep down, I know I’m heading for a heartache so severe it might just destroy me once and for all.

  And yet, despite the fear, I’m not going to push it away.

  Because how lucky would I be to fall in love with this man?

  I don’t think many people truly get to do that, even if it’s all a lie in the end.

  “What are ye doing tonight?” Padraig asks me after we carry our dishes to the kitchen. Gail told us to leave them but I think we’re doing this to bug her.

  “Tonight?” I ask. “Oh, you know. Sleeping.”

  “How about we head down to my mate Alistair’s pub? The Velvet Bone.”

  “I need to start jotting down all these wicked Irish pub names.”

  “So is that a yes?”

  I laugh and punch him on the arm. “Of course that’s a yes.”

  And that’s when I notice Gail staring at us, so I quickly kiss him on the cheek, grab his hand, and lead him out of the kitchen.

  “I don’t want to drive if I’m drinking,” he says to me once we’re out of earshot. “But it’s just down the road. Do ye think you can handle the walk?”

  I’m actually touched that he’s that thoughtful. “How long of a walk?” The truth is, I can’t be on my feet for more than a few hours at a time. For some reason, when I was younger, I could do Disney World no problem but now I can’t do more than half a day. My back pain gets unreal.

  “About twenty minutes.”

  “Oh, that’s no problem at all. But we’re going to have to bundle up because I bet it’s freezing out there.”

  I’m right, too, though it could just be cold compared to the contrast of the warm fire.

  It’s a beautiful night though, the crisp sky so clear that I can see every single star.

  “Look at that,” I say as we walk down the driveway, heads craned back to stare at the dark night sky. “Doesn’t that make you feel so small?”

  He muses over that for a moment and then says, “Nah.”

  “Nah?”

  He looks amused to disagree with me. “It makes me feel like … with all that space and all those infinite universes … this is the only one that counts. People say that it puts all your problems into perspective, but it just makes my own problems seem bigger, since I’m the only me in this whole universe. And there’s only one me to handle these problems. You know what I mean like?”

  “I guess,” I say. “But it still makes me feel small. Like look at this.” We’ve reached the main road and I gesture out across the landscape. At night, the rolling green hills become as black and fathomless as the skies above, and the occasional light from a house could be another star. “It all bleeds together, all becomes one. Doesn’t it make you think we’re sitting on the edge of the universe? Doesn’t that make you seem insignificant?”

  “Look, if ye want me to wax poetic about how you’re more significant than every star in the sky, I can do that. Believe me, my mother was quite the poet, but I can always try and see what I come up with. Roses are red, violets are blue, now let’s get to the pub before it closes on us,” he says with a smile and gives me a wink.

  The Velvet Bone is located along a country lane with a small smattering of houses about. Upstairs there’s a few hotel rooms, but downstairs is where the party is.

  Or, in this case, it happens to be about six locals, sitting around and drinking beer and watching darts on the television.

  When we walk in, we get the royal entrance.

  “For feck’s sake!” the bartender yells at us once we step inside, clapping his hands. “Look what the bloody cat dragged in. Padraig McCarthy. And this must be yer mot.”

  His mot?

  “It means girlfriend,” Padraig explains. “And actually, she’s my fiancé.”

  And as has happened every time Padraig says that word, the room goes quiet.

  I’m starting to think that people must have placed bets on whether he would ever settle down with someone or not.

  I’m lucky, I think.

  No, you’re just acting, I quickly remind myself.

  “Yer kidding?” the bartender says, then glares at him suspiciously. “Don’t tell me this is yer ploy to get a round bought for ye, because we all know how much money yer arse makes, it’s printed in the bloody papers.”

  “Not kidding. Alistair, this is Valerie. Valerie, this is Alistair. He’s okay most of the time. The rest of the time he’s a real tosser.”

  “Ay!” he yells at him.

  I laugh. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Oh my god. And she’s an American,” Alistair says, looking at everyone else in the bar. “He’s really branching out. Well, fuck.” He leaps over the bar, surprisingly spry. “Come give me a bloody hug, you eeijit.” Alistair pulls Padraig into a hug.

  “You too,” he says to me, scooping me up.

  I laugh. He’s on the short side and built like a gymnast, but even so he has no trouble getting me off the ground.

  He slaps me on the back. He’s a cute guy, pale, with brown hair and light eyes. Very mischievous looking. I can tell he’s going to be trouble. “So, when the fuck did all this nonsense happen, huh? Sit down and tell us the story.”

  We take our seats at the bar, and before we can order anything, Alistair has poured us each a pint of Guinness. He raises the one he was already drinking and says, “Cheers.” We all raise our glasses. The whole pub does. “Cheers to the happy couple and for Padraig ending his chronic bachelorism.”

  “Cheers!” everyone says.

  I take a sip of my beer and watch as everyone else sucks half of it down in one go. The taste of Guinness hasn’t grown on me yet.

  “So, first of all mate,” Alistair says to Padraig, leaning against the bar on his elbows. “Where on earth did you find her? She’s far too good for the likes of ye.”

  “At a pub, of course,” Padraig says, palming his beer. God, he has such good hands. Just staring at them now, away from the eyes of his family, surrounded by dim lights and dark wood and the smell of beer, it feels like my hormones are being ramped up with each passing second.

  It’s funny how, even though I can get away with lusting after him when we’re at the B&B, I prefer to do it in private. Because in private, it’s real. Otherwise it feels like it’s just for show, even if it isn’t.

  Either way, I don’t feel anyone in this dark pub needs a show, so I ogle him as he tells his friend about how we met, combining both the real and the fake.

  He looks even sexier and somehow more enigmatic now than he did when I first laid eyes on him. His black hair is a bit spiky at the top, and I think he must have run some styling paste through it before we left. His beard is very neatly trimmed, and he’s wearing one of his many Henleys, this one a moss green that seems to bring out lighter dimensions in his dark brown eyes and fits him like an absolute glove, showing off his boulders for shoulders and his thick, commanding forearms.

  I admire those forearms the way I admired his hands, knowing the skill they have and what they can do. Not just to my body, but out there on the rugby pitch. Fuck, I would love nothing more than to see him in action.

  Then he’s got charcoal jeans that make his round, muscular ass look amazing, his boots, his black wool peacoat crammed under the stool in a pile. I have no doubt that the coat is some kind of designer and it boggles my mind to have that much money to do that with your clothes and not care.

  Or maybe it’s just that he’s a guy. Aside from his place, which, though small, must have cost a ton, his car, and his clothes, Padraig doesn’t at all give off any sense that he’s aware of his money. He’s not showy with it, though I’m sure he could have a lavish lifestyle if he wanted to. I have a feeling that might be an Irish thing, to stay humble and keep your wealth hidden. Or perhaps it’s his upbri
nging.

  I think back to what we talked about earlier at the mews. How hard it must have been for him. His mother gone. A baby sister who only got to see the world for five days. So much loss, and so fast and so soon. I was lucky that my accident happened when I was so young, since I was able to adapt and live the rest of my life with this new reality.

  But to lose so much at sixteen, I don’t know how he’s done it. Then to lose the relationship with his father … I can see why all of this matters so much to Padraig, even if he’s shouldering so much of it deep inside.

  I want to help him carry that load. Maybe that’s inappropriate of me, but it’s the truth. I want his trust and I want in, into all his darkness that he hides from the world.

  “And so what do you do, Valerie?”

  I blink and look up from my beer to see Alistair staring at me expectantly.

  “What do I do?”

  “For work and such. Though perhaps you’re a kept woman. I wouldn’t be surprised. I’d do the same if I had the luck to be with Padraig. He’s so dreamy, ain’t he?” He reaches across and pinches Padraig’s cheek.

  “Oh, sod off,” Padraig says grumpily, batting his hand away.

  “Ah, well, I’m a writer,” I tell him.

  “Oy, a writer? My god, no wonder you found Padraig. There isn’t any money in writing,” he says.

  I hate to well actually him but… “Well, actually, until recently I was a full-time writer for an online newspaper.”

  “Online? And they paid ye?”

  “Very well,” I lie. So it wasn’t great pay but there were benefits, and that was good enough.

  “And then what happened?”

  I was hoping he wouldn’t ask. “Uh, I’m just writing freelance now.”

  He winces. “Oof, that’s got to be hard.”

  “Well, actually,” Padraig says, and I can’t help but smile at that. “Valerie is extremely talented, so it comes easy to her. Right now, she’s writing an article about falconry.”

  “You McCarthys and yer crazy birds,” Alistair says with a shake of his head as he pours himself and Padraig another pint. “You should write about rugby. You’ll get way more hits. Hey, or ye can make a sex tape. Those always go over well when there’s a rugby player involved. Sell that and bingo.”

  “Speaking of money,” Padraig says, changing the subject since I’m already blushing at the mention of a sex tape. “How’s the business going here?”

  “Oh, just brilliant.”

  Padraig looks at me. “We’ve always been rivals, ye see. Up this way outta town, there’s just his hotel and our B&B.”

  “He may have the birds, but I have the booze.” He takes a sip of his beer and grins. “That said, it is January and if we don’t get any guests soon I’ll be pulling a tenner out of a leper’s arse with me teeth.”

  I burst out laughing. “That’s one way of putting it.”

  “We have many ways of putting things, sweetheart,” Alistair says with a shrug. He raises what’s left of his beer. “Here’s to a better tomorrow, then.”

  We raise our glasses, clinking them against each other.

  And we drink.

  And we drink.

  And we drink.

  Before I know it, I’ve actually finished three pints and I’m about to explode. I head over to the ladies’ room, which they call “the jacks,” and when I come back, Alistair is going around the room, dimming the lights and pulling all the curtains shut and locking the door.

  “What’s happening?” I ask, sounding slightly panicked, my mind immediately thinking we’re back in the States and in some kind of lockdown situation.

  “It’s called a lock-in,” Padraig explains. “The pubs here have to close by eleven-thirty so this is one way of getting around that.”

  “We make it look like no one is home and the party continues. Ain’t that right, boys?” he asks the other three men who have remained.

  They do a drunken cheer in response. “Yaaaaay.”

  “Shhhh!”

  “In other words,” Padraig says as I take my seat beside him. “You’re one of us now.”

  “One of us, one of us,” the men start chanting, slamming their fists on the table.

  “Shhhh!’ Alistair hushes them again.

  “One of us, one of us,” they say more quietly.

  I beam at them, not so secretly thrilled. Even though it’s silly to think you belong because you’re locked in an Irish pub, it hits right through to the heart of me. I’ve never belonged to anything before. My whole life, I stuck out like a sore thumb. I was bullied and ridiculed for just being a little bit different. I was too eager and afraid for friends. My family never made me feel like I belonged with them either. Angie was the smart one, and Sandra was the pretty and outgoing one, and I just … I was the one who was crippled and flawed and weird and withdrawn, and so many things, things that I know my mother never hoped for when I was born.

  And later in life, I did what I could to make friendships, but I wanted, I needed, them to be something more than shallow, and yet I had such a hard time converting that. I had a hard time opening up. I just wanted to look as perfect as I could on the outside to hide how imperfect I was on the inside.

  But here … here in this pub, here with Padraig, I don’t feel I have to hide. Which is ironic, considering I’m supposed to be living out a lie and half the things coming out of my mouth aren’t true.

  They said I was one of them.

  For now, I’m just going to believe it.

  I put my hand on Padraig’s knee and give it a light squeeze as I lean in, breathing in his woodsy scent, feeling the heat of his neck. I whisper in his ear, “Thank you for making me feel like I belong. Here, with your family, with everything.”

  He turns his face to mine, eyes brimming with intensity as he looks deeply at me, and captures my mouth in a soft, warm kiss, as sweet and tender as anything.

  “Oy, get a room,” Alistair says, coming around the bar. “And start by renting one upstairs.” He wags his brows.

  I giggle, feeling the alcohol swarm through my veins, and I bury my face in Padraig’s neck, wanting more than anything for us to be alone. That one-night stand wasn’t enough, and even though sober me has been glad for the separate bedrooms, drunk me just wants to get laid like the horndog I am around this man.

  Soon, I’m woozy and horny and it’s time to go. I keep pawing away at Padraig like a dog in heat. We say our goodbyes and go out the back door so the rest of the pub can stay locked in, and the moment we’re outside into the sharp air and around the dark corner, Padraig is pushing me back against the stone wall of the pub and devouring me.

  His hands go under my coat, my hands go into his hair, and our kisses are messy and wild, like we might just eat each other alive. I’m moaning his name and he’s grunting in response, these hoarse sounds that make me so wet I know my underwear is soaked through.

  But as much as I am deliriously hungry for him, as much as I’ve tried to ignore how riled up I’ve been ever since yesterday, when he lay on top of me on the bed and I felt how damn hard he was, I want to get him off. I want his gorgeous eyes to roll back in his head, and I want his hands in my hair and I want him grunting out my name as he comes.

  I reach down for his fly and quickly unzip it, bringing his cock out.

  “Valerie,” he murmurs against my lips, and I smile in response before dropping down to my knees.

  I know it’s cold out, though you would never know it with his dick, and I quickly draw him into my mouth where he immediately moans.

  “God, yes. Fucking suck me off,” he bites through a groan and puts his hands into my hair, making fists and guiding his cock into my mouth.

  I take him eagerly, my tongue licking down his hard ridge, swirling around the thickness of his head, tasting the salt of him. He tastes good, fresh and sharp, like a man, and I go at him harder, deeper, until he’s nearly thrusting into the back of my throat.

  “Oh, I don’t have long
, darlin’,” he says hoarsely, tugging on my hair harder now, almost to the point of pain.

  I pull back just enough to run the tip of him over my lips as if I’m applying lipstick. “I want you to come. I want to swallow you.”

  Then I pull him back into my mouth and he swears, his nails digging into my skull as I stroke my fist tighter and faster.

  “Valerie.” My name breaks on his lips and he shoots his load inside my mouth, his cock pulsing over my tongue.

  I swallow and keep going until he’s too sensitive, then I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and get unsteadily back to my feet, falling into him.

  He grabs me, holding me close, staring down at me with hooded eyes. He looks at peace and completely satisfied, and I want to always make him feel like this.

  “What did I do to deserve that?” he asks in a low voice, a lazy smile on his lips as he zips up his pants.

  “Everything,” I tell him, kissing him on the cheek. “We should probably get going though. It’s getting colder by the minute.”

  “Get going? Back there to our bloody separate bedrooms? Oh no, darlin’, you’re getting yours and you’re getting it good,” he says. He grabs my hand and leads me to the back of the pub.

  14

  Padraig

  Holding on to Valerie’s hand, I take her around the building to the back door of the pub and knock loudly on it, hoping Alistair can hear me.

  “We’re going to drink more?” she asks.

  I’m about to knock again when it opens. “Forget something?” Alistair asks.

  “You mentioned those rooms earlier?” I say.

  Valerie lets out a small gasp. She had no idea what I had planned.

  “Take whatever one you want,” he says, with a very smug smile on his face, nodding to the staircase. “Just don’t make a mess.”

  I pat him on the back. “I owe you one.”

  “Yes, for the room and the beer,” he calls after me as I lead Valerie up the stairs.