Irish Kiss Read online

  I shoved this thought aside.

  “I am not talking about this anymore,” I said firmly.

  I turned and stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind me.

  This time as I drove away, I watched my rearview mirror in case she decided to follow me again. Thankfully she didn’t.

  I drove for what felt like ages.

  Until I found myself outside the building of the only person who made me happy these days. The only person who never judged me. The only one who never questioned my intentions or accused me. The only one who accepted me. Who understood me. Even though she was almost a decade younger than me.

  What did age between friends matter anyway?

  I knocked on Saoirse’s door and shoved my hands into my pockets.

  Moments later it opened and a familiar sweet face peeked out from the crack of the doorway. My favourite face. The mere sight of it made my spirits lift.

  “Diarmuid?”

  I shuffled my feet and gave Saoirse a bashful grin. I almost felt like a teenager again, asking if his friend could come out and play.

  “My evening just freed up,” I said. “Wanna do something with me?”

  The smile that beamed from her face made all my troubles melt away.

  32

  ____________

  Diarmuid

  Now—Limerick, Ireland

  Twenty bloody past four on the next Friday and Saoirse was late. Again.

  I’d even texted her yesterday to confirm she was attending our Friday appointment. I didn’t hear back from her.

  I found Saoirse’s mobile number in my phone contacts and stabbed the call button.

  The phone rang. And rang. Until it went to her message bank.

  “It’s Saoirse. You know what to do after the beep…”

  Something twinged in my chest at the sound of her mature voice. Jesus, where had my little selkie gone?

  I hung up just as I heard a roar outside. That better be her.

  I marched out the door, only to find Saoirse hopping off the back of a motorbike parked on the side of the road—a fucking motorbike—dressed in a pair of tight black workout pants that showed off every curve and muscle in her lean thighs. On top she wore a slimline grey Everlast hoodie that clung to her waist, a tiny backpack on her back.

  The driver of the bike was a skinny dickwad in a fake leather jacket, not more than twenty-two, I bet. The fucker was leering at her, taking no pains to hide it. He wasn’t wearing a helmet. She hadn’t been wearing one either.

  Un-fucking-believable.

  “Saoirse!” I yelled and stormed over to them, ready to beat the living crap out of that fucking idiot who let her ride without a helmet. If anything had happened, she would have been seriously injured…or worse.

  I was going to put this fucker in the ground.

  Saoirse glanced over her shoulder and our eyes met. Her eyes widened. She turned back to dickwad and said something I couldn’t hear. She stepped away from the bike and he gunned the engine.

  “Hey,” I yelled out at him. “Stop right there, fucker.” I grabbed his collar and practically ripped him back off his bike.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Saoirse cried out.

  “What the hell is wrong with you that you put someone on the back of your bike without a goddamn helmet?” I screamed at the guy.

  He stared at me as if I was about to chew him up and spit him out. “I-I didn’t have one?”

  I was going to kill the boy.

  “You fucking get one or else you don’t ever give her a ride again. Give me your fucking wallet.”

  The kid did what I demanded, handing over his brown leather wallet. I frowned. This was an expensive brand. What was this kid doing with a nice wallet like this? A nice bike like this, too?

  I pulled out his driver’s licence and glared at the photo of him, a sneer on his face, hair unkempt around his head. I supposed some girls might find him attractive.

  “Malachi Walsh,” I read out. “Now I know your name. I know where you live. Has she told you I’m a cop?”

  He shook his head, the whites of his eye showing.

  “Are you fucking her?” I blurted out without thinking.

  “Jesus Christ, Diarmuid,” Saoirse cried. “That’s none of your fucking business.”

  I glared at the shaking kid, my rage causing me to ignore Saoirse’s probably reasonable ranting at me. “Are you?” I growled into Malachi’s face.

  “N-no.”

  I glanced over to Saoirse. She was glaring back at me, her arms crossed over her chest. “Fucking hell, Diarmuid,” she said, “I’m over the age of consent.”

  Except not for me.

  He was legally allowed to be with her.

  I wasn’t.

  Short of killing this prick and burying his body, there was no way I was going to stop the un-fucking-thinkable from happening between him and Saoirse. She was now a beautiful woman. Why wouldn’t he want to sleep with her?

  The thought made me so fucking mad I wanted to put my fist through to the back of his head.

  I couldn’t protect her from him if she chose him.

  But I could try.

  I gripped Malachi’s shirt tighter and yanked him right up to me so that I could see the whites all around his dark brown eyes.

  “If I hear that you even breathe on her, I will hunt down your unworthy ass and rip your fucking dick off with my bare hands. You got that?”

  He nodded, looking like he was about to piss himself.

  “Now get the fuck out of here.” I let go of his shirt.

  He drove off in a roar, gravel spitting out from his back tire.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Saoirse cried, frustration pouring out of her voice.

  “What the fuck were you doing on the back of his bike?” I pointed a shaking finger at the rider disappearing into the distance.

  She frowned at me. “He was nice enough to give me a lift.”

  “You will not see him again.”

  She slammed her fists onto her hips. “Fuck off.”

  I was about to lose my fucking mind, my control unravelling like the fibres of a frayed rope.

  “Saoirse Quinn…” I spat out, a warning through gritted teeth.

  She rolled her eyes. “Diarmuid Brennan,” she said in a mocking tone.

  “What fucking eejit doesn’t wear a helmet while riding a motorbike? You could have been killed.”

  “Relax. He drove safely.”

  “It doesn’t fucking matter, Saoirse, there are other drivers on the road.”

  She rolled her eyes again and I wanted to strangle her. She was fucking lucky that they weren’t in an accident.

  I made a vow. If I ever saw this boy again, I would make him regret he ever got her on the back of his bike without a helmet.

  “Whatever,” Saoirse said, dismissing me.

  My vision bled red.

  I raised a finger. “You are not to see him again. You are not to get on the back of his bike again.”

  “You’re not my father, stop trying to act like one.”

  “If your fucking father acted like one I wouldn’t have to worry about you falling off the back of a bike.”

  Her cheeks flushed red. I knew I had crossed the line.

  “Screw you, Diarmuid. I’m out of here.” She spun as if to leave.

  I caught her arm before I knew what I was doing.

  “You walk away from me—from these weekly sessions—and I will advise the court that you are a disobedient juvenile and unfit for the program. Your case will go to court. You will go to jail.”

  Jesus fucking Christ, Brennan. Blackmail? I was resorting to blackmail to keep her close. I’d sunk to a new low.

  Her eyes widened, her nostrils flaring. “You wouldn’t.”

  I leaned in close, so close I could see the flecks of gold in her green eyes. “Test me.”

  Underneath my palm, she burned like embers. I felt the heat all the way into my gut.

  My
eyes dropped to her mouth. Her lips parted and her tiny pink tongue darted out to lick at her bottom lip. I bit down on the groan before it could leave my throat.

  “Fine,” she said, tugging her arm from me. “You win. For now.”

  I let go of her and she backed up. Backed all the way up so that my body felt cold, drained of her heat.

  Jesus, she had more sense than me. Here I was getting closer to her, exactly what I promised myself I wouldn’t do. She was the one who was trying to run away. I tried to pretend that it didn’t hurt.

  33

  ____________

  Saoirse

  Diarmuid fucking Brennan.

  I wanted to hit him. I wanted to hurt him. To slam my hand into his chest and smash his heart like he was doing mine.

  Instead I pounded the bag, pretending it was his face, as he watched.

  “Come on, selkie. You can hit harder than that.”

  Damn him.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  Slam.

  Slam.

  Diarmuid moved around me, disappearing from my line of vision. I could feel his eyes on me. They dragged across me, burning me, marking me.

  “Maintain your guard, selkie.” His voice came from behind me.

  God, I wanted to kill him.

  I hit the bag again. I felt a slap on my left elbow, lifting my arm up.

  “Guard up.”

  Infuriated, I grabbed the bag and flung it at him. He sidestepped without any effort.

  I slammed my fists onto my hips and sucked in a breath. “What are we doing this for?”

  Diarmuid stood, stoic, like an unmovable mountain. “Martial arts will teach you discipline, persistence, grit.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Are you saying I have none of those things?”

  He studied me for a pause. “I’m saying that martial arts will teach you these things.”

  “Because I have none.”

  He blinked, his eyes going hard. “You tell me.”

  Fuck him.

  “You’re punishing me.”

  He let out a snort. “What for?”

  “‘Discipline, persistence, grit,’” I quoted him. “You think I made a mistake not applying for college.”

  His face grew hard, like it had been chiseled out of marble. “You have a gift, Saoirse. You’re wasting it if you don’t do something with it.”

  “Fuck you,” I yelled. “You have no right to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do.”

  “You—”

  “You left me, Diarmuid. You left me alone with no one.”

  His face broke into a mask of pain. “You had your ma…” he trailed off.

  “My drug-addicted, incompetent, uncaring mother,” I scoffed. “Really?”

  “I had no choice, Saoirse.”

  “You had a choice. You had a fucking choice and you chose her over me.”

  “She was pregnant…”

  “So you give up your soul family for a real one? I hope they were worth it.”

  His mask cracked open. I saw it; the deep well of pain underneath, of guilt, of regret. I realised it hurt him to leave just as much as it hurt me. I always thought that his decision to go had been easy for him. I didn’t think that leaving might have torn strips off him, too.

  Diarmuid tore his eyes away from mine, as if he couldn’t take letting me see him anymore.

  I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want to understand him. If he left once, he’ll leave again.

  He let out a sigh. “Maybe that’s enough for one day.”

  “Fine,” I let out.

  My head was spinning. I had to get out of here. I turned and strode to the bench against the wall to grab my things.

  He followed me. “I am not letting that boy take you home.”

  I rolled my eyes. “He’s twenty-one.”

  “Because twenty-one is so mature.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “So much more mature than twenty-eight, apparently.”

  I zipped up my hoodie and slung my bag over my shoulder.

  He stepped in my way, his wide chest and rounded shoulders taking up my vision.

  “You are not leaving with him.”

  “Try and stop me.”

  He took a step closer so we were toe to toe. He crowded me. His presence. His heat. His smell. All around me like chains.

  I couldn’t stand to meet his gaze, so I followed a drop of sweat that ran from his hairline, over his sharp cheekbone, down to his granite jaw. What would he do if I leaned up and licked it off him? I almost shivered at the thought.

  “Saoirse Quinn,” his voice snapped me out of my reverie. “Here, now…I am responsible for you. I can’t do anything about the rest of the week, but for this hour. You. Are. Mine.”

  You are mine.

  His words lodged into my chest. If only that were true. I swallowed down a whimper.

  Diarmuid straightened, clearing his throat.

  “Truck. Now,” he mumbled.

  Diarmuid switched off the music—The Dubliners again—as soon as he turned on the engine of his truck. It seemed even that was too painful a reminder of who we used to be and where we were now.

  We rode in his truck again, the silence swelling like a painful abscess, filled with heartache, regrets and everything unsaid.

  “So…” I blurted out when the silence got too much. “You never did answer…did you have a girl or a boy?”

  His jaw flinched, his eyebrows coming down over his eyes, staring firmly on the road. “I, er… She lost the baby. Not long after we moved.”

  Oh. Shit.

  Guilt flooded the back of my throat. I’d been such a bitch to him about it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  He shrugged. But his lips paled as he pressed them together. It was his tell back then when he was feeling too much. Some things never changed.

  “These things happen,” he said.

  We stopped at a set of red lights, the tension in the truck like hot pressurised air.

  “I’m still sorry. I…” I played with my bottom lip with my teeth. “Even if I didn’t want you to have a family without me, I never would have wished that on you.”

  “I know, Saoirse. But thanks for saying so.”

  He glanced over to me, our eyes locked. I felt like I was thirteen again. And he was my world.

  I looked away first.

  “The light’s green,” I said quietly. I could still feel his eyes on me.

  He drove on, entering the area where I lived. In less than five minutes, we’d be at my house. This moment would be gone. The quiet connection of a shared past and an unwanted grief, broken. I had to say something.

  I just wasn’t sure what.

  When he pulled up in front of my house, the lights were all off, meaning my father wasn’t home yet. I guess it was another dinner where I’d be eating at the table in the cold kitchen. Alone.

  “We’re here,” Diarmuid said, indicating that it was time for me to get out.

  I didn’t want to get out of his warm truck.

  I didn’t want to go into my house.

  I didn’t want to be alone.

  “Can we…can we go for a drive?” I asked, my voice small. I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t stand to see his face if he said no.

  In the silence, I felt his surprise.

  He didn’t say anything. He reached for the indicator and pulled us back onto the road. I sagged into the seat, a sigh loosening from my too-tight chest.

  He just drove. I didn’t ask where he was going. I didn’t care. I just wanted to sit in his truck with him and feel…this for a while. Warm. Safe.

  Like maybe the world was good for once.

  Soon the houses of Limerick grew farther and farther apart. He kept driving until we were clear beyond the city limits, down skinny country roads, the trees lining the side creating a canopy over our heads.

  He turned down a skinny one-lane dirt road, two trenches showing where tires had worn into the earth like parallel snakes. T
he trees turned to thick bushes lining a wooden fence.

  Finally he pulled up on the side. There were no cars before or behind us. It felt like he and I were the only ones in the world.

  Beyond the fence was green fields, a few cows dotting the grass, an ancient-looking wooden farmhouse on a hill.

  “Haven’t been here in a while,” he said after a pause, his eyes fixed on the farmhouse. He shuffled in his seat. “I…I don’t know why I brought you here.”

  I stared at the farmhouse. Now that we were nearer, I could see that part of the roof had collapsed in. Obviously no one had lived here in a while.

  I knew without him having to tell me that this was the farmhouse he grew up in, where he watched his mother, then his grandmother, die. Before he was finally taken away.

  My heart squeezed as I imagined a young Diarmuid standing on the aging porch.

  I realised something. “What happened to your dad? You’ve never spoken about him.”

  Diarmuid’s jaw tightened and his fingers flexed on the gear stick so that his knuckles turned white.

  “He walked out on my mum and me when I was very little. Haven’t heard from him since. Don’t really care to.”

  Oh shit.

  Now I understood why he married Ava when she fell pregnant. He didn’t want to be like his father.

  “Everyone I’ve ever cared about has gone away,” he said. He lifted his eyes to me. The truck filled up with the resonance of pain. It reverberated like a low solemn bass note, rumbly and aching. “Except you. You came back.”

  This part of Diarmuid pushed me away all those years ago because he didn’t think he would get to keep me. If everyone you loved left, why would you love at all?

  He let out a long breath, a weighted breath, sweet and bitter all at once. “I’m glad our paths crossed again, selkie.” This time I didn’t tell him not to use my nickname. This time the familiar moniker settled around me like a favourite coat. “No matter how short this time will be.”

  His words pierced my lungs, making it hard to breathe. I didn’t want us to end. I just got him back.

  I won’t leave, I wanted to yell, if you promise never to leave me.

  “Diarmuid…” I turned towards him and found he was already looking at me. I swallowed, my pride like a too-large morsel in my throat. “Can we call a truce?”