Chapter 11
West Scott
“ Oh, thank fuck.” Someone was rewarding me for getting stuck in traffic on my way into Center City. I’d lost forty-fucking-five minutes because of an accident that’d lured out more cops than ambulances. Two guys had been apprehended, so I didn’t feel bad for being pissy. But now, thank you, Grade A parking just across the street from the Irish pub.
That never happened. I always had to hunt down a garage.
I climbed out of my car and was immediately met by that warm, humid stench of garbage.
Ah, Philly.
I folded up the sleeves of my button-down and peered at the pub. Mick’s Pub. Through the semi-tinted windows, I could tell the place was packed. The muted bass from loud Irish punk rock pounded its way through the exterior too.
Three guys stood outside, guarding the door, one significantly older than the other two, who looked like teenagers.
Were they all Sons? Or future Sons?
After locking up and paying for the parking, I crossed the street and felt like I was entering the lion’s den.
The older guy straightened when he spotted me. “This is a private event.”
“I think there’s supposed to be a list,” I replied. “West Scott?”
He dug a Post-it out of the pocket of his hoodie and flashed it to me with a smirk. “This you?”
There was only one name on there.
I let out a chuckle and nodded with a dip of my chin.
The UP had arrived.
The guy opened the door for me, and the music poured out, along with laughter, yelling, and horrible singing.
There had to be at least fifty or sixty people here.
The bar divided the place into a seating area in the back and a bar area with high tables and a stage in the front. But given how everyone was moving, slapping each other on the back, greeting one another, clinking glasses, and bobbing their heads to the beat, the front was more like a mosh pit.
I was only forty-five minutes late, and yet it looked like these men had been at it for hours.
Not seeing Alfie anywhere, I headed to the bar and ordered a quick warm-up. Because I sensed I needed it. One whiskey, one beer—both had to disappear fast. I had to yell to one of the two bartenders for him to hear me, but my drinks arrived quickly.
When I handed over my card, the bartender merely shook his head and moved on.
All right, then. Was that wise? An open bar with a bunch of Irishmen? I could imagine companies had gone under for far less.
I threw back the shot and chased it down with half the beer.
A round of laughter rose above the din, and I glanced toward the booths that lined the wall toward the back. There. I saw him. Fuck me, I saw him. Another guy had an arm around his shoulders, and they were laughing hard at something. The two were standing by the booth, where another five were seated. Beer and cocktails filled the table, and two of them were actually smoking. Indoors.
One of the men had a woman on his lap, and I was sure I recognized him. It had to be Finnegan O’Shea. I recognized Kellan across from him too, and the man my age—or possibly a few years older—could be Kellan’s husband.
When Alfie checked his watch, I was pathetic enough to hope he was wondering where I was.
He was sucked into their conversation again, and he laughed at what O’Shea said. Whatever it was made the guy with his arm around Alfie’s shoulders crack up and turn his head enough so I got a look at his face. And the resemblance was definitely there. It was Alfie’s…brother. He had a brother. A big brother.
They were dressed similarly, and I wondered if he’d inspired Alfie to buy new clothes.
Either way, I’d never seen Alfie so animated and involved .
Moving lights flashed over the table, and the deep hue of Alfie’s burgundy shirt became more pronounced. He wore it with a dark-blue vest and matching pants, each item hugging his body perfectly.
He reached over and stole Kellan’s cigarette, and he took two quick pulls before returning it. He checked his watch again, then looked toward me. Scratch that, toward the door. He was waiting for me, wasn’t he? Did I just go over there? If he was busy with the boss of the whole organization, I’d rather wait here until he saw me.
I finished my beer and ordered a Guinness next, and then a new song started and caused an ear-deafening roar of approval. It was Dropkick Murphys. Alfie loved that band.
I used to say the most Irish thing about him was his taste in music, but maybe he’d kept things locked up within.
My own heritage was so muddled that I had nothing interesting to cling to. Like so many others in this country, I was a WASP with zero connection to my history. And Alfie… With his mother, he’d leaned more toward his Puerto Rican and Italian heritage, though he’d always been quick to mention the Irish too. Truth be told, when I thought about it, it was as if he’d been waiting for something. Or searching. Searching for that Irish place to call home.
I’d say he’d found it.
Oh, screw it. If I wanted a place in his world, I had to enter it. I couldn’t stand on the sidelines and wait for him to visit.
I braced myself and walked over, and he spotted me when I was a few feet away.
The way he lit up brought me more relief than was appropriate. Fuck, I was too attached.
“At fuckin’ last!” He closed the distance between us. “You’re late!”
I didn’t want to shout over the music, so I dipped down and spoke in his ear. “Traffic. But I’m ready to meet your mobster buddies now.”
He laughed and grabbed my arm, quick to usher me over to a group of Irishmen watching me curiously.
“Everyone, this is West!” He addressed me next and pointed to the others as he introduced them. “Colm, Kellan, Shan, Finn, Emilia—and this is Liam.”
There was no use in speaking, so we exchanged nods and handshakes, and it was so beyond bizarre. Here I was, shaking hands with Finnegan O’Shea, the Sons of Munster’s very young boss. He was, what, a year or two older than Alfie?
Emilia and the man called…Shan? They appeared the nicest. Emilia was all but beaming when she shook my hand, and Shan offered a polite smile—but the rest were clearly assessing me. Especially Finnegan and Liam.
“Okay, we’ve waited long enough!” Alfie yelled to Colm. “You gonna hit the stage or what?”
The air shifted, and Finnegan and Kellan raised their glasses and hollered their agreement with Alfie. And Colm didn’t seem to mind; he grinned and jumped to his feet.
Within seconds, he was walking through the crowd on his way to the stage, and he had everyone stomping their feet and shouting his name.
“You know I brought your whistles, baby!” Emilia grinned at Finnegan, who seemed to groan and laugh at the same time. “You promised!”
We were evidently going to the stage, so I let Alfie lead the way until we were standing a bit to the side, but still close to the little platform that was packed with instruments.
“Colm, Colm, Colm, Colm!”
Alfie shot me a grin and clinked his beer bottle with my glass, and then he reached up and got close.
“I’m glad you came!”
I smiled and mustered a nod. To be honest, the jury was still out, but I was always too happy to be near Alfie.
As musicians joined Colm on the stage, the music died, and everyone huddled closer.
“Drunken Sailor!” someone yelled.
“An Irish Pub Song!” another shouted.
“Considering they’re the only ones he knows, he’ll do both, you fuckers!” Kellan hollered back at the crowd.
I chugged my Guinness, because one thing was clear. If I was going to enjoy myself tonight, I had to loosen up.
Next, I took advantage of the lower volume—which was still too loud—and asked Alfie where Colby was.
He smirked. “He’s having fun with kids his own age out back. Don’t worry about him.”
I wasn’t…worried. I was curious.
When Finnegan and Emilia appeared close to us, someone came over and set down a bar table—actually two. Two bar tables created a barrier between us and the crowd that looked ready to make my fears come true. There was going to be a mosh pit, wasn’t there?
Alcohol followed—a lot of it—and two guys positioned themselves as security guards to make sure no one knocked into the tables. Two bottles of whiskey, stout in glasses, lager in bottles, shot glasses, vodka, and a few mixers ended up right in front of Alfie and me.
Shan and Liam joined us on this side, while Kellan disappeared into the crowd.
Alfie looked tempted.
I nudged him and nodded toward Kellan. “Don’t hold back on my account.”
The soundcheck appeared to be over, and Colm spoke into the mic about traditions and staying connected to the “home country.” His accent revealed he wasn’t from here originally. He was definitely from Ireland.
Alfie had made his decision. He poured himself a shot, threw it back, grimaced, and then touched my arm.
“Drink liberally and generously, West. That way, I’ll sound better when I sing later.” With that said, he was gone.
My eyebrows flew up. He was singing?
Granted, I knew he had a lovely voice. He used to sing to our children—and maybe he still did. But I presumed he wouldn’t be performing lullabies here.
“Oi! Pipe down!” Colm yelled into the mic. I winced and figured I might as well pour myself a shot or two too. I’d already been prepared to pick up my car in the morning. “The boss will sit this one out but has promised to join us with the whistle later.”
Emilia pouted up at her husband.
Finnegan chuckled. “Quit it. I’ll play in a bit.”
Emilia was about to respond when the music started with a recording of an Irish flute. The whistle they’d been talking about? I’d heard of tin whistles.
A beat later, the drummer started, followed by Colm on vocals, and his voice was…rough.
Within twenty or so seconds, the pub exploded with energy as the rapid beat of the music tore through the establishment. Alfie and Kellan were immediately sucked into the atmosphere and evidently knew the lyrics. They shouted every word along with the others, jumped around, and slammed their fists in the air. I swallowed hard and exhaled unsteadily, seeing a man I’d never met before.
I’d thought Alfie was a wild spirit back in LA when he’d been so honest and… Well, he’d never hesitated to give me the dirtiest suggestions in the most inappropriate situations, but this was so different. He was having fun with peers now. He had friends, he had a place in which he wasn’t alone, and?—
I noticed Shan moving closer, and he leaned in. “He fits right in.”
I swallowed.
Yeah. Alfie fit in here.
Where did that leave me?
I tilted my head at Shan and spoke loud enough for him to hear. “You don’t want to throw yourself in the pit?”
He laughed and grabbed a beer from the table. “I don’t think so—but I enjoy watching.” He tipped the bottle toward Kellan and Alfie. “When Kellan’s nursing his hangover in the morning, I’ll play a round of golf before I come home with breakfast.”
I stood a little straighter and automatically managed to tune out the music at least a little.
“You play?”
He smirked faintly and inclined his head. “Alfie told me you do too.”
“I do. So, as you can see, this isn’t my world,” I chuckled.
He smiled and clapped a hand on my back. “You can belong to more than one world, West.”
Could I?
And for what reason? My goal—Alfie’s too—was for us to find common ground to be friends. We both wanted to bury the hatchet so we could spend time together with our children without them picking up on hostility between us. I didn’t need to attend parties with Alfie for that. Tonight was most likely a fluke. An olive branch. He wanted me to see this so I would gain an ounce of understanding about the people he now referred to as family.
Shan moved on to his son and daughter-in-law, and I spent the next twenty minutes listening to Irish punk rock and watching Alfie come alive. When Colm left the stage, someone else took over.
I stopped drinking.
I’d had three beers and two shots, and nothing was happening. It wasn’t my night. I felt warm and somewhat at ease, but I wasn’t feeling that intoxication I’d aimed for. So I stuck to water, and I started doing the math. Could I drive in a few hours? I wasn’t sure. Perhaps if I ate something…
“It’s time!” the guy onstage declared. “Who will answer Ireland’s call?!”
“The Sons of Munster!” the crowd roared.
Jesus Christ.
Emilia cheered and exchanged a hard kiss with Finnegan before he made his way to the stage.
Liam and someone I didn’t recognize followed, and fuck me if Alfie didn’t too. He was getting up there with the others.
“This is gonna be amazing!” Emilia gushed.
Maybe I shouldn’t have stopped drinking?
Oh, fuck it.
I downed two shots of vodka in quick succession and hoped for the best.
They made room for a keyboard on the stage, and Liam grabbed the mic.
“Tonight’s a bit different from last month,” he said. Then he draped an arm around Alfie’s shoulders, and I went rigid. “Ye see, tonight, we welcome me little brother to the family.”
“At long fuckin’ last!” Kellan whistled sharply and applauded with the rest.
Dread crept up my spine at the same time as the happiness on Alfie’s face couldn’t be clearer. He didn’t shy away or get embarrassed. He stood tall, grinned widely, and accepted the cheers.
“What can we say about Alfie O’Dwyer, boss?” Liam turned to Finn. “We know he’s a good lad with a bleeding heart, and he wants to keep his hands clean.” That was followed by a wink at the crowd, who cracked up. “We don’t know if he’s alone. Because who fuckin’ knows how many bastards me old man’s got hidden away.” More laughter, even from Alfie and Finn. “And now, let’s find out if the fucker can sing!”
Alfie O’Dwyer. The Sons of Munster.
Was this Alfie’s version of keeping a low profile? Because everyone knew him now.
I found it impossible to believe he wasn’t going to be on the radar of the local police and the FBI within weeks.
Finnegan, Liam, Alfie, and the guy I didn’t know the name of formed a row in front of the microphone, and the music started out calmly, not to mention hauntingly beautiful. Keyboard and tin whistle—plus three men trying to get into a more serious mind-set, which couldn’t be easy after half a dozen drinks each. Finnegan, though. Christ, I never would’ve imagined how talented he was.
The rest of the musicians filled in, along with a track that was prerecorded, and Liam leaned closer to the mic. However, Alfie picked that moment to make himself heard.
“Shut the fuck up! I’ve practiced in the car all day!”
Everyone cracked up, and Liam had to kill his chuckles before he sang the first verse.
I took a deep breath, unable to deny he was very good. The lyrics struck me hard, most of all. He sang of men standing side by side, like brothers, always united, and ready to fight for Ireland.
By the first chorus, the whole pub was taking part by singing along with their glasses raised. Shoulder to shoulder, they were going to answer Ireland’s call. The men on stage stood shoulder to shoulder too, arms around each other, with Finn as the exception as he played the whistle.
The guy whose name I didn’t know belonged at the damn opera. His voice gave me chills, and then Alfie followed. One part humor, one part heart. It was so him . I recognized him—that was the man I’d fallen in love with, the man I’d married. The man who sang about following a guiding star and meeting his destiny.
My eyes suddenly stung, and I had to push back foolish emotions.
Never before had I been so goddamn conflicted about pretty much everything in my life, but one thing was clear. I had to stop thinking I didn’t know him. I knew him so fucking well, because I knew his core. I knew his heart.
The men cranked it up on all fronts and raised the roof with cheers and people singing along. And the lyrics went on repeat in my brain. It was all Ireland, brotherhood, and unity.
This was Alfie and everything he’d longed for.
I knew him, and yet…he was heading in a direction that made me feel like he was slipping through my fingers. Despite that I’d lost him two years ago. Or before then.
“You can belong to more than one world, West.”
I wasn’t so sure. Alfie and I had tried, and it’d wrecked us both.
Now, though, Alfie was moving on. He was healing.
I shouldn’t have come here tonight. My head was too fucked to take in another realization, and every emotion was drenched in my bitterness because I was unable to fall out of love with him. If I hadn’t missed him so much, loved him so much, then maybe I would’ve been happy for him, because God …he was finally finding his way.
I supposed there’d always been that small disconnect between him and the rest of his family on Giulia’s side. His cousins spoke Spanish—or, the ones on his dad’s side, didn’t live nearby and were busy with their own lives. He loved them all and got along with them very well for get-togethers and holidays, but they didn’t have that kind of dynamic where they met up for a beer after work or called each other in the middle of the week. Alberto was the exception, except…their relationship had primarily revolved around the kids the past few years.
With the O’Sheas and Murrays, it was so different. This life had become part of Alfie’s identity.
But I still know him. I see the man I married in there. I know what every smile means. I know what makes him tick, what drives him, and what he likes for breakfast. I know his ticklish spots, his favorite meal, and what he wants when he cuddles closer and buries his face against my neck.
I cracked open a new beer and chugged from it.
The song was over, and I was losing it.
Was I fooling myself? Anyone who asked would know his favorite meal. It was like knowing someone’s favorite color. It didn’t mean shit.
As the men jumped off the stage and the music blasted from a stereo again, Alfie glanced my way, and I caught his smile. One of the many I knew the meaning of. He was happy, a little nervous, hopeful, and somewhat drunk.
More than that, I felt the connection between us blazing like wildfire. And there it was. It was our history. Nine years of everything. Falling in love, sharing everyday moments, fighting, laughing, making plans for the future, bickering, reading each other, being there, more fighting… Countless memories flicked past, leaving behind echoes of laughter from when he’d almost burned down the kitchen, groans from hot nights of heavy fucking, the sensation of his fingers digging into my shoulder blades, the scent of the body wash we’d shared in LA, the sound of his quiet sniffles when Noelle had become ours, and the feel of his fingers in my hair when he’d admitted to wanting a second child.
Alfie had been desperate for me to believe him when he’d said everything had been real, at least up until we’d left LA. After that, he’d started slipping because he hadn’t known how to act, and…and I trusted him. But what we’d shared once we’d moved back here had been just as real too, because otherwise, it wouldn’t have hurt so damn much.
I watched him bump fists and shake hands with other Sons, and I watched him laugh with Liam. And somewhere deep inside, things settled for me. I never wanted Alfie to fake anything in order to fit in somewhere ever again. I wanted him happy and at peace with his own decisions.
If this was his world, regardless of how I felt about it, regardless of how small my part would be in it, I had to accept it. Just like he’d done with mine.
No one could ever accuse him of not trying to fit into my universe.
I felt like I lost some tension in my shoulders with this last beer.
Alfie glanced over at me again, and I managed to return his smile this time. Then he excused himself and started making his way toward me.
My smile widened automatically, and it hit me how badly I wanted some alone time with him. Perhaps we could find a quiet corner or step outside for a moment. He deserved to hear how fucking amazing he’d been onstage, which I’d robbed myself of embracing completely with my mental gymnastics.
He walked right up to me and set an empty bottle on the table, and I couldn’t help but slip a hand to his side. We leaned closer at the same time, and once I realized he was going to say something, I kept my mouth shut.
“Wanna sneak out for a smoke?” he asked.
I nodded right away. That was precisely what I wanted.
I followed him through the crowd, probably staying much too close to him, but he didn’t complain. Or he didn’t notice. Either way, I could blame all the criminals we were surrounded by.
The second we stepped outside, I took a deep breath and was so certain I’d feel relief from the fresh air. Instead, it was somewhere around eighty degrees, and Center City smelled like a dumpster.
“Urgh—I was hoping for a chill to cool me off,” Alfie said.
I rubbed my ears quickly, not used to the silence.
The alcohol had affected me more than I’d originally thought, and I wanted to lean against something, so I waited until a couple cars had passed before I crossed the road.
“You found parking here?” he asked incredulously.
“It shocked me too,” I replied. I unlocked my car and opened the passenger’s side door to grab my cigarettes from the glove compartment. “Can we just make a deal right away that the children never see us smoke?”
“Yeah, of course.”
Okay, good. We met up on the sidewalk, and I lit two smokes for us.
“So what did you think?” He accepted one of the cigarettes and leaned against my car. “Thanks.”
I took a drag from my smoke and rested my side against my door. “You were incredible.” I exhaled skyward and caught his little grin. “You looked…right at home.” It stung to say it, but I had to acknowledge it.
He smiled and turned enough so he could glance at the pub across the street. “A part of me definitely feels like I’m home.”
His confirmation didn’t hurt any less.
“Only a part of you?”
He chuckled through his nose and rested his arm on the roof of the car. “The other part will always be lost, I reckon.”
Why? Because of us? Because of me? Or something else entirely?
“I never thought I’d grow so close to some of them,” he admitted. “Especially Liam.”
“That’s riveting. How come a part of you will always be lost?”
He rumbled a laugh and scrubbed a hand over his face.
I smiled, fully aware I hadn’t been smooth, and I shifted a little closer to him. I did want the details on his newfound family, including Liam, just not right now.
Alfie flicked away some ashes and watched them disappear on the sidewalk. “It can’t come as a surprise to you that our divorce broke me.”
No, I knew it’d shattered us both. But he was putting himself back together, wasn’t he?
I reached out and fixed a button on his vest that was coming undone. “You didn’t look broken on the stage.”
Did he have to be so goddamn beautiful? And his brand of beauty had an edge to it, even more so now with his ink on display. Sleeves folded up, nice clothes that fit him like a glove, a sexy watch… It wasn’t the same one he’d worn before, and I instinctively stepped closer and lifted his wrist.
It was a very nice Baume only this time, I positioned myself in front of him, leaving just a foot of air between us. Because I couldn’t fucking help myself. This was what he did to me. “My latest obsession takes up all my time.”
He raked his teeth over his bottom lip and peered up at me. “Why do I get the feeling you’re about to blame me for something?”
I grinned. “Maybe because you know it’s most definitely your fault?”
A spark of sexy rebellion lit up his eyes, and he took one last drag from his smoke, then extended it to me.
I took a quick pull from it too, then put it out and threw it in the bin.
“So tell me about the obsession,” he said.
“I thought it was obvious.” I forced myself to stick my hands in my pockets as I returned to him. I didn’t need to do anything stupid. Although…I was too weak to make any promises. “I’m busy processing the mobster drama in your life.”
He shook his head in amusement. “Before Kellan offered me a job, he jokingly insisted it was a comedy club.”