Wild Devotion

by Mari Carr

  Padraig knocked again. Louder this time. She sat up, wincing. Her neck was wicked stiff, and she could still feel the dull ache left behind from yesterday’s migraine.

  No. Not a migraine.

  A tumor.

  “Open the door, Mia, or I’m calling 9-1-1.”

  She slowly stood, her legs weak, wobbly.

  She made herself cross the room and unlock the door, pulling it open.

  Mia didn’t have to check a mirror to know how bad she looked. She got a good enough sense of the damage through Padraig’s frowning expression.

  “Are you okay?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. I’m dying.”

  Padraig’s eyes darkened at the bitterness in her voice. “Yeah. I heard that. Thing is, I’m pretty sure you’re not dying today. So go get a shower.”

  Now it was Mia’s turn to frown. While Padraig had pledged friendship, they were nowhere near the point in their relationship where he could feel comfortable enough to tell her what to do.

  “Excuse me?”

  Padraig was smart enough to take heed. Rather than reply, he stepped inside and closed the door.

  She’d spent the first couple of days, sitting around in a numb state of denial. This morning, she’d woken up pissed off at the world. In fact, her train was currently parked at the station of fiery outrage. Her anger was looking for an outlet, and since he was the only one here…

  He glanced around the room and she followed suit. Mainly because she wasn’t sure what he was going to see. The fog that had surrounded her for days was only just beginning to lift.

  It was as if she’d decorated the dimly lit room to match her outfit. Tissues were strewn across every piece of furniture, along with half-empty water bottles. She’d had more success in emptying the wine bottles. There were three—that she could see—lying on their sides next to the couch. Given the fact the only visible glasses she could see were the ones she and Padraig had used Friday night, it was safe to say she’d chugged her alcohol straight from the bottle.

  There was a bottle of pills on the coffee table, the contents scattered across the dusty surface. And the couch was in a state of complete disarray, covered with crumpled blankets and three pillows that looked like they’d seen twelve rounds in the ring with a heavyweight champ.

  Glancing down at herself, she decided the room probably looked better. She was still in the clothes she’d been wearing on Friday. The shirt was wrinkled, stained with red wine and beyond saving. Her pants hadn’t fared much better.

  She ran a hand through her hair, but her fingers got stuck in the matted mess about two inches deep, and she had to give up on the quick finger brush.

  “It’s funny,” she said, her voice sounding rough, hoarse from too many days of loud sobbing. “I used to be afraid of the dark. I’d wake up in the dead of night and panic.”

  “What would you do?”

  “Call out for my grandma. She’d come in, and the first thing she always did was turn on the light. She’d tell me to look around, so I could see there was nothing there in the dark that wasn’t there in the day. She would tell me there were no monsters lurking, not in the dark or in the light. She was wrong. There are monsters everywhere.”

  “I should have come by sooner,” Padraig said at last. “I thought maybe you’d want some time to yourself. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  She was taken aback by the guilt, the self-recrimination in his tone.

  “You’re not responsible for me,” she said, trying to soften her words. She failed. Everything she said sounded like an accusation, which was ridiculous. What she said was true. Padraig, despite his vow of friendship, was basically a stranger.

  Story of her life. She’d wasted her entire twenty-six years of existence, hanging out with strangers, never managing to form any close or lasting attachments. That was the one thing that kept coming back to her all weekend.

  She was completely and utterly alone. And she had no one to blame for that but herself.

  “Give me your hand,” Padraig said, holding his out. His voice was quiet, gentle, and she responded to it before she could consider her actions.

  The moment her fingers touched his, a sense of peace washed through her. He’d held her hand Friday night, and now, like then, the simple gesture relaxed her, gave her comfort.

  “Can I be brutally honest with you?”

  She nodded, her anger fading fast.

  “If your doctor’s diagnosis is right, we don’t have the time we need to let this friendship grow naturally. That means we’re going to have to start somewhere in the middle. Going to have to pretend we’ve known each other for years, rather than months. I went all through school with this girl, Kelli. We’ve been best friends since second grade. If I’m acting like a jackass, she has no trouble calling me out for it. And if I think she’s doing something dangerous, I give her the what for. You can do that with people you’ve been friends with forever because the relationship is solid. Kelli has seen me pissed off, brokenhearted and drunk as a skunk. I’ve seen her in full-out bitch mode, I endured her brief skanky phase in tenth grade, and I’ve returned that drunk-as-a-skunk favor and held her hair while she threw up after she’s gotten wasted.”

  Mia grinned. “I’d like to meet Kelli. She sounds pretty cool.”

  “I’ll introduce you.” Then he continued to explain what was on his mind. “My point is, you and I don’t have a shared history. And we might not have the luxury of time…”

  Mia scoffed, even though she liked how he kept saying “might.” She’d seen the X-rays and she knew it wasn’t a “might” or an “if,” but there was something very comforting about the fact that he hadn’t written her off yet.

  She wished she could muster that same determination. Dig deep and find some sort of positive in this. Or at the very least, the energy to make her final days count for something.

  Unfortunately, she wasn’t there.

  For the past few days, she’d tossed and turned on her couch, cursed God and Buddha, her mother, her sperm donor, and pretty much every other asshole who had ever looked through her rather than at her. At her lowest point, she’d taunted God to just go ahead and fucking kill her. Why bother with six months? What was he waiting for?

  The worst part was…she still felt that way. Going through the motions, dealing with the worsening headaches, waiting and wondering if today was going to be the day she died, seemed like too much damn work for absolutely no reward.

  What the hell did she have to live for?

  It took her a few minutes to realize Padraig had stopped talking. She looked into his eyes and read the concern there.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You’ve already given up. You want to die now.”

  She flushed, wondering if Padraig could somehow read minds. Then she recalled his ability to read faces, to look at a person and know if they were sad or angry or…praying for death. For four months, she’d watched him ask all the right questions at the bar whenever a patron came in and ordered a drink.

  She gave him the truth because she had nothing else left to lose at this point. “It would be a lot easier.”

  “I’m not letting you take the easy way out.”

  It occurred to her now how the room must really look to him—the drawn shades, the empty wine bottles, the spilled pills. “I didn’t…I mean, I’m not planning to kill myself. I just think it would be easier if this tumor did whatever the fuck it’s going to do, and…”

  Padraig squeezed her hand, then used his hold to tug her closer. He was a tall guy, with broad shoulders and a muscular build that sent the message he could definitely take care of himself in a fight. When their faces were just a few inches away, she saw the fierce determination in his gaze.

  “From now on, I’m going to talk to you like I would Kelli. We’ve been friends forever.”

  She wished that were true. Maybe her life would have turned out differently if she’d ever let someone get as close as Padraig had le
t Kelli.

  “So as your forever friend, I’m putting my foot down. The pity party ends now. You’re going to get a shower while I clean up this mess. You’re going to put on some makeup, fix your hair, and then I’m taking you over to the pub for a hot meal. Maybe three hot meals. From the looks of you, I’d say you haven’t eaten anything in days. And then you and I are going to make some plans for the future.”

  “That shouldn’t take too long.” Every time she thought the bitterness was under control, it found a way to seep out again.

  “You get one of those a day. And that’s it.”

  Mia grinned, completely enthralled by his heavy-handedness. No one had ever cared about her enough to tell her off, to put her in her place. The second anyone got too close, she backed away, made sure she was gone before they got too deep.

  By skipping the trust-building phase, Padraig was thrusting her beyond her fears. Putting her in a place where the trust was assumed. Strangely, it wasn’t freaking her out.

  “What’s the special tonight?” she asked, her stomach confirming what he’d just said. Now that he’d promised her food, she was starving.

  “Lamb stew.”

  Her stomach rumbled again, the return of her appetite sudden and painful.

  “I’ll hurry.” She started toward the hall, but stopped at the sound of him picking up the wine bottles. “You don’t have to clean up. I can do that later.”

  “It’ll give me something to do while I wait.”

  She attempted to stare him down, but Padraig turned away and continued tidying. He clearly wasn’t the type of man to obey any order he didn’t agree with.

  Mia locked herself in the bathroom, peeling off the clothes she’d worn for too long, dumping the entire outfit in the trash, and then climbing under the hot water.

  The heat and steam and soothing jets worked out the tiny bit of tension remaining. Padraig had taken care of the rest of her anxieties with his take-charge attitude.

  She gave her hair and makeup a lick and a promise because hunger was winning the war against vanity. Padraig had done wonders with her living room, the place put back together perfectly by the time she returned. He’d opened the shades, allowing the last rays of sunlight in as afternoon gave way to evening. He’d taken the environment from dreary cave to cozy home once more.

  “Ready?”

  She nodded, pulled on her coat and accepted his outstretched hand. Holding his hand was starting to feel normal in addition to nice.

  They talked about a whole lot of nothing on their way to the pub. She told him a little bit more about her work and he filled her in on the latest hockey scores. It did indeed look like his Caps were heading to the Stanley Cup playoffs. Of course, so were her Blackhawks. They were still trash-talking when they entered the pub.

  Monday night was typically one of her usual nights at Pat’s. Mainly because, like most everyone in the world, she hated the beginning of the work week, and she was tired at the end of the day. Plus, Mondays were slower at Pat’s, so the fact she was eating alone week after week was obvious to fewer people.

  She started to walk to her usual stool, but Padraig tugged on her hand, guiding her to a table right in the middle of the room. Mia smiled as she sat in the chair he pulled out for her. “Sorry. Habit.”

  He grinned at her. “Thought the table might be more private. My dad is manning the bar tonight and he’s a terrible eavesdropper. Plus, Pop Pop is here to watch the game and he’s nosier than an old woman. I suspect he’ll be over soon under the guise of ‘just saying hello’.”

  “Should I prepare myself for the Spanish Inquisition?”

  Padraig shook his head. “No. I don’t think it’ll be anything as serious as that. He already knows the worst about you.”

  Mia’s smile faded. “Oh.”

  Padraig sighed. “I wasn’t talking about the tumor. I mean, he does know about that, but I was actually referring to your misplaced devotion to the Blackhawks.”

  Mia laughed, startling herself with the loudness and the actual joy behind it.

  “My family sort of operates on a hive mind and a hive heart. I talked to my mom about your health concerns and it snowballed from there. Which means…they all know and they’re all worried about you.”

  She tilted her head, confused. “They don’t even know me.”

  Padraig seemed as flummoxed by her response as she was his. “You can’t feel empathy or concern for strangers? Hell, I wouldn’t even call you a stranger. When I mentioned your name, my dad and Pop Pop both knew exactly who you were, that you were from Chicago. That you were pretty and sweet.”

  She blushed at his compliment. “Is charm a Collins’ trait as well?”

  “It certainly is, young lady.”

  Mia and Padraig looked up, both trying not to laugh as his Pop Pop stood next to the table.

  “That didn’t take long,” Padraig muttered.

  “Patrick Collins,” the older gentleman said, reaching out to shake her hand. “But you can call me Pat or Pop Pop.”

  “Pop Pop?” she asked. “I don’t think—”

  “Actually, I think I prefer that. So scratch the Pat part. You will call me Pop Pop.”

  Mia wasn’t sure how to respond to yet another heavy-handed male. She would have thought that character trait a defect in a man, but somehow the Collins men made it feel appealing, and in Padraig’s case—God help her—sexy.

  Maybe her problem dealing with men in this situation was her upbringing. Her adult role models growing up had all been female. Hell, even her boss was a woman. She lacked experience in the Y chromosome world.

  “It’s very nice to meet you,” she said.

  “Padraig tells us you’re from Chicago.”

  She nodded. “Yes. Born and raised.”

  “And you’ve moved to Baltimore because of a job opportunity?”

  “I’m opening a satellite office for the company I’ve been working for the past five years. It’s an office supply store. My boss is an amazing woman, very driven and savvy. She started out with one office, but now she has two branches in Chicago, one in Atlanta, and this one in Baltimore.”

  “She must think very highly of you and your work.”

  Mia blushed and shrugged. “I guess.”

  “No guessing about it. I like a person who isn’t afraid to roll up their sleeves and work hard.”

  Mia smiled. The Collins men weren’t shy when it came to giving compliments. Before she could reply, Padraig’s dad appeared.

  “You interrupting Padraig’s date, Pop?”

  Mia started to correct the man about this being a date, but Padraig spoke first.

  “Dad, this is Mia. Mia, this is my dad, Tristan.”

  “Hello, Mr. Collins,” she said.”

  “Tris,” Padraig’s dad corrected her. “Can I get the two of you something to drink?”

  “I’ll have a Guinness. Thanks. Mia?”

  She typically drank white wine, but she liked the idea of trying something different tonight. “I think I’ll have the same.”

  Tris appeared impressed as he turned to get their drinks.

  “A Guinness girl, eh?” Mr. Collins was smiling at her, and she felt her fondness for the older man growing with each passing minute.

  “I’ve actually never had it.”

  “You’ll love it. Who knows? Taste of Irish goodness might clear your head and help you to see the light about those damn Blackhawks. Tsk tsk tsk. And, with that, I’ll leave you two to your date.”

  Mia shook her head. “Oh, no. It’s not like that. We’re just…” She didn’t bother to finish her sentence because Mr. Collins was already gone, settling back onto his stool at the bar, his gaze glued to the beginning of the hockey game.

  Tris returned with their drinks, but like Pop Pop, he was clearly distracted by the game. He set the beers down with a quick “enjoy” and was back at the bar within seconds.

  “Your family is very nice.”

  “Thanks.”


  She sort of expected Padraig to follow suit with his dad and Pop Pop and start watching the game. After all, he was a die-hard fan as well, and it was his beloved Caps playing. She was pleasantly surprised to discover all his attention was on her.

  “We could move over to the bar if you wanted to watch the game with them. I don’t mind.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve seen a million hockey games in my life, Mia. This one can go on without me. I actually brought you here so that we could—”

  “Hey, Paddy.”

  They looked up to discover yet another relative next to the table.

  Padraig sighed. “Mia, this is my aunt Riley. And,” he paused for three seconds as a beautiful dark-haired woman approached as well, “my aunt Keira.”

  He looked over their shoulders as if searching for someone. “Where’s Mom?”

  Riley grinned. “Sitting over on Sunday’s Side. We thought it might be annoying if we all just swooped around you at the same time.”

  Padraig rolled his eyes as Mia laughed.

  “Hey, Mom,” he called out loudly.

  A head peeped around the corner, and Mia stood slowly as Padraig’s mother walked over to their table.

  “Mia, this is Lane,” Riley said, taking over the introductions.

  Mia hoped there wasn’t a test later. She stretched out her hand, but Lane bypassed it, drawing her into a warm embrace.

  “Padraig has filled me in on just a bit of what the doctor told you. I know your next appointment is tomorrow afternoon. I was thinking the two of us could go out to lunch beforehand and make a list of the questions you have.”

  Mia blinked rapidly, surprised by the sudden wash of tears. She was touched by the kindness being shown to her tonight. “That would be nice, but I don’t mean to monopolize so much of your day.”

  Lane waved away her concern. “We’re going to get the answers we need, Mia. After the consultation, we’ll come back here and figure out our next course of action. Okay?”

  The more Padraig’s family offered to help her, the more Mia realized she never would have been able to do all of this on her own. “I’m not sure how to thank you—”