Parting Glass

by Dani Wyatt

  Danny brushes a hand through the mess of red scrub he calls hair. “Whatever. But if you get sick, I’m not covering your shift tonight. I have a date.” He smirks as he stretches, arching his back and placing his hands above his ass with a long groan before bending back down and retrieving the heavy cases. When he steps toward the wall and around to stock the bottles in the bar I follow. “And Mum and Dad have that meeting, so it’s you and Ainsley tonight.”

  I ignore his comment about Ainsley working with me because I tend to avoid unpleasant topics. Instead, I delve into his more than active personal life which has always been in sharp contrast to my lack of one. “Another date? Who is he?”

  “Another date. You say it like it’s something unusual. Single people go on dates, Ri, you know that?” Danny’s voice rises, but I catch the grin on his face and the humor in his voice. “And it’s none of your bloody business who he is.”

  “Not that Brad guy again?”

  He shakes his head. “Jesus Christ, no. I barely made it out alive with him. Focking stalker he turned out to be. Don’t hound me for gory details and I’ll hit you with the highlights when I get home, deal? You just focus on making sure you’re not coming down with something, Riona Farrell, because I’m not taking your shift.”

  I snort a laugh. He sounds like my dad. “I’m fine.” I lean against the bar so my back is facing the tables and fiddle with the silver Claddagh ring on my right forefinger. It was the gift from my parents when I graduated high school. “I’m worried about Mum and Dad though. I hope they get the money.”

  “From your mouth to God’s ears.” He works straightening the bottles that line the back of the bar fitting in the new ones as best he can.

  The bar has been struggling for some time, but in the past we’ve always managed to scrape by.

  But things went farther south when a swanky, polished Irish pub opened up on the west side. Soon as they opened, we took a hit when a lot of the younger crowd chose to bail and spend their money in the trendier side of town.

  To make matters worse that place advertises and promotes like their pockets have no holes. They have special events, live music, Radio stations set up for shows and publicity. Not to mention, they undercut our prices, and it’s become a struggle to keep the lights on.

  Mum and Dad have a dinner tonight with a group of friends and acquaintances with connections here and back home, and they are going to see if there're any loans to be had the old school way. The bank turned them down and there are not many other shrubs to shake.

  I’m not saying there’s any sort of official Irish clad organized crime syndicate around here or anything, at least not that I know of. But there are people. People in the community that know other people. Irish roots are knotty and sometimes bitter, but they run deep. And far. Connections here run back across the ocean so you never know who might come through on a reputation and a handshake.

  I release the breath I’m holding and focus on a silent prayer that something comes through, and soon.

  Finally, I turn around and nod at the handful of regulars seated and even at eleven am, they’re on their second or third pint and most will be in and out all day.

  I smooth my hands down the front of my worn tank, trying to tame the way it rides up around my belly. The low chatter mixes with the gentle music of Loch Lomond playing on the speakers, and I unconsciously start to hum along, but when I make the mistake of glancing up the sound sticks in my throat.

  Only a single table houses a patron, and it’s him. He’s half done with his pint and my stomach flips at the thought of talking to him again. At some point, I’ll have to go back over and ask if he needs anything else.

  And I can’t seem to differentiate between the excitement and the nausea surrounding that thought.

  I lean over and scrub a few glasses in the sink, but I feel a tug on my ponytail. When I snap my eyes up, it’s Devan Morgan’s stupid smile and half brown teeth I see grinning at me from the other side of the bar.

  I restrain the urge to punch him in his red-veiny nose, instead jabbing my finger toward him on a snarl.

  “I’ve told you a thousand God-damn times not to touch me. And me includes meh hair.” His broader smile in return sends my skin to crawl. His efforts at gaining favor with me have ramped up the last couple weeks since his last girlfriend dumped him.

  My temper has been a asset and a curse since I was a little girl.

  “Sorry. Can’t help myself. That hair…mmm…it just makes me think of things.” Devan leans his forearms on the bar, unapologetically gaining a better vantage point to look down my tank top. Even from here I catch the scent of beer and cigarettes on his breath.

  “Well, you can stop that right now or you’re going to hurt yourself or I’m going to hurt you.” I stand straight, pulling the neckline on my shirt upward and darting a glance out onto the floor where I see the new guy glaring our way.

  Devan chuckles then fights a wet cough before finishing. “Now that just sounds like a lot of fun to me. Always did enjoy a bit of hurt to go with my—”

  Danny slaps a hand down on the bar, extending his arm into the space in front of Devan. “You like a little hurt, do you?”

  Danny may be the gentlest person I know, but he also inherited a genetic code that grew his body like a sturdy Oak. Truth is, he wouldn’t know what to do in a fight, but nobody outside the family knows that. When you work a bar like this, it pays to command respect from your regulars even if you’ve never been able to back it up with action.

  When Devan doesn’t respond his stupid glazed eyes trained on my chest, Danny’s shoulders square and he leans in. “Now piss off and go sit back down with Maggie. If you’re lucky, she’ll give you a spank and a chance.”

  Devan bobs his eyebrows in my direction, then with a huff he pushes back from the bar and steps away. I stand taller, fisting my hands into my hips and rolling my eyes.

  There’s a tenuous dance with some customers. We need them so I don’t work to alienate anyone, but I’m not taking shit from anyone either. And oftentimes those goals don’t mix well.

  “You okay?” Danny shifts back with another glance at Devan who is already back in his glass with an arm around Maggie.

  I nod and without thought my gaze drifts to the hulk at the table. An unexpected shiver catches me when I see the look of death he’s giving Devan while holding his own pint half way to his mouth. His grip looks like it could shatter the glass. His sightline has Devan in his crosshairs for another long moment. Then I watch as he exhales and snaps his head back and forth as though he’s cracking a kink out of his neck, and that funny pulling feeling starts deep down inside me again.

  “I’m fine.” I mutter an absent reply to Danny, forcing myself to look away. “Now get back to it, those bottles aren’t going to jump out of that case on their own.” I grouse and jerk my head at the crate on the floor as I turn and go back to finish the glasses in the sink.

  I’ve been working behind the bar since it was legal at sixteen, and I’ve never felt anything like this with anyone ever. This pull.

  Even the boys that did show interest in me, I didn’t trust them. Growing up I was a chubby version of Pippi Longstocking. I was that kid. The one everyone took their jabs at in school and it stunk, but I will say, it prepared me for pub life. Nothing like being the red headed fat girl to toughen you up.

  And make you doubt anyone could want a girl like you.

  Over the years at the pub, there were a couple boys I’d toyed with that flirted, but it was generally out of boredom. And I figured it was for them as well.

  Except whoever this guy is, he is no boy. If you look in the dictionary under ‘man’ you’d see a picture of him. And I can see from the look in his eye, he gives zero fucks about what everyone thinks about him. That’s sexy as hell.

  Growing up next to Ainsley hasn’t helped my self-image, either.

  Yesterday, Dad cooked breakfast for the family like he does most days even though for our family, b
reakfast comes when many are thinking about lunch. Just a product of our late nights. Now that none of us are in school, we’ve all adapted a bit more to a schedule that allows for the bar lifestyle.

  Anyway, I ate eggs, hash-browns, two of his homemade sausages and orange juice. Honestly, there’s no food I like more than my own parents’ home cooking. Whether it was pizza and coke or haute cuisine if there was one of Dad’s homemade steak pies I’m all in. I enjoyed every mouthful while Ainsley sipped on her black coffee eyeing each bite I took with contempt.

  She let me know it was half-off Thursday at the thrift shop. I told her I had plenty of clothes as she smirked, looking as I took the last bite on my plate and let me know I may want to budget for the next size up.

  Such a brat.

  But this is different. There’s a charge in the air when I look at him. His face is nearly covered with this brawny brown beard that matches his hair, and that may be due for a cut but its rough shagginess adds to his appeal. He’s authentic.

  A scar visible even from my place behind the bar runs down from the center of his forehead, and another around his throat that I’m not even sure I want to know about. But I’m fascinated. He’s older, at least fifteen if not twenty years older than me, which pushes buttons inside me I didn’t know needed pushing.

  But they so do.

  I picked up on the bit of the accent too, but it’s more than that. Plenty of straight off the boat Irishmen have been in here before, and that has never hit me in the way his voice did. It’s as though with one glance he told me he was here for me.

  To protect me.

  To give me something I didn’t know I needed.

  When he’d grabbed my wrist…let’s just say, anyone else in here tried that they’d quickly find themselves with a knot on their head. But with him, lightning bolts shot up my arm.

  He also looks like he could kill another man with his stare. Even facing the opposite way, I see him in my mind’s eye. The deepest blue irises, flecked with something dangerous, and by his sheer size I’d guess that one hand around someone’s throat could very well have their family making final arrangements.

  When I’m done with the glasses, I check in with everyone at the bar, smile and make small talk with the regulars, then glance back at him. It’s glaringly clear that he’s not leaving, so I’m going to have to make peace with the fact I’ll have to speak to him again.

  Danny finishes stocking the bottles and stands up beside me, running his hands down the front of his shirt. He looks out across the bar, then down at me, then back out at the man sitting at the table and starts to laugh.

  “Really?” He mutters, leaning back against the wall where he’s just straightened and refilled all the liquor bottles.

  “What?” I bark back, louder than necessary, drawing a slight tip of the man’s head.

  He’s making no effort to hide the fact that he’s glancing at me every few seconds and when he does, I can feel his eyes warming my skin wherever his gaze lands.

  “What?” Danny mocks with a smile. “Come on, Riona, I’ve known you since you were six. I’ve never seen your face red and I’ve never seen you actually looking at someone like you are right now.” He pokes a finger into my cheek and I swat it away.

  “Stop it, asshole.” I grab the towel from under the counter and start wiping down the wooden top. “You are imagining things.”

  “Okay. Then I guess I won’t worry about you, will I? And watch your temper, you know what happens, you get mad and your ears stop working. You hear what you want and then we all pay the price.”

  Both of us know I’m as tough as Danny even though at six foot six inches folks tend to give him a second thought before pushing things. But when they first came to us, it was Danny that I would hear crying at night. He had nightmares and I would go into his room and we would sneak downstairs and eat cookies and drink milk until I could get him laughing.

  Ainsley slept like a baby from the first night, I think she just blocked out the horrible loss of her parents. I also understand that part of her manner is just her defense mechanism and despite the way she is with me I still feel that. I can’t even imagine ever losing my mum and dad. They are amazing and have done so much for all of us I would do anything to give back to them and I know Danny would as well.

  I gulp a breath and look over to find the giant man looking at me again. He’s got to be a lineman for a professional football team. I honestly don’t know if I’ve ever seen a human being that big, at least not live and in person.

  His hand makes the pint glass look like a shot glass and the backs of his hands and fingers are decorated with dark hair and I swallow hard wondering if that extends to his chest and—

  “Riona!” I jump at the sound of Danny’s voice next to my ear, and shrug away as he starts to laugh.

  “What?” I gasp, trying to right myself as I smooth my hands up my burning cheeks to tighten my hair in the ponytail holder.

  “He’s waiving you over. Are you ignoring him on purpose?”

  “I’m not…oh, shut up.” I curse under my breath as I realize my panties are wet. That’s never happened before. What the hell. I steady myself before I gather the courage to make my way over to him.

  As I step his way, our eyes meet and the intensity there has my breath caught. It’s not just his otherworldly size that’s shaking me down to my bones.

  It’s the way he looks at me as though I’m the bulls-eye of a target and he’s lining up the kill shot.

  3

  Brann

  I need to know what makes her smile.

  I need to know who that fuck at the bar was that made her frown.

  I need to know what she dreams about.

  I need to know what frightens her at night.

  No one has ever come close to making me feel this. Not even fucking close.

  There’s a pain in her eyes. Something is bothering her and I need to be the one to fix it.

  When I touched her wrist, I’m not sure what I saw in those emerald eyes. Not fear, but a tentative curiosity maybe. Who am I to this beautiful, young thing? I’m older. I’m rough, and not just around the edges.

  My face would not be found on the cover of a slick men’s magazine. For my sheer size I’ve been called a monster. I’d never given much thought to my looks before, but I hope like hell she’s at least not scared of me. Not that that would stop me from claiming her, I just don’t like the thought of her being scared of anything, let alone me.

  A squeeze of tension knots in my throat as I wave her my way and catch her eyes. There is a magnetic charge in the air. A nagging, pulling feeling in my belly and I hope like hell she feels it as well. Nothing this real could be one sided.

  Yes it could.

  I silence the negative inner voice as she steps to the table. “Another pint?” Her soft voice reminds me of a spring breeze.

  From this vantage point my eyes are level with her ripe tits and the thought of her pressing each nipple to my lips has me gritting back a groan. She’s more beautiful every time I see her.

  “No on the pint.” I grunt, shaking my head. “But I do want something else.”

  I reach into my wallet and bring out another hundred-dollar bill, placing it on the table.

  “What’s that for?” Her hand flutters to her mouth, first touching her lips then pressing her knuckles there as she suppresses a smile. “You don’t look like a mixed drink sort.”

  She shifts her weight onto one hip and crosses her ankles. It takes me a moment to catch my breath and I realize for the first time in as far back as I can remember, I am at peace. Calm envelops me and the constant anxiousness that’s been my companion for so many years is gone. At the center of that peace is an image of me slipping a ring onto her finger with her dressed in white.

  “What’s your name?” I force the words wondering if I’ll stay in control when I hear her name.

  “Riona.” She shakes her head. “You offering me a hundred bucks to ask my name? Because
that would be stupid. Tell me your name.”

  “I’m Brann. Brann Maguire.” I laugh. “The hundred is for you to sit here with me, Riona.”

  She narrows an eye. “I’m working.” She shifts her weight again and licks her lips.

  “I just watched you top off all their drinks. If they need you I’m sure they’ll let you know. One hundred dollars for fifteen minutes, it’s a good deal. I just want to talk to you, that’s all, nothing sinister. I want to ask you things.”

  “Things?” There’s a roar of laughter from the regulars at the bar and she turns for a second taking note that the noise isn’t directed her way then her attention returns to me.

  “That’s right, things. Don’t worry. Just things about you.” Her eyes flicker and I stand and step around the table to pull out a chair nodding for her to sit. “And, your name…”

  She cocks her head to the side narrowing a single eye at me before I finish. “What about my name?”

  “…your name means queen.”

  She squares off her stance, looks at the hundred dollars I’ve set on the table and crosses her arms. “It does. You throwing money around like a used napkin doesn’t impress me. You want something from me, you earn it.” The grin that tugs at the corners of her lips gives me chills. “I’ll make you a deal.”

  My heart thunders in my chest. The strength I see in her as she stares me down through eyes as green as a spring meadow it feels like I’ve known her before.

  And.

  I want her.

  No, that’s not it.

  I need her. And the legend reverberates like a drumbeat deep inside me. Parts of me come alive from ancient times, parts of me that feel as though they’ve belonged to her before.

  And she belongs to me. In the most primal and complete way.

  She will be my queen.

  Convincing her may be another thing, but I’m up for the challenge.