Professor's Kiss: A Second Chance, Bully Romance. (Irish Kiss Book 2) Read online

Pain and fury flashed across Declan’s features. A darkness I’d only rarely seen surfacing. It made a shiver run down my spine.

  “Don’t wanna talk about it,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth as he visibly fought for control.

  I said nothing. Whatever happened was bad. Very fucking bad. But I knew not to push. I knew when to give this man space.

  Diarmuid and I were both able fighters in and out of the ring. But Declan was different. He kept a creature inside of him. A real monster. Most of the time it was restrained, but right now, in moments like this, the chains strained, creaked, threatened to break.

  Slowly Declan’s features eased, his muscles relaxed as he got his shadow-beast under control. He wasn’t ready to talk about it. Yet.

  I’d be here when he was ready.

  “Enough about me, asshole,” Declan said, his tone so casual, so light that you’d never believe that he was ready to commit murder not ten seconds earlier. “What happened with the girl?”

  Ailis.

  Ailis Ailis Ailis.

  I slumped into the chair by his bed. “Nothing. Diarmuid’s on his way,” I added, wanting to steer the subject away from her.

  “Yeah, I know D’s coming. What do you mean nothing? Didn’t you send her the ticket to your concert?”

  “Yeah.” The only reason I entertained this line of questioning was so Declan would be distracted from his own pain.

  “And?”

  “And she didn’t show.”

  Declan frowned. “What did you write in your note?”

  “I didn’t send her a note.”

  “That’s all you sent her? The ticket?”

  “And the backstage pass,” I defended.

  “You eejit. Send her a van full of Hallmark cards. A fucking mariachi band to sing about how sorry you are and that you need her. Hire an army of skywriters to spell out that you want her back. Jesus fucking Christ, boy, for a man who writes love songs for a living, you know nothing about love.”

  I bristled. “I don’t love her.”

  Declan stared at me. “You fucking dipshit.”

  I leapt to my feet, my hands in fists by my sides. “If you’re going to just insult me—”

  Declan started laughing uncontrollably. “You’ve been in love with her since you were sixteen, you dumbass. How could you not know?”

  “I’ve not…”

  I blinked. As his words sank in. As every single one of my actions towards Ailis was cast in a new light.

  “Oh my God,” I breathed, “I am a dumbass.”

  Declan nodded as he wiped the tears from his eyes. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for years.”

  I loved Ailis.

  I’ve loved her for years. She was the only woman I’d ever loved.

  I’d pushed her away.

  Because the only other woman I loved—my mother—had been taken away from me.

  And I didn’t know how to handle losing Ailis too.

  Turned out I lost her anyway. I lost her and it’d been all on me.

  What if it wasn’t too late? What if I could offer her exactly what she wanted…a relationship.

  Panic gripped my body. “I don’t know how to do a relationship. I’ve never been in one. Shit. What if I fuck it up?”

  Declan snorted. “Oh, you’ll fuck it up without a doubt.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, asshole.”

  He chuckled. “You’ll fuck it up, but you’ll grovel, and apologise, and you’ll figure out a way to make it up to her, and she’ll forgive you. Eventually. Hopefully.”

  “And if she doesn’t?”

  “You grovel more and apologise more and keep making it up to her until she forgives you.”

  I let out a sigh. If only it were that simple.

  “I don’t deserve her, Dex,” I admitted. “The best thing I can do is to leave her alone. It’s what she wants.”

  Declan let out a curse and shook his head. “I always thought you were a fucking eejit, but this just confirms it.”

  “If you weren’t already in that hospital bed, I’d—”

  “Mate, when you don’t deserve the woman you love, you don’t walk away and let some other guy snap her up.”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  Declan gave me a serious look. “You become a better man so you can deserve her.”

  77

  ____________

  Ailis

  One year later…

  I was home again. My studio and touring contract with Laura Hannigan had expired and they weren’t renewing it because Laura was taking some time off to have a family.

  Grant and I had just broken up.

  “He just kept telling me I wasn’t ‘in it’,” I said to my ma. “What the hell is that even supposed to mean?”

  My ma raised an eyebrow. “Were you really open to him? Or is your heart still given away to someone else?”

  Danny…

  After Danny showed up in my hotel room last year, I did my last tour performance. I barely remember a thing. Only when I arrived home for a three-month break before going into the recording studio, did I let myself cry for Danny.

  This time, it felt like goodbye.

  I’d scrolled through all of our texts one last time, letting myself feel every single emotion as if they were shots of whiskey burning through my body.

  Then I’d hit “Delete All”.

  If only it were that easy to erase him.

  Over the last year I heard his songs all the time over the radio, my lyrics weaved in with his. The truth was, I’d given him pieces of my soul. And I would never get them back.

  I liked Grant, really liked him. He was good to me. But truthfully there was something missing. My ma was right. I hadn’t let go of the past.

  I mourned the loss of Grant but within a few days, larger problems loomed in my heart. I didn’t know what I was going to do now. I knew that musicians had down time in between jobs, but I hadn’t been prepared for how lost I felt.

  I had money saved up, but it wouldn’t last forever. I had to get another music gig, but the thought of taking another backup gig didn’t excite me like it once did.

  One day an envelope arrived with my name on it.

  Unlike the last one, this had my home address on it, a return address in London and a logo of a law firm on the top right-hand corner.

  I ripped it open and a letter fell out.

  Dear Ms Kavanagh,

  Please find enclosed your royalties due for your songwriting credit for the below songs from Danny O’Donaghue’s album, Chasing Shooting Stars.

  My…royalties?

  I’d forgotten that Danny had promised me royalties, but we’d never agreed in writing. We had no formal contract. He didn’t have to do this.

  I tugged the check that was clipped to the back of the letter and stared at the figure.

  Holy. Shit.

  This was a lot of money. A lot of money. Enough money that I wouldn’t have to accept work as a backup singer again. At least not for a few years. But what would I do in the meantime?

  You deserve more than to be someone’s fucking backup. You should be out there centre stage. Danny’s words echoed into my head.

  I could take the next six months off to write some songs. My songs. To finish the pieces of songs I’d formed while I was playing backup to Laura Hannigan.

  Danny had always believed in me, even when I didn’t. He always pushed me. Always forced me to become better than who I was.

  If he were here, I knew what he’d say.

  You deserve to be the fucking star.

  So I started to write. And write. And write.

  78

  ____________

  Ailis

  Six months later…

  The family was sitting around the living room one Friday evening with the TV on. Graham Norton, a well-known presenter, was hosting his chat show.

  “Please welcome my very special guest, musician and all-around ro
ck legend, Danny O’Donaghue.”

  I froze at his name. Involuntarily, my eyes darted to the TV screen. There was Danny, leaning back on Graham’s couch, looking every bit the handsome rock star that he was. His dark hair was longer, curling over his collar and falling into those devastating blue eyes.

  My ma let out a small gasp. Everyone’s eyes all shot to me.

  “Turn that off, Rachel,” my ma hissed.

  Rachel grabbed the remote off the table.

  “No, leave it,” I said, forcing a smile. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

  I was such a dirty, dirty liar. My heart was banging in my chest at the sight of the man who broke my heart. I tried to tell myself that it was just from the shock of seeing him again, but…deep down I knew better.

  “As long as you’re sure,” Rachel said, lowering the remote.

  “You’ve been missing from the music scene for about a year, Danny,” Graham said, his voice upbeat, “We’ve all heard the rumours, but do you care to tell us what’s been going on with you?”

  I sat up. I’d been deliberately avoiding all news of Danny for the last year. I thought he had been relatively easy to avoid. Turns out that Danny had been avoiding the media.

  On-screen, Danny nodded. “I took a year off music to go into intensive therapy.”

  “Therapy? Like a shrink?”

  “Yeah. I was really fuc…messed up. It took losing a special person for me to see that.”

  I sucked in a breath. Me. He lost me.

  He went into therapy?

  “What was wrong with you, Danny?”

  “The details of what I went through are private, and I hope you all understand and respect that. Just know that…I wasn’t a very nice person back then.”

  “You wrote an entire new album in that time you were undergoing therapy. This album you just released.”

  “I did.”

  “Does that contain clues as to your personal struggles?”

  He let out a soft laugh. “Of course. Every artist can’t help but leave a part of themselves in everything they touch.”

  “There’ve been reports that your father attended a few sessions.”

  I recognised the flash of sadness that went across Danny’s face before he buried it. “That’s…not something I wish to talk about.”

  “Fair enough. You’re going to play the new single now. It’s a beautiful song, Danny.”

  “Thank you.”

  “The question on everyone’s lips is…is this song written for a real woman?”

  “It is, actually.” He looked directly at the camera as it zoomed in on his beautiful face. “If you’re listening, you know who you are. I’m sorry for everything I put you through. This song, no…this whole album is for you, Dearg.”

  His nickname for me hit me in the chest. I suddenly couldn’t breathe.

  “Thank you, Danny. And congratulations on this fabulous first single. This is called ‘The One That Got Away’ from Danny O’Donaghue’s self-proclaimed autobiographical album entitled Red. And good luck with your live performance tonight at the 3 Arena, Danny.”

  “Thank you, Graham.”

  Danny leapt off the couch to an applause and ran across to the stage already set up, backing band in place. He slung a guitar waiting for him around his shoulders. The TV shot a closeup of his beautiful face as he stood in front of the microphone, playing the opening bars on his guitar.

  “I remember the day when fate

  Carried me to you on a tear

  Torn apart, bought back together

  Until, baby, it was clear

  I could never be enough for you

  But without you, it’d never be enough for me

  So baby, tell me, who of us has to lose

  But you, (baby you)

  Make me want to change

  I thought I was teaching you

  But losing you was my greatest lesson

  I thought all I had to offer was enough

  But it was all window dressin’

  In the centre of a million spotlights

  The brightest star in the night sky

  It could never be enough

  I would never be enough

  Kings and presidents kneel before me

  All the things that money can buy

  It could never be enough

  Without you

  Sorry I was ever cruel

  Now the joke’s on me

  Turns out I was the fool

  Arrogant me, you’ll always be

  The one that got away.”

  As the dying strings faded, it seemed to unlock something in me. Tears rushed to my eyes. I got up and ran to my bedroom and locked myself in, flinging myself on the bed and pressing my face into the pillow.

  “Ailis?” My ma knocked on the door. “Can I come in?”

  “Leave her be, Miriam,” I heard my father say. “She’ll let us in when she needs us.”

  Thankfully the knocking stopped, but the low voices continued outside for a time, probably arguing over what to do with me, until they finally faded.

  I was fine.

  I was.

  I just needed to be alone.

  When I had calmed down I opened a music player on my laptop and downloaded Danny’s whole album, my heart in my throat the entire time.

  I listened to each song, reading along the lyrics as it went, as Danny poured out his journey over the last two years.

  Red by Danny O’Donaghue

  Hate That I Need You

  Empty Chair

  Break You, Break Me

  Why You Went Away

  Broken Pieces of Me

  My Greatest Mistake

  Help Me, Help Me

  The One That Got Away

  At the end of the album, I sat there stunned.

  It turns out I was wrong. We weren’t frozen snapshots of characters in a song. We were an album. A soundtrack.

  Danny could change. He had. He had evolved across this whole album.

  I grabbed my jacket and my bag, the only thought in my mind that I needed—needed—to see Danny.

  It was only when I was halfway out of the house, my mother calling out after me, that I realised I had no idea where to start looking for him.

  I stood there, the fight draining out of me.

  My father drove the car out of the garage beside me and rolled the window down. “Get in, girl.”

  “Where are we going?”

  He looked at me as if I were daft. “The 3 Arena, of course.”

  Of course. Danny’s live performance tonight. If we drove fast, we could still make it across the country before the end of the concert.

  My da and I drove in the car in silence for at least an hour before my da spoke.

  “You sure you want to go and see him?”

  I glanced over to him, surprised that he was bringing Danny up.

  I’d confessed to my ma everything when I got home, that Danny had gone to my school, tormented me, that we’d been seeing each other, then about how it all ended. I didn’t think she’d told my da, but I suppose I should have known. Those two were best friends.

  “Why are you driving me if you don’t think I should go see him?”

  “Because I’d rather I get you there safely than have you catch a damn train at this time of night.”

  Love filled my chest. I reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “Thank you, Da.”

  My da gave me a small grunt, which I knew was stoic Da speak for you’re welcome.

  “Besides,” my da said, “it’d give me a chance to convince you that we should turn around.”

  I stiffened in my seat, my hand sliding off my da’s shoulder.

  “He hurt you, Ailis,” my da said after a pause.

  “I know. But only because he didn’t know how to treat me. He’s changed. He got help.”

  My da’s lips flattened to a white line.

  “I love him,” I admitted.

  My da let out a sigh. “You do, don’t you? Alway
s have. I think I knew it ever since I saw you two sitting on that hospital bed singing together.”

  I nodded, tears spilling from my lids.

  “And he loves you.”

  In his own weird way, he always has.

  I nodded. “I think so.”

  “Looks like we’re going to Dublin, then.”

  “Thank you.”

  My da glanced quickly at me out of the corner of his eye. “Just…make sure you make him earn you back. Don’t make it too easy for the bastard. I don’t want a lazy prick for a son-in-law.”

  I let out a soft laugh. “I will, Da.”

  Hours later I tumbled out of the car blocks from the 3 Arena.

  “Good luck,” my da called from behind me. “I’ll wait here in case you need me.”

  I ran those last few blocks, fighting against the crowd streaming from the stadium. The show must have just ended. I was just in time. But I had to find him.

  I’d played at the 3 Arena while I’d been on tour with Laura Hannigan, so I knew exactly where the hidden back entrance was, the one the musos all used. It was guarded, of course, but they’d let me through, right?

  “Whoa, lady. You can’t go back there,” a big beefy guard said, holding out an arm to stop me.

  “You have to let me through. I’m here to see Danny.”

  He let out a laugh. “Sure ye are. I bet he’s been waiting all night to see ye.”

  “Go tell him Ailis is here to see him.”

  “Sorry, honey, but no fans are allowed back here.”

  Frustration tumbled around inside me. “I’m not a fan. I’m Red.”

  “What?”

  “The girl he wrote his latest album for.”

  The security guard stared at me for a pause, then burst out into laughter.

  I slammed my hands on my hips. “When Danny finds out you didn’t let me through, he’ll have your head.”

  The guard stopped laughing. “Look, lady, nobody gets past. I don’t care if yer the fecking pope.”

  What now?

  I was about to turn around when a voice called out. “Ailis? Is that you?”