35. Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Five
Cillian couldn’t remember how many drinks he’d had, but it was too many. He stumbled through the dingy bar, his feet sticking to the beer-soaked floor, regretting his decision to try to forget his worries for one night.
‘Are you all right?’
May was beside him. She grabbed hold of his arm as he wobbled precariously from side to side.
‘Think I might have drunk too much.’
From the look on May’s face, he was right – he guessed he looked rough, and his stomach lurched, beer sloshing inside it.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘You need to get some air. It’ll be kill or cure.’
With his vision blurred, he allowed her to lead him through the pub, vaguely aware of her apologising to fellow patrons as he bumbled into them. The cool evening air hit him like a slap in the face as they stepped outside, and his stomach lurched dangerously once more.
‘Here.’ May pushed him up against a wall. ‘Lean back. Keep your eyes closed and take a few deep breaths. If you think you’re going to puke, give me enough warning so I can jump out of the way.’
Unable to speak, Cillian nodded and swallowed hard. However long it was he stayed against the wall with his eyes closed, when he opened them, the world had stopped spinning, and a headache was beginning to pound like a drumbeat at the back of his brain.
‘Here you go.’ May pulled a bottle of water from her bag. ‘Drink this.’
Cillian grabbed the bottle and tipped the lot down his throat, not even bothering to wipe the remnants as they trickled down his chin into his false beard.
‘Cheers,’ he said, handing the empty bottle back to her.
‘It’s OK.’
‘Why are you being so nice to me?’ he slurred.
May shrugged. ‘I’d hope someone would do the same for me if I got myself into that kind of state.’
‘You’ve been matching me drink for drink,’ he said.
‘Guess I’m better practised.’ She shrugged. ‘Aren’t you Irish supposed to be able to drink everyone else under the table?’
‘It’s a myth,’ said Cillian sadly, shaking his head, which wasn’t a good idea. ‘How I wish it were true.’ He hiccupped, and May giggled.
Cillian again leaned his head against the wall, eyes closed.
The pounding in his skull dulled a little with the cool night air, the water in his stomach sitting uneasily but taking the edge off.
When he opened his eyes again, May was still there.
Arms folded, head tilted, studying him with that maddening mix of concern and amusement.
‘You really are a glutton for punishment,’ she said.
He let out a rough laugh. ‘And you … you’re far too good to me.’
Something shifted in her expression then, softening, and before he could talk himself out of it – before he could remind himself of all the reasons he needed to keep his distance –he leaned forward.
Their lips met. May squeaked in surprise.
He waited for her to pull away. She didn’t.
She bent closer, as if she’d lost the energy to support her own weight.
He cupped the back of her neck, pulling her into him, and the kiss deepened.
When she pressed a hand to his chest, he hesitated.
It wasn’t to stop him – her palm rested over his racing heartbeat.
Somewhere in the back of Cillian’s mind, he understood this was wrong.
Things with Kia might not be as they seemed.
That didn’t mean no one was going to get hurt.
But as the kiss continued, all rational thought was lost, replaced by desperation and relief, as though for one stolen second they could both stop pretending.
The noise of the bar, the ache in his head, the whole mess of lies between them – it all slipped away until there were only the two of them and the invisible force that seemed impossible to break.
A voice shattered it.
‘Oh my God, look!’
Cillian pulled away, his head spinning. A group of lads spilled out of the pub, one of them with his phone up, camera pointed straight at them.
Cillian slapped his hand to his head. His wig was no longer in place, nor was the beard, which hung precariously from the edge of his chin.
A sick jolt ran through him. It wasn’t that he’d been recognised.
He’d been photographed by passers-by a thousand times before.
What sickened him was that May had been dragged into his messy world.
Then he remembered the imminent big reveal of his and Kia’s engagement. Bile rose in his throat.
‘Delete that,’ he barked, his voice sharp, his accent thicker than he intended.
The lads laughed, shoving at each other, the one with the phone already spinning it round to show his mates.
Cillian swore under his breath. He’d made a mistake, let the moment sweep him somewhere dangerous, and now May’s cheeks were flaming, her arms folded tight across her chest. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and he couldn’t tell if it was anger, embarrassment, or something else altogether.
What he did know, with a hollow thud in his chest, was that despite how right it had felt, the kiss they’d shared was one moment of madness that might wreck his entire career.