The good thing about Joe's is that it's dead, so at least I'll have some privacy to talk to Flynn and don't have to worry about shouting above music.
I take a seat at one end of the bar and order a beer. I busy myself by watching a baseball game on ESPN while I wait.
Within a few minutes, someone takes a seat to my left and I glance that way. It's not Flynn and I give him a passing glance, only because I find it odd he's sitting right next to me when all of the other barstools are empty. But before I can contemplate it any further, someone sits down on my right and I turn.
It's Flynn. He motions to the bartender, who brings him a beer. He must be a regular because not a word is exchanged between the two. I notice the bartender brings a beer to the guy on my left and sets it in front of him.
I decide just to cut to the chase. "Are you going to tell me where I can find Renner or not?"
"Or not."
"Then why have me meet you here?" I snarl, itching to strangle the guy.
"I just needed to buy some time so my cousin, Nix..." he pauses to point to the guy sitting to my left, "could meet me down here."
I really don't have time for this shit and this dickweed is starting to piss me off. I don't even bother to look at Nix but pin my glare on Flynn.
"Too afraid to take me on your own?" I taunt with a sneer.
The smile he gives me is low and lazy. I hear Nix chuckling softly.
"No, Danny-Boy... not at all. Nix is just here to help me with your body. It's a two-person job to weigh it down good before tossing it into the Hudson River."
Their threat falls on deaf ears, because the only thing I want to fucking hear right now is Renner's address. Speaking through gritted teeth, I lean in close to Flynn. "I'm going to try to be nice...for the last time. Tell me where to find Renner and save yourself an ass-kicking."
"You're not getting shit unless you explain to us why you want to see her." This came from Nix and his voice is softer than I imagined it would be. Renner had told me about his time in the Marine Corps and I sort of imagined he would have blood dripping down from fangs or something.
I turn to look at him and while his voice is soft, his eyes have a deadly look. I turn again to Flynn and he's smiling jovially at me. "Awww... don't be afraid of him, Cillian. He's really a lover... not a fighter anymore. I'm the one who will be doing your ass whoopin' if it's necessary. So you might as well answer his question."
Picking up the beer in front of me, I take a long swallow. I'm really not liking Renner's family so far but I do get why they are doing this. There's a small part of me--and I'd never admit it to them--that appreciates the fact they are protecting her.
Apparently, I need to convince them that I'm the man that should be doing the protecting going forward.
I look straight ahead, because I can't look at one without turning my back on the other. There's a mirror behind the bar that's coated in grime, but it's still clear enough to see my eyes and the pain that's reflected in them.
Taking a deep breath, I say, "I want to see Renner because I want to apologize to her in person, and I want to tell her I love her. Then I want to beg her to give me another shot."
I wait for them to say something but it's quiet. The bartender is standing at the other end of the bar working on a crossword puzzle. I finally turn to Flynn. His elbows are resting on the bar, his hands steepled in front of his face. He's reflecting on my words. "I don't know, Nix. What do you think?"
I turn to my left and watch as Nix takes a sip of his beer and sits it back down. Reaching up with his hand, he grasps me on the shoulder tightly. "Man... that was one of the most beautiful things I've ever heard. Practically made me cry. In fact, you might want to run to the bathroom right now and check... but I think you might have just grown a vagina."
What the fuck?
I stare at Nix and he looks at me with such seriousness, I don't even know how to react. Then his lips curve upward and a grin breaks out on his face. His gaze slides past me to Flynn, and whatever he sees on Flynn's face causes him to break out in a full-blown laugh. He's still clasping my shoulder but he bends his head forward in laughter, slapping at the bar. I can hear Flynn bust out behind me and then both of them are cackling like two hens.
Standing up from the barstool, I pull my wallet out and throw some cash on the bar. "Screw it. I don't need this shit. I can find Renner on my own."
I turn to walk out of the bar but the scraping of barstools tells me it's not going to happen. Flynn locks onto one of my shoulders and leads me to the back area of the bar where I can see a few pool tables.
"Slow down there, Danny-Boy. You're not going anywhere."
"It's Cillian."
"Whatever. The point is--we're going to help you."
"Why?" I ask suspiciously.
Nix comes up behind me and claps onto the other shoulder. "Because...any dude that will fly across the Atlantic just to apologize and beg forgiveness deserves to be heard. And I know a little something about needing to beg forgiveness."
"Seriously?" I ask, not believing a damn word they're telling me.
"No," Flynn says. "We're really only helping you because you have a vagina and apparently need all the help you can get."
They both start laughing again.
Shrugging their hands off my shoulders, I say, "Fuck both of you... but let's have a few more beers and I'll tell you my game plan. You can tell me if you think it will work or not."
***
I am stinking drunk by the time I get home and I have the major spins.
No, not home... but not my hotel either. I can't even remember the name of the hotel I registered at, so it's a good thing that Nix takes pity on me and takes me home with him. We share a cab there while Flynn heads back across the river into the city. I vaguely remember all three of us arguing about whether I was going home with Flynn or Nix, and then the argument was settled when Nix pushed me in one of the waiting cabs and climbed in behind me, slamming the door in Flynn's face.
I also vaguely remember some chick named Emily met us at the front door as Nix and I stumbled up the porch together. He had asked me to teach him how to sing Danny-Boy, because that's what he and Flynn kept calling me all night. All I know is that Emily didn't look too happy to see us when we walked up.
I sure hope tomorrow I'm sober enough to remember the address they gave me. If not, I have to assume they'll give it to me again. And I hope I'm not too hungover, because I'll need all my wits about me to get through to Renner.
At least that's what Nix and Flynn led me to believe, but they could have been fucking with me too.
I close my eyes and before I drift off, I let a vision of Renner's face take hold in my memory. I do it every night and it's become my favorite way to drift off into sleep.
CHAPTER 27
Renner
I open the door to Linc's condo... well, my condo for right now and step inside. The first thing I do is drop my purse to the floor, because there's no furniture to put it on, and kick off my heels. It's been a long day of job interviews and my feet are killing me.
There's a difference between standing on your feet all day schlepping beer in tennis shoes and walking around New York City in four-inch heels. I'll take my work at The Hibernian over that any day.
"Hello, beautiful girl."
For the second time in a week, I shriek over the fact that an uninvited man is in my home and I spin around toward the voice.
My world tilts on its side and I know if I had still been standing in those crazy shoes, I would have toppled right over.
My heart thuds heavy against my breastbone and my eyes eagerly drink Cillian in. He's sitting at the flimsy card table my dad had brought over yesterday, his big body looking like it might crumple the metal folding chair he's sitting in.
I feel like a dehydrated woman that's crossed the desert, desperate for a drink of water before I perish. He looks amazing...the same, but amazing. His dark eyes are locked on me, his hands resting calmly
on his knees. He's wearing a pair of dark jeans with a black OTE t-shirt, the material stretched tight across his chest and shoulders.
I take a few steps toward him, afraid that the mirage before me will waver and then disappear into nothingness. But his image remains clear.
"How did you get in here?" I ask. It's a lame question, because there are so many other things I want to know. Like...why did you choose Maeve over me? Or, did I ever mean anything to you?
"Flynn gave me the key."
"Flynn?" I ask in disbelief.
"Yeah. Big dude... snarky bastard."
"My brother, Flynn?"
Why I'm having such a hard time with the concept is beyond me. But he has accurately described Flynn in just two short words.
"The one and only."
"I don't understand."
"I went to your parents' house yesterday, looking for you. He was there."
"And he just handed the key over to you?"
"Well, no. It wasn't that easy. First, he and Nix tried to intimidate the shit out of me. Then they got me pissed drunk. Then he gave me the key."
I nod my head as if it makes sense, but none of it does. I decide to move on to another subject, one I can hopefully wrap my head around.
"Why are you here... in the States?"
He doesn't respond but shoots out of the chair. In three strides, he's in front of me, his hands cupping my face. I don't even have time to brace before his mouth finds mine in a sweet and tender kiss.
"Can we skip straight to the make-up sex?" he murmurs against my lips.
Yes, I think to myself. Make-up sex. That will work.
Then I shake my head and try to push him away. He doesn't move at first, but then he takes a small step back.
"No," I say firmly. "There's no make-up sex. There'd have to be something to 'make up' for that to occur."
He sighs and steps back even further. "I didn't think it would be that easy. It's a good thing I came prepared."
Cillian takes my hand and leads me toward my bedroom. I don't think to pull away and follow docilely along. My head is reeling just being near him.
Just as we enter, my senses start to clear and I pull my hand away. "I said I'm not having sex with you."
"You will," he says confidently. "But I need to get your forgiveness first."
I want to smile over those words, because that right there is the arrogant Cillian that I love. Correction... loved. I have decided to move past him.
My bedroom is how it normally looks. The inflatable mattress resting up against the wall, a small alarm clock on the carpet beside it. The sheets and blanket are all rumpled, because I think it's stupid to make up an inflatable bed each day. Just doesn't seem right.
Then I see that his guitar is lying on the floor beside the bed. I cock an eyebrow at him. "Let me guess... you're a musician... so you wrote me a song that's supposed to melt my heart and convince me to give you another chance."
I can tell by the sheepish look on his face that I've hit the nail on the head. And it's with wonder that I see a small stain of color on Cillian's cheeks. Well, miracles never cease. The man that practically made an art form out of causing me to blush seems to be embarrassed over something.
"Well, yeah," he says, his voice unsure for the first time. "But if you don't want to hear it, we can just talk."
My voice finds a hardness I didn't know I possessed. "Song... talk... none of it matters. None of it will make a difference."
I stare at him and watch an amazing change come over his face.
First, the remnants of his uncertainty lingers. Then his eyes change... they start to shimmer with something that looks like wonder, then morphs into blazing realization. His face relaxes and then I'm staring into conviction.
It seems Cillian's momentary lapse is over, and standing before me is the man that goes after what he wants.
"Bollocks... it matters and you know it does. Now sit your pretty ass down on that bed and let me play my song for you."
For a moment, I don't move, because I'm paralyzed by the thrill of pleasure that courses up my spine over his words. It takes me back to Dublin, where Cillian commanded and controlled me. I realize I miss that feeling.
"Sit, Renner, or I'll skip right to the make-up sex part... and you know you won't resist that."
God help me, but he's right. I don't have the power to resist Cillian's sexual charm and he knows it. So I sit, and decide to make him work for it.
Grabbing his guitar out of its case, he sits down on the edge of the bed opposite of me. He looks ridiculous, his big body trying to sit on the flimsy inflatable mattress. He has to fold one leg under, and prop the other one out on the floor to balance himself, but he doesn't let any of that throw him off course, his confidence not in the least shaken. This is a man, after all, that is used to performing under the most stressful of circumstances.
I watch as his long fingers tune the instrument, and then he looks up at me as he starts to play.
The music he creates is soft and slow. His gaze on me is equally soft and it pulls at something so deep in me, I can't hold his stare. I opt to watch his fingers as they pick at the strings.
Then he starts singing.
My world was filled with shadows,
Gray hazy light,
Existing... only existing,
Strapped down in the night.
This beautiful girl,
Filled with light,
I'm wondering why I'm only existing,
Existing.
She comes along and suddenly,
Everything is right.
She hangs the moon,
For as far as I can see,
And I'm no longer just existing...
Existing.
My beautiful girl...
There's a catch in his throat and his lyrics trail off. He continues picking at the guitar, keeping the melody alive. I sneak a glance up at him and his eyes are closed while he continues to hum. He takes a deep breath and continues.
My beautiful girl, I let her get away,
And I'm no longer existing...
Existing.
She took all that was good,
And gray hazy light... is existing,
Existing.
So I decide to find my way out of the night, So I'm no longer just existing,
Existing.
I find my way back to my girl,
Asking her to let me hold her tight,
And together we'll be existing,
Existing.
Existing in the light.
Yeah, we'll be together... and existing, Existing,
In the light.
He continues to pick out one more chorus, humming softly, his eyes still closed. Then he ends the song with a single strum down the strings and the music fades away. He opens his eyes slowly. They are slightly vacant, which tells me he was lost in the song. Then they focus back on me, pinning me in place.
I swallow hard, because that was perhaps the most beautiful thing I've ever seen or heard in my entire life. He wrote a song about me... about him... about us. And it told me all of the things I had longed for him to say back in Dublin.
"That's beautiful," I say, my voice soft with wonder. "Will you record it?"
He shakes his head. "That song isn't for anyone's ears but yours."
Tears prick at my eyes, blown away by the fact that he created a piece of art just for me.
"That's not all I have," he says, sitting the guitar aside. He stands up and goes back to his guitar case. I watch as he pulls out a stack of papers and walks back to the bed. Rather than sitting across from me, he flops his body casually down and lies on his side facing me.
Cillian hands me the papers silently and I take them with curiosity. Flipping through them, I see they are printouts of various houses for sale. There's a pretty color picture of each one. All of the specs are laid out...square footage, dimensions, and amenities. I note some are in New Jersey, and some are in Ireland.
I
don't understand any of it so I raise my eyes to his.
"Renner... I want to be your ideal man. I want to give you all the things you want. I want to buy you a house, with a white picket fence. And if it doesn't have one, I want to build one for you. I don't care if we live here or in Ireland. I want to pick out a Golden Retriever puppy with you and one day I want to give you little red-haired children to run around in the yard. I want to be the guy that comes home at night to get the kiss on the cheek from you. I want to be the one in your bed that you wake up to every morning. I just want...to be with you and I'll give you whatever you need to make it happen."
I think back to all the times I had envisioned this dream of mine. It was a dream that had died at one point, never thinking it would be in my reach. Never thinking that in my dream, instead of the businessman in a three-piece suit, it would be an Irish rocker in jeans and a t-shirt that would be coming home to me every night. But I can see it... I think I can see it now.
Laying the papers down on the bed, I look to him. He raises a hand up to me and strokes my cheek. The touch is almost too much to endure it feels so good. "Cillian... all of this... it's incredible. You've touched me in a way I didn't think was ever possible. You're offering me all I ever wanted. But..."
How do I say this? How do I lay out another ultimatum that will probably have him running back for the door?
"...but, I can't be with you when you have so much turmoil going on in your life right now. There are things about Maeve... that I didn't tell you. It just makes it impossible for me to be a part of your life right now."
"I know all about Maeve," he says. "I know about her lies."
"You do?"
"Cady told me. You should have told me," he says with a little bit of admonishment.
But before I can even respond, he continues, "But it doesn't matter if you told me or not. I should have never let you go. I should have chosen you. In hindsight, I realize now that there are a million ways I could have helped Maeve that would have never caused you a minute of pain. I handled it badly, and that's what I need your forgiveness for."
My head is swimming with this information. "What happened to Maeve?"
A hard look comes over his face. "She's gone."
"Gone?"