Her concern made Shay smile, even as he told himself it didn’t mean anything. She was with someone else.
“Let’s just say you’ll be hearing all about it in the media before too long,” he told her. “It’s a bit of a disaster. I think Gav might be here now to kick me out of the band.”
He didn’t really think that. In fact, he was pretty sure that Gavin showing up in a jovial mood, ready to drink with him, meant just the opposite.
“That will happen over my dead body, Seamus,” Gavin said. “Who are you on the phone with anyway?”
“Jess, I should let you go,” Shay told her. He saw Gavin smile and wink at him before he turned away. “It really was good to hear your voice. I’m glad you’re well. Really, I am. Your happiness means a great deal to me.”
“I, um, well, okay.”
Her flummoxed reply made him smile again. Buoyed by Gavin’s unconditional support for him, he was emboldened to tell Jessica how he felt. “For what it’s worth, I think I still love you.”
After a pause, she said, “Shay . . . .”
“I know. I know, Jess. Thanks for taking my call.” He ended the call, feeling unwarranted optimism about reconnecting with Jessica. She hadn’t given him any reason for it, but he still felt in his gut that he had a chance.
~
Gavin’s energy was similar to Danny Boy’s, only his non-stop talking didn’t have the same frenetic and self-indulgent tone. They stayed up most the night talking and drinking while Shay iced his wrist. They spent a while going over what they could remember of Rick Allen, the drummer for Def Leppard who had lost his arm in a car accident. He had worked with engineers to create a hybrid drum kit that included electronic drums to allow him to continue playing with the band.
“You know what I always wondered about that whole thing?” Gavin asked.
“What?”
“Do you think he had to learn to wank with the other hand?”
Shay laughed and it felt good. Having Gavin here to help pass the time was exactly what he needed.
Gavin tried to convince Shay that the disruption of the tour wasn’t a big deal, and that he was actually happy to have this break forced upon him because it meant he would get to spend more time with his daughter. He didn’t show an ounce of anger over it and Shay was grateful.
“What about Conor, though? What’ll I do with him?” Shay asked and tipped back another shot of vodka. He felt drunker than he had been in ages. The numbness was seductive, and he again had a slight window into the kind of escape drugs offered his brother. And Gavin, for that matter. At least, it had been Gavin’s escape for a time.
“Jesus, did you see that punch? It was beautiful,” Gavin said with a laugh. “It would have to be with that pretty bastard, wouldn’t it?”
It was nice that Gavin was amused by it all, but Shay couldn’t stop worrying about the consequences. “I’ve never seen him that angry.”
“Yeah, well, he will get over it.”
“Will he?”
Gavin thought about it for a long moment. “If not, we’ll just send Sophie to talk to him, will we?”
Shay grimaced at that. When he had asked Sophie to intervene, he’d thought about how it would look to Felicity. He hadn’t thought how it might feel for Gavin, but he should have. Gavin had sought Shay’s counsel after finding out about Sophie and Conor, and he understood how their brief affair had devastated Gavin.
“Shite. I’m sorry about that, Gav,” Shay said.
Gavin waved him off. “It’s fine, Seamus. I understand why you reached out. I’m not upset about it. This . . . thing between them is something that will probably always be there. But I have no doubt that she’ll always be mine. Do you know why?”
“Tell me.” Shay knew Gavin wouldn’t hold back. The vodka would only magnify his confessional nature. Gavin’s tendency to expose his wounds, to put them on display, had never embarrassed him. And hell, with his ability to pour all that into song, it had made them all millionaires.
“Since we got back together, she has never once looked back,” Gavin said. “She’s never doubted me or brought up all the things I did to hurt her. She’s one hundred percent committed to moving forward with me. That is what I remind myself,” he said, slurring his words, “whenever I see her with Conor. Whenever they can’t hide the fact that they—”
Shay had to look away as Gavin cut himself off and worked to regain some composure. He knew what Gavin was going to say. He was going to say, Whenever they can’t hide the fact that they were in love with each other. And might always be.
“What I mean to say,” Gavin continued, “is no matter how hard it sometimes feels, I owe her the same commitment she’s giving me. All I’ve ever wanted is her. I won’t fuck things up again.”
Shay refilled Gavin’s glass, then his own. “Sláinte to that.”
Gavin knocked glasses with him and downed the shot.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The house was quiet when Conor got home. He wasn’t surprised. Felicity was at the Rogue offices in Dublin’s Docklands business district, managing the fallout from Danny Boy’s spectacular fuckup. There were GIFs circulating the internet far and wide of both his crash into Shay and Conor’s punch knocking him down. So far, the narrative Felicity and James had been pushing was that Conor didn’t recognize Danny Boy in the rush to help his bandmate and that his response was a natural instinct to protect him. Harder to explain was Conor kicking Danny Boy while he was down.
Conor didn’t care what people thought. He was still too pissed about the whole thing to revert back to his usual desire to see the best media coverage possible for the band. This episode was worse than anything he had feared. Now with Shay injured and unable to play for weeks, he could only stew in his anger. Anger at Danny Boy, and Shay, and Sophie, and Felicity. And Gavin didn’t get off either. They had all acted like he was overreacting and unnecessarily rigid. But he had been right. Unfortunately, being right about Danny Boy did him no good.
Hitting him sure as hell felt good, though. Landing that punch was the release of so much more than his anger at Danny Boy. It was also a way to exorcise his unprocessed anxiety leftover from the months when Gavin recklessly headed down the wrong path. He hadn’t contemplated until now just how Gavin’s near self-destruction affected him. The depth of his delayed reaction surprised him.
Looking down, he clenched his hand and released it. It ached from hitting Danny Boy with a full-force punch. Felicity’s first question when they spoke late the night before was whether he had broken his hand. He thought it was concern for him and his ability to play guitar. But it turned out her query stemmed from a professional rather than personal concern. She needed to know what she could tell the press since they had started hounding her as soon as the first clips of the incident hit Twitter and Instagram.
His hand would be fine. Shay, however, had left France early to meet with an orthopedic surgeon in London at the insistence of the band’s insurance company. The initial prognosis of a six-week plaster cast followed by a few more weeks of recovery would likely stand.
When Gavin told them all at a late breakfast at the hotel that morning that he and Shay had stayed up most the night drinking and talking, Conor waited to hear that Danny Boy had been officially dismissed from the tour. Gavin had no such news. It wasn’t because Danny Boy would be allowed to stay, but that no one had bothered to make it official. They assumed he’d blown his last chance. Rather than make a big deal out of it, they would quietly revoke his access and stop sending him the band’s tour itinerary.
That missed confrontation took the satisfaction out of it for Conor. He wanted to see Danny Boy’s face when he was kicked out. He wanted vindication.
Not that it would change a damn thing. Conor sighed and looked out at his sea view where big white clouds hovered over the water. The day was bright and beautiful, and he suddenly had no obligations. Maybe he and Felicity could go off somewhere and reconnect. Somewhere warm where very little clothing was required.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
“So, what will you do with yourself?” Shay asked.
“What do you mean?”
Shay watched his brother. Sitting in the man cave with a soccer game on in the background, Danny Boy fidgeted, one leg bouncing ceaselessly, while he aggressively picked at his cuticles and wiped the blood from the torn skin. He looked like every part of his body itched from the inside out. It had been four days since the night he broke Shay’s wrist, and this restlessness had progressively gotten worse.
“Without the tour to occupy you,” Shay continued.
“Oh, that. I dunno. Got a call from one of my mates, though. He’s got some sort of fishing gig taking tourists out. He wants me to come out and help. Could be a good time.”
“Where’s this?”
“The States. Florida.”
“That could be interesting,” Shay said cautiously.
“Yeah, I figure I can do that for the summer. Then come back and meet up with you once the tour starts again.”
“You know that’s not gonna happen, Danny Boy.”
Danny Boy looked up from his nails. “Because of Conor? We convinced him once, we can do it again. He has to know I didn’t bleedin’ set out to hurt you.”
“It’s not just because of Conor.” Shay left it at that, not wanting to have to explain his position further.
“Well, then? What is it?”
“Maybe you’ll really like this fishing gig, yeah?”
“I liked my lighting gig just fine.”
“There’s no more chances with the tour. You have to understand that.” It’s not a risk I’m willing to take, he thought but didn’t say out loud.
Danny Boy met his eyes for a long moment, the relentless fidgeting suddenly gone. “That’s it, then, huh, kid? Giving up on your own brother? What? Because you’re scared of Conor?”
“I’m not scared of Conor.” Conor himself didn’t scare him, but he was scared that forcing the issue of having Danny Boy around would put him in the untenable position of having to choose between his brother and his band.
“Then, just tell him that there’s no discussion. I’m part of the package deal with you, amn’t I, Shay?
These past six months had been the first time in their adult lives they had spent significant time together. In bringing his brother into the band’s world, Shay felt responsible for steering him away from temptation. He had been successful for months, but Danny Boy’s recent poor impulse control and bad decision-making was clear regression. Shay could no longer tell where the line was between aiding him and enabling him. Jessica had labeled it codependence, but he hadn’t seen it that way at the time. In his mind, his brother needed help and he couldn’t refuse him. No matter what that meant he had to give up in the process. Conor called him on taking care of Danny Boy at his own expense. Shay wanted to make everyone happy.
“Would it make you feel better if I said we’ll revisit all this after summer?” he asked. This seemed like a harmless bit of hope to offer him. In all likelihood, Danny Boy would get distracted by something else well before the band ever met up again.
Danny Boy lit up. “Ay, it would. Because that means you’re giving me a fighting chance, right?”
“Something like that,” Shay replied with a weary smile.
“I could do with, em, some starter money. Just to get me going.”
“Yeah, sure. You know I’ve always got you covered.”
“Grand. Hey, how about you come with? At least for a holiday? You got nothing going on here anyway.”
That was unfortunately true. Shay now sported a cast and had no real obligations. Well, except for that thing he had been avoiding—a conversation with Conor. Beyond that, he had been thinking of making a trip to the States himself.
“Sure, I could go that way with you. Stop off for a few days before getting over to California,” he said.
“What’s there?”
Shay surprised himself with not only what he said next but with how confident he sounded. “The girl I’m going to win back, Danny Boy. The girl I’m going to win back.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
It had taken convincing, but Conor finally got Felicity to agree to go away with him. She had been caught up in the whirlwind of media demands for several days after the Main Square Festival debacle, and hesitated to allow herself any break.
They had bickered over her inability to pick up and go, as she told him, “As your media manager, I have responsibilities—”
“I don’t want a media manager, I want my girlfriend,” he said stubbornly.
“You know I wouldn’t have to put you off if you hadn’t done something as immature as start a schoolyard fight in the middle of a concert in front of thirty thousand people.”
“Don’t start that bullshit,” he replied. She had accused him of immaturity before and it had never sat well, even though deserved.
Her tone softened when she said, “Just let me be your employee for a bit longer so I can handle what I’m already knee-deep in.”
“Fine. Okay. I get it.”
When interest in Rogue’s latest scandal subsided in favor of some a story involving a public fight between Kanye West and Kim Kardashian, Felicity handed off her duties to her staff.
~
Conor chose to take Felicity to Formentera, an unspoiled part of the Balearic Islands of Spain, for their first vacation together. The first part of the trip was an easy, three-hour plane ride to Ibiza. Known as a tourist hotspot for its nightclub and electronic music scene, Ibiza was just a pit stop for them and where they caught a ferry to Formentera.
The short journey set a relaxing tone as they skimmed across deep blue waters. As the coastline crowded with hotels receded, Conor watched Felicity standing at the white railing of the open deck. Seeing her hair whip around in the wind and the sun shine on her pale skin brought forth a strong sense of déjà vu. He had imagined a similar view not long ago, when he was with his ex-fiancée in Greece and fighting the idea that he had made a mistake in getting engaged. Felicity had seeped into his thoughts then and hadn’t left since. He joined her, placing his hands next to hers on the railing and pressed his body against hers. She leaned into him in return, and he smiled. The tension between them was loosening already.
~
When the ferry docked at the harbor, they retrieved a prearranged Range Rover and navigated their way past tourists weaving precariously on rented scooters. The 12-mile long, sun-soaked island was lined with white sand beaches and calm, translucent waters, providing welcome serenity and escape.
Their south-facing hillside villa offered a bird's-eye view of lush Mediterranean vegetation leading down to the sea. Though small, it offered luxurious comfort with an emphasis on neutral shades and a focus on the views.
Conor set their things down in the living room and eyed the bottle of Perrier-Jouet Grand Brut champagne on ice waiting on the coffee table along with a box of Valrhona chocolates.
“That’s a good start,” Felicity said with a smile.
“I’ll open it,” he told her.
“It’s only one o’clock. I was going to check emails.”
“It’s time to relax, honey. No emails, no phone calls.”
She nodded non-committally, and he was disappointed she wasn’t able to completely switch gears now that they were here. He didn’t understand what could keep her tied to work when they had arrived in paradise. Popping the champagne open, he poured two flutes to the top and handed her one.
“Let’s check out the back garden,” he told her.
The wood framed glass doors had been opened in preparation for their arrival by the same discreet staff who had left the champagne and chocolate. They stepped out onto the patio and found a rustic wood dining table shaded by a twinkle light-wrapped pergola.
"See that trail there?” He pointed to a path lined with lemon trees and rosemary bushes.
“Yes.”
“Takes you down to a private beach. Then,
over there is a shower to rinse off after.” He pointed in the opposite direction. “Or, if you fancy a soak you’ve got a tub there. And back that way is one of those little plunge pools to cool off in.”
“You’re pretty proud of yourself, aren’t you?” she asked with a smile.
“I wanted this to feel special, Fee.”
She nodded, this time with conviction. “This is what I would call perfect,” she said as she surveyed the ocean view.
Draping his arm around her neck, he took in a deep breath and let it and his worries out at the same time. “Indeed. The perfect antidote to all the bullshit of the last few weeks.”
She leaned into him and he held her tighter.
“Do you want to stick around here or check out the beach? Swimsuits are discouraged,” he said with eyebrows suggestively raised.
“Nude beach?”
“When in Formentera, honey,” he said, adapting the when in Rome expression.
“I’ll do it if you promise me something.”
He grinned. “Whatever you’d like.”
“No shaving the whole time we’re here. I want to see a scruffy face on you.”
“Such a hard bargain, Fee,” he said with mock reproach. “I’ll take you up on it.”
~
The day's swimming and hot weather left Conor and Felicity feeling both sunbaked and famished by the time they sat down at the outdoor dining table for dinner. The nearly invisible staff had prepared a simple meal of fresh, locally sourced grilled fish and vegetables before departing.
“Do you think there were any paparazzi with telephoto lenses out there?” Felicity asked, only now thinking of the possibility. Conor had been photographed at long-range like that during his trip to Greece the year before with his supermodel fiancée, and the tabloids had gleefully posted the images of their half-naked bodies on their covers. This time he had gone nude, but Felicity had kept her bikini bottoms on despite his playful protests about her reneging on their bargain.
Hitting That Sweet Spot Page 19
