Ringer: A New Year's Romance: The Doyles, a Boston Irish Mafia Romance

by Sophie Austin

  I should be spending it with my kid.

  I should be spending it with Alix.

  But one thing’s clear: what’s happened has happened. The only thing I can do now is make the best of it.

  Kids run around in the background, shrieks, and cheers nearly drowning out JJ as he excitedly tells me about a Christmas Eve visit from Santa, his favorite toys. His pixie-like joy over the holidays hasn’t left him, yet.

  I don’t ever remember that kind of joy, but I’m happy this boy has it.

  My ex comes on screen over JJ’s shoulder and gives me a look.

  Time to get going, I guess.

  “Hey, JJ, thanks for calling me, buddy. I’m sorry I can’t be there with you, but I’m thinking of you today. Merry Christmas, have a great day, be good for your mother, and I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” I say, feeling that tightness again.

  JJ’s eyes go between Alyssa and me, and then he speaks.

  “Okay, Dad. Merry Christmas!”

  He’s just about to go when he stops and turns around.

  He gets his entire face into the picture.

  “I love you, Dad,” he says.

  Suddenly, it’s hard to swallow.

  That’s a big-hearted kid that’s not going to be stuck dealing with his parent’s emotional baggage.

  For that, I’m profoundly grateful.

  “I love you too, kid,” I reply.

  He’s off the screen, and Alyssa grabs the tablet.

  “Merry Christmas, Jack.”

  She looks exhausted, dark circles, and all. But she seems happy, and I’m glad for her.

  “Twins,” she says with a shrug at another high-pitched squeal. “It’s chaos here. But good chaos.”

  There’s something in her voice, and before I can speak, she continues.

  “Jack, I wanted to say thank you for letting JJ spend the holiday with us. I know it must be hard for you, and I’ve been thinking recently…” she begins.

  I go to cut her off.

  I don’t want to do this, don’t want to pollute this day more with talk about the past.

  “The timing of what happened – I could have handled that better. Much better. I’m sorry, Jack. I hope you have somewhere amazing to go today,” she says.

  Her eyes focus behind me.

  “Are you at the gym?”

  “Yeah, training for a fight. Getting it out of the way before I go meet some friends. Alyssa, it’s fine. I miss JJ, but you’re a good mom and he’s a great kid. What happened between us, it was for the best,” I tell her.

  It doesn’t feel like a lie, anymore.

  Sometimes doing the right thing is taking on responsibilities fearlessly and seeing them through.

  But sometimes, too, doing the right thing is making the most of the opportunities that you’ve been given and making hard decisions when things weren’t working.

  Not all black and white.

  Shades of gray.

  Alix taught me that.

  After I disconnect with my son, I dial Owen.

  It looks like the Doyles are in some kind of a Christmas wonderland when he flips on the video call. It’s elegant, but way too over-the-top for my tastes.

  “Hey Jack, how’s the nose?” Molly says, ensconced in a giant pink fuzzy robe.

  “Still broken, Red.”

  She grabs milk and moves away, and Owen takes his phone into a quiet room.

  “How you doing, man?”

  I give a tight nod.

  “Good. Gym’s good. Ready for the fight. I’ll buckle down, train more, but it’ll be a good way to ring out the year.”

  “I didn’t ask about the gym, dude,” Owen sounds annoyed.

  “I’m fine.”

  I summarize the situation with Alix, and that the dickhead is in custody.

  “Real piece of work. Looking at some serious jail time, too. Poor Alix.”

  “She does seem to have a thing for hard-headed men,” says Owen.

  Owen just looks at me patiently, waiting, when another voice – a voice from my past – comes from off-screen, just as it hits me that Owen’s talking about me.

  “Give me that phone boy, and you go check on your brothers. Save me some bacon,” grumbles Murphy Doyle. “Close the door on your way out.”

  Still parenting like a badass, then.

  Anything I’d learned about being a decent father I’d observed from this guy.

  “Jackie boy, how you doing? Shooting terrorists and breaking hearts?” he grins an infectious grin.

  I grin back.

  “Something like that, sir. Merry Christmas.”

  I’ve been to see Murphy at the Kildare a dozen times since I’ve been back in Boston. He knows all I’m up to is paperwork and training.

  His tired blue eyes are sharp as ever, but he sounds a little short for air when he laughs.

  “Molly said I was getting coal in my stocking. Got really mad when I told her I’d toss it into my pipe and smoke it,” he chuckles.

  The laughs dissolve into a cough.

  “Owen tells me you have a fight coming up. It’ll be on at the Kildare, of that you can be certain, son,” he brags.

  Pride hits me, and I look away fast, so he doesn’t mistake that for shiny eyes.

  “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”

  “Jack, you’ve never let a soul down in your life,” he says quietly. “Except maybe yourself.”

  Gut punch.

  “Have a good time. Give it your best. And then leave it where it belongs boy, in the past. You ring in a new year and a fresh start, you hear?” he says.

  Sage advice from this man who had been like a second father to me.

  I remember when I’d come to stay with the Doyles for a month after high school.

  My father had gone after me with a 2x4, and I just had to get out of there. I had to figure out my next step.

  Murphy was the one who suggested the military. He’d offered me a job, sitting in the damned office of his that looks exactly the same almost two decades later.

  “You can do more, though, and a place will always be here for you with the Doyles, Jack.”

  “Owen tells me there’s a woman,” he cuts in.

  I make a mental note to give Owen a good slug for that during our next practice.

  “It’s complicated,” I hedge.

  “As if I wouldn’t know a thing about complicated women,” he mutters, rolling an eye towards the door behind him.

  That’s where Owen gets the dry delivery.

  “Her name is Alexandra,” I find myself telling him. “We grew up together. You probably remember her brothers, the Winthrop boys from when you were up on Cape Ann. I’ve always had a thing for her, but the timing never worked out. And I messed things up, overshot it when trying to keep her safe. I don’t want to fuck it up, you know?”

  He just listens.

  I shrug.

  “It’s complicated. She’s not big for emotions, and I overplayed my hand. And look, not least, her brother served under my command, and he died in a training accident. She’s made it clear she doesn’t blame me, but that’s a lot of baggage, a lot of history.” I confess.

  I’m not proud of the strained note in my voice.

  Murph gives a little shrug.

  “Big guy like you, coming up the way you did. Making the kind of life you have. Always having to keep it locked down. What’s the old saying, still waters run deep? There’s going to be a lot there, Jack, always will be. You don’t have to forget it, you just have to respect it, son,” he says.

  I swallow.

  “You say she doesn’t like feelings?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “In my experience, women like that feel the most. Their hearts are just too big for the world sometimes, and you don’t get to see that until you’ve earned that right. Until you’ve earned their trust and promised that you’ll protect that heart no matter what,” he explains.

  Something like uncertainty takes hold.

&n
bsp; The same thoughts had been going through my mind during a long, sleepless night.

  I’d barreled in and not listened to some key things she’d asked me.

  She said herself that she liked to be in control and that it was hard to ask for help.

  Maybe I could build that trust by paying attention and being more careful.

  “She’s got a lot on her plate, sir. Running an animal shelter by herself, always working,” I barely finish before Murphy snorts.

  “Yep, definitely armor on a big heart,” he says.

  I drag a hand across my jaw, listening as the bristles crinkle under my calloused hand.

  Murph clears his throat.

  “Listen, Jack, when I got out from doing time, Kathleen and I crossed paths again. That woman was an angel, too good for me by far. And I’d been best friends with her brother Ronan, and he died fighting next to me in the war,” he says.

  Ronan. They’d named their first-born after her brother that died in battle, then.

  Chills ripple down my arms.

  I had no idea.

  “I thought she’d hold it against me. She didn’t. Sometimes she said I helped keep a piece of Ronan alive,” he coughs. “Don’t know about that, but I know that at a certain point, it wasn’t about him anymore. It was about what’s between a woman and a man. The rest of it’s just noise.”

  I nod.

  “I hear you, sir.”

  He’s rising to his feet, and I’m feeling like a complete idiot.

  “Good. You spend a lot of time thinking about what’s right, boy. It’s who you are, and that’s a good thing. Make sure you’re thinking about what’s right for you and what’s right for that girl, not what’s right for a man that’s been dead for years,” he says, and stifles another cough.

  He sighs.

  “I’ve regretted many things in my life, Jack. Years upon years to think about my mistakes. But I never regretted loving Kathleen, not then and not now. Maybe you’d meet someone else, maybe not. But if life keeps bringing you back together, pay attention. The days get away from you and take it from me, the weeks and the months feel long, but then you blink, and they’re gone,” he coughs.

  I clear my throat, once, hard.

  His sharp eyes come back to the phone and glare.

  “Don’t you choke up on me. Come see me after your fight. Some things to discuss, boy.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Oh, and Jack? Don’t spend all your damn Christmas in that gym.”

  The screen goes black.

  I stand up so fast I knock over the stool I’m sitting on.

  It’s a long drive back up to Cape Ann, but I stop at the rest stop to change and make sure I look presentable.

  Two presents are already wrapped in my backseat, and I grab the biggest Christmas poinsettia plant they have at the roadside stand. I pay extra for the guy to jam together four bouquets of red and white flowers.

  When the big white house comes into view, I think about circling the block.

  But I’m not a man who puts things off.

  Least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

  To be honest, I’ve been less terrified staring down the barrel of a gun.

  I’ve so many memories of this big old white colonial, backdropped by the ocean.

  It’s a bright day, icy cold, with blue waters glittering under a cold winter sun. The house is decorated with lights and greenery, and I’m barely out of the car when the snow that’s been hovering around all day starts to fall.

  Big, fat flakes that won’t amount to much, but they say a New England Christmas better than anything else could.

  I adjust the collar on my shirt and knock once, hard.

  When I go to tap again in a more regular fashion, the door swings open.

  “Merry Christmas, Mr. Winthrop,” I say.

  He’s wearing something straight out of an ugly sweater contest, and Mrs. Winthrop joins him at the door in a matching, if somehow uglier and more sparkly version.

  “Mrs. Winthrop,” I start to say, holding the massive poinsettia in front of me like a shield.

  I count down the seconds until I determine she’s not going to explode.

  Her eyes crinkle, and she gives me a big smile.

  I have a weird sensation that I know what Alix will look like in thirty years. A big part of me is praying she’ll keep me around that long.

  “Jack. Jack, she exclaims with pleasure, taking the plant and shoving it at her husband.

  “Alexandra didn’t think you’d be able to make it. I’m so pleased that you did. It’s so wonderful to see you,” she says, and then she folds me into a hug.

  “We’ve missed you, Jack,” she whispers against my ear.

  Who could have guessed a tiny older woman could hug like a bear?

  I clear my throat as I tentatively return the hug.

  “I’m honored to be here, ma’am.”

  When she looks up at me, there’s an expression that’s reminiscent of her daughter.

  “Jack, I’ve something to say to you. You know, what I said that awful, terrible day…” she starts.

  “Ma’am, you don’t have to say anything,” I say quickly, immediately certain I’ve made a mistake.

  She gives me a look to hush.

  She holds me by one arm and looks me in my eyes.

  “Grief’s a terrible thing, Jack. I’d never blame you, and I hope very much that you know that’s true. Bryan looked up to you so much, and you’ve always been a cherished friend of our family,” she says.

  She gives me another squeeze and then takes the plant.

  I notice she makes no move for the flowers.

  I look at Mr. Winthrop with uncertainty.

  “Do you get bigger every time I see you, Jack?” he says, considering me.

  The sound of footsteps approaches.

  Tanner, Alix’s oldest brother and one of my friends from high school.

  “Jack. How’s it going, buddy? You want an ugly sweater, too?” he laughs.

  Mr. Winthrop looks me over, again, and shakes his head.

  “I don’t think we’ve got a sweater that’ll fit you,” he pronounces.

  “Of course, we do, Dad,” Tanner grins, pulling me into a bro-hug that’s very Tanner.

  It’s hard to imagine that the guy’s a world-famous neurosurgeon.

  “Good to see you, brother. Been too long,” he says, with feeling.

  It has been too long.

  I’d gone out to the West Coast for training a few times, and we’d had drinks. Exchanged an email or text here and there.

  But life and guilt had eroded that friendship.

  Another thing I’ll fix if I get the chance.

  “Hey, Colt,” he calls to his younger brother. Colt is almost our age but one of those perpetually baby-faced guys that’ll look 28 forever. “Look who showed up.”

  Colt grins and then looks at his brother.

  “Do you have the big Grinch sweater somewhere?”

  Colt gives a quick nod and disappears up the stairs.

  Tanner eyes the flowers.

  “For me?”

  Now I’m starting to feel awkward, like there might have been a better way to do this than barging into the middle of her family’s Christmas Day celebration with no warning.

  Tanner just punches me in the arm, wincing when his hand hits muscle.

  “Good thing these are insured,” he quips.

  “She’s in the study, feeding kittens.”

  Of course she is.

  He leads me through the big front hall, through a vast high ceiling living room that’s so tastefully decorated it looks like it’s out of a magazine, and then to a dark-paneled side door that I recognize as Mr. Winthrop’s library.

  Alix is inside, curled up on the floor with a bottle of milk in front of a roaring fire, feeding a kitten that’s so small its eyes are closed.

  She murmurs, encouraging words, so focused that she doesn’t notice us come in at first.

>   “My brothers will say that naming you Holly is cliché, but Noelle, Star, and Yule are taken,” she whispers to the kitten.

  Sure enough, three more kittens are curled into a basket next to her feet.

  “And, Cookie’s not an option.”

  The little dog is panting at her, not paying any attention as I quietly enter.

  “And, why is that, do you suppose?” I say, my voice rumbling across the room.

  I’m not sure if it’s the sound of his name or the sight of me, but I get the greeting I’d been hoping for.

  A shriek of pure joy, throwing itself into my arms, and wet kisses.

  The dog, just not the girl.

  She does look up then, and her eyes widen.

  “Jack.”

  “I’ll let you two catch up,” Tanner says and pulls the door shut behind him.

  Next to us through the French doors, the snow is coming down in earnest by the ocean, and a breathy jazz singer sings about holiday love.

  A happily panting dog, a roaring fire, and a basket of orphaned kittens complete the scene.

  My heart isn’t making it out of this mission intact.

  “These are for you,” I say, sliding the flowers on to the desk, which overflows with books. “But your hands are full.”

  I sit down next to her on the floor, trying to settle my massive body into the small space without disturbing everything around us.

  “That’s a lot of flowers. That’s like nine bouquets in one,” She fights back a smile.

  “Yeah, the get-it-right manual said that Operation “Admit You’re an Ass” started with as many flowers as you can afford,” I say, seriously.

  She lets out a surprised laugh, and something in my chest eases.

  If I can make her laugh, I might get through this.

  But just as I go to speak, I see it.

  On a shelf, just next to the door.

  Photos in frames, the same as you would find in any house.

  A history of their family.

  I look closer. There’s a lot of pictures of Bryan.

  A photo of him playing sports.

  Another one of the whole family when he graduated basic.

  And, to my surprise, one I even had myself, of he and I in fatigues, faces dirty, grinning at the camera.

  Seeing that picture here, in this space and this moment makes it hard to breathe.

  Alix watches me, and then gently points to another shelf.