I’m fairly certain Aela sees it.
Jonathon comes over with four pints of Guinness, and Aela pales, swallowing thickly and looking away from hers
“Sláinte,” Eamon raises a toast, bringing the pint to his mouth before setting it back down and steepling his hands on the table. He looks at Aela, tapping his fingertips.
“A quick courtship, was it? I'd heard you were in California.”
Aela’s mouth is small. “We kept in touch.”
“Yeah you know how it is.” Tommy takes a big gulp of his beer. “She comes back, sparks fly, boom, we're gettin’ hitched. Maybe she'll finally let me in those pants, eh?”
I bite my tongue, my fist clenching tight.
Eamon looks sourly at Tommy. “A bit of respect, lad. Leave the boy talk for the bar, yeah?”
“We’re in a bar.”
“Leave it be when your wife is present, boy-o,” he says sharply before turning to Aela. “Sorry for his language, dear.” He clears his throat, smiling calmly at her. “Out of curiosity, did you manage to pay your friends back?”
Aela freezes.
“Your Italian friends, I mean,” he smiles calmly. “In case that wasn’t clear.”
My brow perks up as she swallows.
“Yep.”
“The Kings see a lot,” Eamon says quietly.
“It’s taken care of.”
He nods, picking up his pint, that same smile on his face. “Wonderful to hear, lass.”
He glances back to Tommy, his brow darkening.
“And you, lad.” He levels a finger at Tommy. “I trust you’re aware that you’re marrying up here?”
“Yeah, you know, I was never a big redhead fan, but damn.” He whistles wolfishly as he turns and lets his eyes slide over Aela as he chuckles. “I mean, damn, right?”
“Mind your fucking tongue,” Eamon hisses, the smiling uncle routine gone as his face goes livid.
Tommy goes quiet, his face paling.
“What I mean is, you’re marrying up into the Reilly family. Jack — God rest his soul — had the respect and the love of the Kings when he ran the Saints here. You’ll respect that. Do we understand each other?”
Tommy nods.
“Good.”
Eamon turns and nods at me, and I stand to let him out of the booth. He turns and nods again at the three of us, his eyes landing on Aela. “Well, we’ll be in touch, and of course, I’m staying for the wedding. But I wish the two of you many happy years.”
Aela’s jaw tightens, but she forces a smile. “Thank you, Eamon.”
He nods curtly at me once more before he takes his cap from the peg on the wall and walks back through the bar to the front door.
I frown. That actually went shockingly well. Brief, and weird, but well. I glance at Aela, who’s looking quietly at the table in front of her. Eamon’s words tumble through my head.
Out of curiosity, did you manage to pay your friends back?
And suddenly, I’m starting to piece together why it is Aela Reilly is back in town.
Tommy pounds his fist on the table as he finishes guzzling the pint in front of him. “Well fuck me, how about another round, guys?”
I ignore him, taking Aela’s arm firmly in my grasp and pulling her up from the booth. “Gotta get going, Tommy.”
He scowls. “Hey, bro, where’re you taking my fiancée?”
“Places.” I pull Aela to her feet, ignoring the scowl on her face.
“Where?”
“Catch you around, Tommy.”
“The heck do you think you’re taking me?” she hisses as I march her briskly through the bar.
“Away from that douche before I break a chair over his head,” I growl under my breath as I yank her through the front door of the bar.
“Get your hands off of—”
“Get in the car.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “No.”
“Aela, get—”
“You can’t force me to—”
“Watch me.”
She stops, her breath catching, her eyes darting to mine, and her pulse beating fast in the shadowed hollow of her neck.
“Why?”
“Because I want some answers. Now get in the car.”
She holds my gaze for one more half second, her red hair like fire around her face and her delicate lips half-pulled into a snarl.
“Fine.”
“Wonderful.”
Chapter 10
Liam
“C’mon.”
Liam pulls over outside The Banshee, an old Southie mainstay sort of like the bar we just left.
“Why are we here?”
“For a drink.”
The sour nausea of my hangover washes over me. “You can’t be serious.”
“Hair of the dog, sweetheart. Let’s go.”
“Do you want to see me vomit?”
He grins, arching his brow at me.
“Asshole.”
“C’mon. A little whiskey and soda and you’re going to be right as rain, I promise.”
I groan as he drags me out of the car and leads me inside, grabbing two stools at the basically empty bar.
“What,” I growl. Liam’s eyeing me after ordering us drinks.
“What the hell was that back there?”
The bubbly bartender who looks more like a college student than the type of sour, salty Southie girl you’d have seen bartending in this neighborhood six years ago, slides our drinks toward us. She makes sure to mention that the “taco of the day” is porchetta and lavender crema.
“So, I guess Southie got hip while I was gone.”
Liam shakes his head. “You have no idea. The fuck is crema?”
“Hipster for sour cream. I think the important question is why The Banshee is selling tacos.”
“Cheers to gentrification,” he mumbles, knocking his glass against mine and taking a slug before he turns to look at me again.
“Yes?”
“You’re dodging the question.”
I purse my lips, my brown furrowing. “Leave it, Liam.”
“What Italian friends, and what money?”
“It’s nothing, okay?”
He rolls his eyes and looks away “Fuck. You and your damn secrets, Aela.”
“Look who’s talking.”
He snorts, and I glare at him. “You know what? This is why you and me?” I dart a finger between us. “This is why we didn’t work.”
He scowls. “That is not—”
“Because you were you.”
He meets my eyes. “The hell does that mean?”
“It means you were who you were always going to be, Liam.”
“And you were exactly who you were supposed to be, sweetheart,” he spits back.
“Which is?”
“Mob princess? Off in fuckin’ Switzerland? Californian? How’s that trust fund doing, Aela?”
“Fuck you.”
We both look away, facing forward at the bar and sitting in silence. I finally give in and take a tentative sip of my drink.
“You get why I pushed you away, right?” he asks.
“Sure, because you’re an asshole.”
He looks away again.
“You were better than all this, Aela. You were supposed to get the fuck out of here.”
“Yeah, well, surprise.”
“And now you owe the kind of money to the kind of people where Mick has to bail you out?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to, I’m not a fucking idiot.”
I say nothing, pushing ice around my glass with the straw and chewing on my lip.
Liam reaches out, and I freeze as his hand covers mine, stopping my nervous stirrings and sending a flush into my cheeks. “What happened to you out there, Aels?”
“Life happened to me,” I say quickly. “Life happened and I did what I had to. I did what I was good at.”
“Running?”
“That and other things.”
>
He looks like he’s about to push further, when someone comes up behind us, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, Liam.”
We both swivel on our bar stools, coming face to face with a willowy blonde girl with two black eyes.
Liam’s face softens.
“I— I just…” She looks down. “I wanted to say thanks.”
I frown as I dart my eyes between them. Liam, the tough, knock-around street kid, and this girl who I can tell is pretty without the bruising on her face, who looks like she came up on the streets of Southie.
The connection clicks, and I hate how damn jealous I suddenly feel.
“What you dropped under my door the other day,” she picks at her nails as she looks at the floor. “You didn’t have to—”
“It was from Stephano, with his apologies,” Liam says quietly, reaching out to put his hand on her arm. “I just helped him deliver it to you.”
Her swollen eyes dart up to his. “Thank you,” she says quietly.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“No, really.”
“I’m serious. Don’t worry about it.”
She glances up, her eyes darting to me as if suddenly realizing Liam’s not alone, when her eyes suddenly go wide. “Oh my God, Aela Reilly?”
I blink in surprise before she suddenly pushes the hair back from her purpled face and forces a smile to her face, and I suddenly recognize her.
“Nicole?”
Nicole, the neighborhood girl I remember from high school, beams with a slight wince. “Wow, Aela! You back visiting?”
“Oh, she’s marrying Tommy Flaherty.”
Liam grins widely as I burn holes into his head with my eyes.
Nicole’s brows go up. “Oh, uh, wow! Congrats, Aela, that’s really, um…” She glances at Liam and then back at me. “That’s really something!”
“Isn’t it, though?” Liam sighs dramatically. “And they say true love doesn’t exist anymo—”
I kick him in the shin.
“I was real sorry to hear about your dad, by the way.”
I smile wryly at Nicole. “Thanks.”
“And your sister and all that. I don’t think I ever had a chance to tell you that back then.”
I say nothing, looking at the floor and nodding.
“She got me to go clean, you know. When she— I mean…” Nicole trails off.
No one ever wants to say “OD-ed.” No one wants to say words like “junky” or “addict” when it’s someone you knew.
When it’s your older sister.
When the shit hit the fan six years ago — when the Albanians were mounting a war with the Saints over the north-west corner of Southie, when the FBI was knocking down doors, when they were hauling Gray Roarke off to prison, Sheila was the last hit my father could bear before he broke.
That’s when I went away — when the oldest daughter of the man who’d put his foot down to stamp out drugs in our neighborhood was found dead with a needle in her arm on a flop house mattress.
That’s when it all came crashing down.
Nicole bites her lip, her fingers still twisting. “It made me stop all that shit. When someone you know—” She stops and looks away. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“I think she’d be glad that I stopped. And I’ve got my Julia to think about now. Oh, that’s my daughter.” Nicole laughs quietly. “I guess she’s my addiction now.”
I smile, swallowing the lump in my throat that I always get when I think of my sister.
“Anyways, I should let you guys, you know…” She trails off and turns back to Liam, reaching out to put her hand on his bicep. “Thank you.”
Her hand lingers on his arm.
And I hate that I notice that.
“Any time.”
“If you aren’t, like, busy or anything sometime this week…” She trails off, shrugging. “I mean, if you wanted to come over sometime or something…”
“Might be a little tied up this week, Nicole.”
She smiles, nodding. “Oh, yeah, no problem.”
“Stephano isn’t going to bother you again, I promise. We’ll talk soon, yeah?”
She nods and smiles. “Yeah. Thanks, Liam. Good to see you, Aela. And congrats again.”
I’m looking at him as Nicole walks away.
“What?”
I frown. “Nothing.”
“I always liked green on an Irish girl.”
“Oh, please.”
“No, it really suits you.”
I roll my eyes, willing the heat from my face. “Well she seems wonderful, Liam.”
He laughs. “You think she and I are a thing?”
I shrug. “Hey, it’s not my business.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, Nicole’s a sweet girl and all — you know, once you get past the stripping and the track mark scars.”
“Awww, too much baggage for Liam Roarke?”
He smiles thinly. “I think we both know I’ve just got enough of my own.”
Neither of us says a thing as we turn back to our drinks, sipping them slowly.
“I was just curious.” I finally say stiffly. “Not jealous.”
“Sure you weren’t.”
“Wasn’t.”
“Good.” He takes a slug of his drink and turns to grin at me. “You’re getting married, after all.”
I glare at him.
“Can we get out of here?”
Chapter 11
Aela
“I do, you know.”
We’re in the back parking lot outside The Banshee when I turn. “What?”
“Like you jealous.”
I roll my eyes and continue towards the car.
“I kinda wondered if this darker, knife-carrying version of Aela Reilly came back with a stone-cold heart.”
I freeze mid-step.
“Glad to see I was wrong.”
I take a deep breath, my back to him. “The hell do you care about my heart, Liam?”
“A lot, actually.”
I whirl. “You don’t get to say that.”
“Says who?”
“Says the girl you—!”
I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head.
“You just don’t.”
“Says the girl what? The girl who was the only one that ever knew me? The girl who meant more than anything else in the world to me back then?”
I raise my head, eyes narrowed as I glare at him. “Look, whatever quarter-life crisis you’re going through right now? I mean, if you thought you’d have your shit together by now and you don’t, and you think me being back here is going to change that? Well, you can think aga—”
And that’s when Liam Roarke kisses me.
That’s when he suddenly grabs me by the waist, pulls me tight against him, and sears his lips to mine hard enough to bruise as he swallows my words.
His hand cups my jaw possessively, his lips burn against mine, and the entire fucking earth shifts on its axis as six years of wondering what this would feel like again comes exploding to the surface.
That is, until five seconds go by, and then I feel something else about to explode out.
I shove him away, whirling and making it a full three steps before my gut heaves and I vomit all over the fender of a Chevy Suburban.
“Not exactly the reaction I was going for.”
I groan, and I can feel Liam come up behind me. His hands start to pull back my hair, but I shove him away. I shake my head, closing my eyes and feeling my stomach turn again as I wave him back.
“I’m fine.”
“Hang on, let me—”
“I said I’m fine, Liam.”
I inhale through my nose, letting a shaky breath out through my mouth as I lean against the Chevy and let my stomach settle. Finally, I stand upright. I shake my head, breathing again as I shove my hair back behind my ears and slowly turn to glare at him.
“That is not happening again.”
&nbs
p; He shrugs. “Sorry, a drink when I’m hung-over always helps me—”
“Don’t you dare kiss me.”
A shadow crosses his face, and I shake my head. “We are not doing that, and I am not your fix for whatever’s broken in your life.”
“My life is just fine, actually,” he growls.
“Is it? How wonderful for you, Liam. Please send me a postcard from this goddamn perfect fantasy land of yours.”
We glare at each other for another minute, eyes locked and heated.
“You and me?” I say finally, shaking my head. “You gave that up. You gave me up.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Aela,” he growls. “You have no idea what—”
“Leave the past where it is, Liam. I have.”
I turn and march back to the car, turning my head over my shoulder.
“And don’t you dare even think about kissing me again.”
Chapter 12
Liam
A week later, I swear to Christ she’s fucking with me. We’ve dropped back to one word conversations, and somehow, she’s got my schedule down enough that we see each other at the bare goddamn minimum unless I’m driving her someplace.
But when I do see her?
Yeah, she must be fucking with me.
It’s a bit of everything, but mostly, it’s the way she just looks good around the house. She’s not dressing up, or trying to get all fancied up, and that’s just it. The problem is, Aela Reilly looks good enough to devour in a tank top and sleep shorts. Or in her hoodie and yoga pants.
Those fucking yoga pants. I mean Jesus Christ, whoever invented those and made them a thing?
You have my eternal prayers.
Sleep shorts in the mornings, the whiff of her perfume, the way the strap of her tank top slips slightly off her shoulder as she leans over the kitchen counter to read the paper.
The way the skirt she wears later in the afternoon rides high when she tucks her legs up on the couch while watching TV.
She’s enticing me.
Distracting me.
And it’s driving me fucking nuts.
Because Aela Reilly was removed from my life a long time ago. I made sure of that. I kept the promise I was sworn to. She moved on with her life, away from here and away from me, and really, that was the whole point. The point was, she and I never should have been together in the first place. We might have come from the same neighborhood, but there’s a world of difference between the way she came up and the way I did.
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