Irish Kiss Page 11

  He raised a thick eyebrow at me. “Are you seeing anyone else?”

  I shuffled in my chair. “No.”

  “Have you even fucked anyone else since her?”

  I winced. Sometimes Declan could be so crude. “No.”

  “Jesus, brother, it’s been almost three years since you kicked her out.”

  I let out a groan. “I’m still married.”

  Declan let out a snort. “Technically.”

  “Not technically, literally.”

  “That’s because the Irish marriage law is fucked and they won’t let you get divorced unless you’ve been separated for four years.”

  I rubbed my face. “So you can ask me again in a year when I’m a single man.”

  “Jesus Christ, Diarmuid, are you actually going to go four fucking years without getting laid?”

  “You sound like it’s the end of the world.”

  “It would fucking be for me. Jesus Christ, my dick would fall off.”

  “What would all your ringside bitches do then?” I muttered under my breath. Louder I said, “That’s the difference between you and me. I don’t need to get laid.”

  “Bull-fucking-shit. You’re a grumpy fucking shite ’cause you’re not getting laid. It’s practically a medical condition what you’ve got.”

  Trust Declan to view sex as a pill he had to take daily. Or hourly…if the rumours in all the papers were true.

  “Come on, mate,” he said. “I have a fight here in a few weeks, I’ll get ye a ticket, introduce you to a few fine gals.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Thought you were happily married, brother.”

  He grinned and held up his left hand where the huge platinum ring glinted off his ring finger. He’d recently gotten hitched to an American model in Las Vegas, of all places. How very cliché of him.

  “Still am. That’s why I need to throw the groupies your way. That’s the kind of friend I am.”

  “No, thanks. I don’t need your scraps.”

  That’s what I’d been accepting for those years that I’d been with Ava. Scraps. Scraps of her love. Scraps of her attention. I was done playing second best. If I was ever going to get married again, it’d be for the right reasons. With a woman who made me feel like a lifetime wouldn’t be enough. With a woman who looked at me like I was the centre of her world. And she would be mine.

  Declan shook his head. “Brennan, you’ve been with the same damn woman for the last six fucking years. Don’t you think it’s time you got out there and had a bit of fun? Let a few more women get a ride on the Diarmuid train before you shackle yourself up to a station again.”

  I snorted. “I am not a train.”

  Declan shook his head. “That bitch has fucked with your head. Made you feel unworthy. Dude, you know I’d do ye, if I were a chick.”

  “Dex!”

  “What?” he gulped down the rest of his beer. “I am comfortable with my masculinity. I can say shit like that and not feel like my manhood is threatened.”

  Declan had very different ideas about fidelity and sex. I knew that his new wife and he have invited other parties into their bedroom, including other men. Not my cup of tea, but whatever floated his boat.

  I shook my head. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  A phone buzzed with a message and this time it was Declan’s. He looked at it and grinned. “I gotta run. The missus calls.”

  “Go. You’ve worn out your welcome anyways.”

  He laughed. “Good to see you too, asshole.”

  We both stood and hugged, slapping each other’s backs.

  He sent a soft punch to my shoulder. “You’re coming to my fight. I’m not taking no for an answer. You couldn’t come for years ’cause that bitch wouldn’t let ye. Now you’re not with her, you’ve got no bloody excuse.”

  He was right. I needed to be a supportive friend. Declan had done so well for himself in the last few years. He’d reached his potential. Unlike me.

  I nodded, forcing a smile. “Alright. I’ll come, then.”

  He grinned as if he’d won. “I’ll send ye two tickets. Bring a date. A woman, Diarmuid. One you’d like to fuck.”

  For some reason Saoirse popped into my head. I shoved that inappropriate thought away and wouldn’t allow myself to dwell on it.

  21

  ____________

  Saoirse

  I was not nervous about meeting Diarmuid again.

  I repeat, I was not nervous about meeting Diarmuid again.

  And just to be clear, I didn’t put on a touch of makeup for him. I didn’t just spend two friggin’ hours trying to pick out what to wear because I wanted to look good for him. I didn’t give two shits what he thought of me.

  Yeah, right.

  I sat in the waiting room chair at the reception of the Limerick Garda station, playing with the hem of my shirt. My hands were clammy so I had to keep rubbing them on my skinny jeans. I was supposed to be here for my four o’clock weekly “catch-up” with him. But it was already ten past four and he still hadn’t come down. The bastard was late. He had never been late for me before.

  Things change.

  “Saoirse?” I jolted as his deep, so masculine voice saying my name sent a shiver down my spine.

  Stupid body. Stupid reaction.

  I turned to him—damn him, he looked so good in a black leather jacket over a white t-shirt stretched across his pecs—and stood, forcing the most bored, uncaring look I could on my face. I wouldn’t even mention his tardiness. I wouldn’t let him know that I cared.

  “You’re late.” It just slipped out, I swear.

  His beautiful face cracked. “Sorry, Saoirse, my previous assignment went overtime.”

  His previous assignment. One of his other kids.

  When I was a thirteen it felt like I had been his only one. Guess that was a lie.

  I guess I was no longer his favourite.

  I shoved aside the stab in my gut and shrugged to cover up my hurt. I didn’t care. I didn’t, okay?

  “Whatever. Let’s get this over with.”

  He directed me to another one of those living room-style rooms. They had glass mirrors looking out into the station, but you could close the blinds completely to get privacy. I plopped into the farthest armchair from the cluster, thinking it would force some distance between us. It didn’t help. He grabbed another chair and pulled it to sit facing me, our knees less than a metre apart. I let out the breath I didn’t realise I’d been holding.

  He said nothing. He just looked at me, concern edging his chocolate eyes.

  My heart had swollen to Diarmuid-size. And it had never recovered. He seemed to slide right in, right back into the spot he occupied all those years ago.

  Fuck him.

  I did not care.

  “Are we just going to sit here for the next hour or what?” I blurted out.

  Diarmuid blinked, the only sign that he heard me. “How are you?”

  “Fine. Except I’m being forced to spend every Friday afternoon with you.”

  His face cracked. I’d hurt him. A crack mirrored in me and guilt seeped in.

  Back then it took more to hurt him.

  Damn him. I didn’t want to care if I hurt him. He hurt me. I folded my arms across my chest and glanced away.

  “Saoirse.”

  “What?”

  “Look at me.”

  I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of having me follow his orders just like I used to when I was a kid.

  Still, as if he’d placed invisible fingers on my chin, I turned to face him anyway. Damn him. My chest felt like a weight was pressing on it as soon as I saw his face. So long I had wanted to see it one more time. Now that he was here in front of me, I just wanted to run. Or to fall into him.

  “Have you decided what you’re doing now that you’ve graduated?” he asked.

  Something tightened in my stomach. I shrugged.

  “What courses did you apply for?”

  “What does it matter?”<
br />
  “I always thought you’d apply for a science degree. You did, didn’t you? You used to love chemistry.”

  He remembered.

  “I still do,” I admitted.

  “So, which university?”

  I looked away. “I don’t have to tell you that.”

  He sighed. “This isn’t going to go very well if you don’t want to talk to me. Perhaps we might have to stay here an extra hour. Or two.”

  I let out a rasp of frustration. “I didn’t apply for university, okay?”

  His mouth parted. Disappointment flashed clear in his eyes and hit me right in the guts.

  “Saoirse, why—?”

  “I don’t need to hear it.”

  “You have so much potential.”

  “Yeah, well potential means fucking nothing when all you’re trying to do is keep your head above water.”

  He opened his mouth as if to argue. Then snapped it shut again. He rubbed his face in his hands.

  “Okay,” he said, even though it sounded more like a sigh than an acceptance. “But you have a plan…right?”

  My plan. My plan?

  Damn him.

  I hated that he refused to let me live in the shadows. I hated that he shone a light into my life, into every crack and corner, exposing them for what they really were.

  I didn’t have a fucking plan. I didn’t have any idea.

  22

  ____________

  Diarmuid

  She didn’t apply to university?

  My head spun with this new information. She was a friggin’ genius, for God’s sake. She couldn’t throw away her potential. She couldn’t just work in a café and live with her drug dealer father all her life.

  I wanted to grab her and shake her.

  Or just grab her.

  But I could hold her no more easily than I could scoop the moon off the surface of the lake with my hands. She was forbidden to me.

  “It’s fine,” I repeated. “It’s fine. You can apply next year.”

  She let out a sigh. “I don’t think I will.”

  “What? Saoirse, you have to.”

  “Why?”

  “You have a gift. You can’t just throw it away.”

  She stood up, kicking my chair out from behind me. “What does it fucking matter to you?”

  “Because I care about you,” I said. “I care about your future.”

  I cared. God, did I care. The problem three years ago was that I cared too much. I crossed the line in my job getting as close to her as I did, in letting her get as close to me as she did.

  Here we were again. On the other side of Ireland. Jesus, life was funny sometimes.

  “You didn’t three years ago,” she said.

  I gritted my teeth, her words stabbing me like needles. “Saoirse. I did what I had to do.”

  She still hated me for what I did. What I had to do. I did the right thing for her back then even if she didn’t see it that way. I’d do the right thing by her now. Even if it meant she’d hate me forever.

  She whipped her head around to glare at me. “You left me.”

  “I had responsibilities.”

  “I was supposed to be your soul family,” she hissed, leaning forward towards me. “Or did you forget what you promised me?”

  For a second we just stared at each other. I could see the young girl in her face, hidden by the woman she was now. The girl who clung to me when life had gotten unfair, the girl who had looked at me as if I was her whole world. The girl who had relied on me to fix things for her.

  I could have gone on forever being her hero.

  I could have.

  But it wasn’t to be.

  I let out a long breath. “I’m so sorry, Saoirse.”

  Saoirse blinked as pain flashed behind her eyes. She slammed back into her seat and crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t fucking matter now, does it.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I missed you,” I admitted quietly.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a shaky breath. “Don’t.”

  “I thought of you every day.” I pushed again even though I knew I shouldn’t.

  Her eyes flew open, the sadness replaced with pure anger.

  “Screw you!” Her eyes flicked up to the clock. “Oh, look at that. Time’s up.”

  I let out my own sigh. This meeting had not gone to plan. I didn’t mean to admit those things. I didn’t mean to lose my cool. My plans seemed to go out the window around her.

  She stood and grabbed her bag from beside her. “Guess your stimulating little lecture will have to wait until next week.”

  “Same bat time,” I said without thinking.

  “Same bat channel,” she said, then froze.

  Our eyes locked.

  There was a softness in her sea-green eyes. The old Saoirse looked back out at me. The one who I hadn’t hurt beyond repair. My heart tugged. Maybe I still had a chance…

  A chance for what, Diarmuid?

  Her wall came crashing down again and that sweet girl disappeared behind a sneer.

  I walked behind her as she strode to the door.

  I had to change things up. Shake things around. Get her doing something so that she’d forget how angry she was with me.

  “Come to O’Malley’s gym next Friday,” I said. “We’ll meet there instead.”

  She shrugged, one hand already on the door handle. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

  Then she left.

  As I watched her walk away, something knotted in my stomach. Three years I hadn’t seen her. But she still had my skin. I still had hers.

  23

  ____________

  Saoirse

  My da was twenty minutes late picking me up from the Garda station. I tried not to let my annoyance show as I slammed the passenger door shut behind me.

  “How did it go?” he asked as we drove off.

  Flashes of Diarmuid and our fight went through my head and I flushed, anger burning under my skin. If I was honest with myself, lust too.

  Damn him.

  Why did Diarmuid have to be so damn…damn beautiful.

  I almost snorted. Even if he wasn’t built like an Irish giant, as handsome as a high king, he’d still get under my skin.

  You have my skin.

  And you have mine.

  I shrugged and stared out of the window into the dreary autumn. Leaves of the trees that lined the sidewalks were all turning. Autumn used to be my favourite season. Used to be. “Fine.”

  “That JLO of yours is trouble.”

  I snapped my face towards my da and blinked, studying his face. Did he know that Diarmuid and I had a history?

  “Why do you say that?” I asked as casually as possible.

  My da grunted, his eyes flicking between me and the road. “Just a feeling…”

  My da was lying.

  I shoved that thought away. Why would my da lie to me? He wouldn’t. I was being paranoid. Diarmuid was making me paranoid.

  “Well,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest, “you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be careful what I say around him.”

  My da nodded, his shoulders relaxing a touch.

  “Hey,” he said, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “Why don’t we order a takeout pizza for dinner and watch a movie tonight?”

  My heart flipped. Diarmuid and I used to do that.

  Stop comparing anything everyone does to Diarmuid.

  I forced a smile. A father-daughter night.

  “That sounds great.”

  We got back to the house and Da ordered pizza while I went up to have a shower and change into more comfortable clothes for hanging out.

  It’d been almost four weeks since I first arrived. It was true that my da had been out of the house a lot since I’d come to live with him, hardly ever coming home for dinner. I woke up and he was asleep. I’d go off to my café job before he woke. At night
he was never around and I made dinner and ate by myself in a lonely house, the TV on in the background for the noise.

  Strangely, I missed Dublin. I knew people there even if I didn’t really call them friends. Here I was all alone. Knowing only my da.

  Well, and now Diarmuid.

  God…

  Diarmuid Brennan.

  My stomach flipped. Of all the twists of fate in the world…

  Somehow, he seemed more rugged, more masculine to me. Or perhaps I was now looking at him through the eyes of a woman. When I was thirteen, all I wanted to do was to curl up next to him. But now…

  As the water ran down my body in the shower I couldn’t help but think of how Diarmuid’s hands might feel on me. Even though the water was hot enough to make tea, a shiver ran down my spine.

  I came downstairs after my shower in sweatpants and a long-sleeved t-shirt. It was early October and the nights were getting cool.

  My da was hanging up the house phone. “Hey, pet. I didn’t know what you liked so I just ordered two supremes. Malachi’s going to pick it up on the way here.”

  It wasn’t going to be a father-daughter night, then.

  Malachi was the cute boy who’d been here on the day I arrived. He’d been around here a bit since I moved in. But always when my da was around. We still hadn’t gone for that bike ride yet.

  “Oh, okay. What’s on a supreme?”

  “Beef, onions, mushrooms, peppers, olives…”

  Diarmuid always ordered pizza without olives for me. “Um, I don’t like olives but it’s fine. I can pick them off.”

  My da fell into the couch, grabbing the remote. “What shall we watch?”

  The doorbell rang before I could answer. “I’ll grab it.”

  I opened the door and found Malachi at the threshold, holding two large pizza boxes in his hands. He grinned when he saw me, his eyes giving me a once-over. “Hello, beautiful.”

  He held the boxes to one side as he leaned in to give me a kiss on the cheek, his mouth lingering on my skin, his breath smelling faintly of cigarettes underneath the rush of sweet mint.

  In the living room, with my da taking up the armchair, Malachi sat next to me on the couch, closer than he needed to. I noticed my da giving us both the eye but he didn’t say anything.