“You and I both know that you’ll be going back to Ireland again soon. You know, that whole other country where you live? That’s not a relationship,” she told him matter of factly. “And it’s okay. I knew that, obviously, before we—before.”
“Jess, a couple things—”
“I’ve tried doing a long-distance thing before. It didn’t work. Especially not when he cheated on me because he was ‘lonely.’”
“Well I’m not your ex-boyfriend, am I?” he said, irritated at the implication. “And another thing, I may live in Ireland but I’ve got nothing but free time for the foreseeable future since the lead singer of my band is having a fucking mid-life crisis at the moment. So, like I said before, what is there to really stop you from seeing if there’s something between us? ‘Cause whether you believe it or not, I’m not walking away from this.”
She was frozen still for a moment, her eyes locked on his. “Oh,” she said.
What did that mean? It drove him mad that he had such a hard time reading her. But he chose to casually play it off. “Oh? Like, oh, that’s just what I wanted to hear? Or, like, oh, I just wanted to sleep with a rock star and now that I have, I’m done?” he asked with a laugh.
She smiled and then laughed. “The first one.”
“Then get back here and show me some more of those sexy dance moves. Because I think I love you.” He said it to playfully mirror her impulsive declaration from earlier, but also because he could already tell this was something special. She was something special.
Now there was only a second’s hesitation before she lunged at him with a scream of delight, wrapping her arms around his neck as they fell backward onto the bed.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The relief Shay felt at handing over the NME meeting to James was short lived, as once he went downstairs he found Danny Boy was no longer in the house. Of course he’d left no word of where he’d gone.
Ever since Danny Boy came back to town at the end of the previous year, he’d been on his best behavior. That is, after unceremoniously breaking into the house while Jessica was home. She had just gotten out of the shower and was wrapped in only a towel when she’d found him in their bedroom looking through the shelves in the walk-in closet. He’d been strung out, but not quite at rock-bottom. Best as Shay could tell, Danny Boy’s plan was to try to steal some things to sell. When Jessica confronted him, he went off on a rant about how she was only after Shay’s money. It was obviously his way of deflecting from his own actions, but his tone and appearance frightened her. It was good timing when Shay returned in the midst of this episode and put an end to it. Rather than apologizing, though, Danny Boy pleaded for help detoxing.
Jessica had heard details of how Danny Boy went about detoxing and was vocal in not wanting to be around it. She had argued that there was no end to this cycle and that Shay was only setting himself up to be heartbroken once Danny Boy disappeared again in search of his next fix. Gavin had just put Shay through a tough time with his own descent into drug use, and Jessica begged Shay to stop being so co-dependent. But he refused to turn his back on his brother.
This had all happened just before Christmas, making for a gloomy holiday. Jessica had stayed with a friend for the several days it took Danny Boy to finish “getting well” as he called it. When she returned, she found Shay and Danny Boy thick as thieves, planning how the latter would join the tour once Rogue hit the road early the next year. Shay hadn’t thought about how that might have looked to Jessica after she had been Danny Boy’s target. Instead of rushing to protect and support her, Shay had chosen the brother who had been a sketchy presence in his life. The first real fight of their relationship happened when Shay insisted Danny Boy move in with them despite Jessica’s objections. It wasn’t long before she ended things. And Shay let her.
With the tour starting up, Shay was able to push her out of his mind and ignore his fractured heart for several months. Having Danny Boy along for the ride was another good thing to focus on. He watched his brother carefully and saw only positive things. It seemed he was finally not only staying clean, but sticking with something. With that something being the steady stream of good times provided by life on the road, he had traded the vice of heroin for the insular world of the Rogue touring crew. The parties were consciously devoid of hard drugs, both for Gavin’s sake and Danny Boy’s, but still offered night after night of drinking and mindless good craic.
But as they neared this summer break, Shay could tell Danny Boy was struggling with something. He wasn’t as quick to laugh or join in with group chatter. Little by little, he started to pull away—first mentally, then physically. Though he’d still turn up at the after parties, he’d isolate himself in a corner before long or disappear altogether. Shay had seen a version of this before, at other times when Danny Boy had made an effort at the straight life only to find himself disappointed with how dull it made his existence. This quiet phase was what preceded running off to find a party crew.
Shay knew Danny Boy’s absence from the house now meant there was a good chance he had gone off in search of such a group. But Shay wouldn’t rush out to find him as he had done in the early years. That had invariably led to disappointment and heartache when finding his brother only meant witnessing an addict’s willful descent. Instead, he would use his well-honed capacity for patience and let some time pass before he allowed himself to worry about Danny Boy.
CHAPTER TWENTY
It should have felt normal to be awake at three forty-seven in the morning. After all, Gavin had seen more late nights than the average guy. But being awake at this hour wasn’t due to riding the high of a stage performance in front of thousands of rabid fans and trying to keep that feeling going with an after party. It was because his beautiful newborn daughter had not stopped crying since ten o’clock. They were in the hospital overnight and due to leave by noon, but he was beginning to worry that something was wrong. Daisy, who had been so peaceful and sweet right after birth, had suddenly refused to breastfeed and was determined to make him and Sophie pay for it, as if they had done something wrong.
They had consulted a lactation expert, a mid-wife, and a doula to no avail. They had considered taking advantage of the Guinness supplied in the gift basket Bono and the lads had sent to them. The nurses dismissed Gavin’s fears and were amused by his panicked entreaties for some explanation. Sophie was just as worried and perplexed. Neither got any sleep until Sophie happened upon a winning technique. She found that when she stood and held the baby while doing a combination of bouncing twice on one leg, then swaying to the other side the baby quieted and nuzzled into her chest.
“Really? Standing?” Sophie asked, on the verge of tears from hours of frustration and exhaustion.
“Shh, darlin’. Let’s just see.” Gavin stood with her and helped the baby find her mother’s breast.
“She’s got it.”
“Don’t stop moving.” Gavin lay down on the daybed and closed his eyes. The stress of having your child cry with evident suffering was more tiring than staying up for days at a time. Internalizing all that emotion of wanting—needing—to soothe the upset of your child would take some getting used to.
“Easy for you to say.”
He threw up his hands. “If I could feed her, I would.”
“Uh huh.”
Gavin opened his eyes in surprise at the mild rebuke. They were both tired and frustrated. It was natural to vent that. Watching Sophie in the low light of the room, he still thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever known—and even more so now. Her blond hair fell around her shoulders as she looked down at their baby. She didn’t stop moving for one second, determined to get Daisy fed. It wasn’t surprising to see her commitment and maternal instincts take over. She had always had this in her.
He got up and moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.
“Lean into me.”
After a moment, she did as he said and the two of them continued to move together t
o make Daisy happy. Soon, however, he could hear Sophie crying quietly.
“What is it, darlin’?”
She sniffled and shook her head.
He didn’t dare stop supporting her as they bounced and swayed which meant he couldn’t see her face. “She’s okay, Sophie. You’re doing everything right.”
“It’s not that.”
“What, then?”
“It’s just—Gavin, we came so close to not having this. And this is the most perfect thing I could ever ask for.”
“It is, you’re right.” He held her tighter and rested his chin on her shoulder so he could stare down at the best thing they had ever done.
“Doesn’t this make you want to have a relationship with your mother now? I mean, this is her first grandchild.”
Gavin closed his eyes at the troubling thought of his mother. It had been just over six months since he’d seen her. They didn’t have any kind of connection and he knew he was at least partly to blame for that. He had avoided her, avoided dealing with everything that came with trying to reconcile with the woman who had abandoned him when he was just seven years old.
“I’m far too tired to talk about this now,” he said with a sigh.
“Just think about it.”
“Sure, I will.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Whenever there was a break in touring or it was finally over, Conor reacted in one of two ways: stir-crazy and restless for the thrill and ego-boost of performing in front of thousands of adoring fans, or eager to revert to his loner tendencies.
Once Felicity had walked out of the studio, it was easy for him to go down the road of solitude. He spent hours playing guitar by himself, getting lost in trying to find the right sound to match his mood. When that only led to frustration, he switched to the piano. He was a proficient pianist, having learned the instrument as a musically gifted child, but it didn’t come to him as naturally as the guitar did. The piece he often tested himself with was Brahms’ Intermezzo, Op. 118, No. 2 in A major. It had subtle variations and long phrasing. The pedal work had to be done lightly, as well, to keep from over-sentimentalizing it. Though he longed to be able to pour himself into the performance, to find the passion between the notes, he wasn’t able to do more than execute it in an unremarkable, if flawless, fashion. At least that’s how it sounded to his ear. Felicity loved when he played and had suggested more than once that he bring a baby grand piano into the house.
She had always supported him, even back in their school days. They were only fourteen when the band was coming together in a serious way, but she was their earliest supporter when others took the piss. Partial to heavy eyeliner, a severe bob haircut, and combat boots worn with everything, she had a don’t-fuck-with-me vibe and fit right in with the boys. They’d gravitated toward each other within their larger group of friends, but he hadn’t thought much of it until he noticed her showing up when he played soccer with a group of kids that didn’t include their usual gang. He’d seen her lingering near the far end of the pitch, pretending to focus on a magazine. Her pretense at disinterest was so complete that she refused to acknowledge Conor waving to her. He shrugged off the episode until she appeared at the next scrimmage. This time, he focused on playing instead of trying to make eye contact with her, but when the session broke up, he dribbled the ball her way. Before she had a chance to come up with some excuse for her presence, he called her name.
Felicity looked up, caught. “Oh, hey.”
He smiled. “Oh, hey you. What are you up to around here?”
“Just killing time.”
“Yeah?”
She shrugged. “My Ma has a new fella. They’ve taken to getting together in the afternoons,” she said, her nose wrinkled in distaste.
Conor—hell, the whole school—knew Felicity’s mother was perpetually on the prowl for a new man. Attractive with a good sense of humor, it was a shame she was so desperate to have someone because her neediness eventually drove suitors away. She took great care with her appearance, and was partial to pencil skirts and red lipstick. All the boys were hot for her. But Felicity had shared enough disparaging comments with Conor that he had no interest in the MILF fantasy.
“I’m headed home. Walk along with me?” he asked.
“Sure, why not?”
They walked side by side through the neighborhood they had grown up in, a middle-class suburb on the Southside of Dublin.
“I can’t wait to get out of here,” Felicity said when a group of boys on bicycles whizzed past them.
“Insufferable, is it?” Her moaning over wanting to leave Ireland had been going on for as long as he could remember. She never really had any complaints about Dublin, rather it was her desire for independence from the mother who, when she wasn’t with a new man, relied too heavily on her.
“On days like today it is,” she admitted.
“What’ll happen with your Da when you fly away?”
“Nothing. More of the same from that one.”
Conor nodded and left the topic. Felicity rarely saw the father who had left years before. He’d run off with another woman and started a new family. His visits with Felicity were sporadic at best.
At his house, they stopped at the walkway to the door.
“Okay, then—” she started at the same time he spoke.
“Fancy a snog?” he asked.
Her mouth dropped open at his suggestion that they make out. Though friendly, they had never even flirted before. But she soon recovered and eyed him with suspicion.
“What, you think the apple doesn’t fall too far, yeah? That I must be just like my Ma?” she asked defensively. “I am not like my mother, you hear me?”
Conor stayed perfectly still, keeping eye contact with her. “Fee, I know that. Just thought it would be fun. But no worries if you’re not up for it.”
She dropped her eyes from his. “Okay, then. As long as it’s understood.”
He smiled and nodded his head toward the door. “Come inside.”
His parents were both at the public school where they worked and wouldn’t be home for almost two hours. He had had girls over for similar requests before. At almost sixteen-years-old, he was tall for his age, and already gaining the features and build of a man. The girls usually chased him, giving him his pick. Because he was so focused on music and had ready options with girls, he didn’t worry about trying to have a girlfriend. It suddenly occurred to him that Felicity might be looking for more than what he was offering and he cringed.
Asking her in wasn’t the brightest idea, he realized too late as she trailed him down the hallway. This could make things awkward not just between them but within their group. Just as he was scrambling for a way to back out of this, she spoke.
“Listen, don’t go thinking this will mean anything, okay?” she said and he turned to her at the doorway of his bedroom. “I am not about having a boyfriend or getting stuck with someone. You may think I’m joking when I say I’m getting out of this country as soon as I can, but I’m not. So, I won’t be letting anything hold me back.”
“Jesus, I’m not after marrying you. Don’t flatter yourself and mistake a snog for a proposal.”
After a moment, her eyes lit up with amusement. “I’m glad we’re agreed. So, kiss me, then.”
He laughed and shook his head. “They’ll be no romance either,” he said in a tone that mocked the one she had used earlier. “Any more rules I should know about?”
She used two hands to push him into his room. He stumbled backward until he sat down heavily on his bed whereupon she straddled his hips.
“Don’t tell a soul about this,” she said and closed her eyes, waiting for him to kiss her.
“Whatever you say, Fee.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and cupped her cheek with his other hand before pressing his lips to hers.
That first episode turned into infrequent others, then gradually it became a more regular friends-with-benefits arrangement. Felicity was careful to remind Cono
r that she didn’t want a real relationship, that she was soon to be leaving Ireland. Conor had no problem agreeing to this. He liked Felicity, enjoyed their time in bed, and was content to leave it at that. But their friendship would always be special because of this connection. So special, in fact, that even after little contact when she’d left the country, and stayed away for over a dozen years, they were able to all too easily rekindle it upon her return.
It had taken Conor a very long time to find his way to Felicity. They felt so good together. There was no way he wouldn’t fight to regain the closeness that had been missing since he’d gotten back from the tour.
Thoughts of her led him to look at his watch. It was almost four in the morning. That realization made him yawn and he stretched his arms over his head. He considered lying down on the sofa but finally dragged himself to his feet, switched off the lights and stepped out of the studio.
He was halfway to the house when he heard footsteps rushing toward him and he reflexively turned and put up his arm, fist clenched.
“It’s only me, tough guy,” Danny Boy said with a grin.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Conor felt a rush of heat fill his chest that he identified as anger but there was probably some fear in it, too. What the fuck was Danny Boy doing on his property at this hour? He must have jumped the fence to get in.
“I thought you’d never come out of there,” Danny Boy continued, nodding at the studio.
The idea that Danny Boy had been lying in wait stoked Conor’s anger and he reach out and push the other man hard in the chest.
Danny Boy stumbled back several steps. And then he laughed. Everything was always a laugh with him.
“What are you fucking doing here?” Conor said, his voice coming out louder than he’d like.
“Calm yourself. I was waiting for you to come out so as not to surprise you but I guess I needn’t have bothered.”
“I’m this close to knocking your fucking teeth out,” Conor said, moving toward him.
Hitting That Sweet Spot Page 9
