10. Kieran
Chapter 10
Kieran
I ’m reconsidering my decision to “volunteer” for this field trip.
It was too easy the other night at the bar. Fuming about Miss Smith’s comments, Lizzy convinced me, in all her apparent wisdom, that I should prove Summer wrong. Then Tommy’s mother walked into the bar.
I wasn’t aware of who Tommy’s mother was. More like a nurse and some of her coworkers propped themselves at the bar. She was prattling on about how she’s taken Friday off for the field trip she’d volunteered for. I heard the name Miss Smith, and after noticing the Ardenbrook keychain on her keys which were set on the bar—well, it was the perfect opportunity.
I made sure her drinks were on the house and instead of the one or two she came in to have … I’m pretty sure she and her friends drank the entire bottle. So no, she wasn’t really sick. But I made a calculated guess she wasn’t coming today.
I made a point to be in Green’s office early this morning anticipating her phone call to him. And what do you know …
Summer swishes back over to where she’s saddled me with nineteen kids who aren’t mine. Her dress is a ribbed material I’m not used to feeling. Many of the girls around me sport leather, silk, and shimmering shite. When she tumbled into me after the bus hit a gigantic pothole, the soft ridges clinging to her body had me feeling an odd sensation of … comfort. Which isn’t a word I’d associate with feeling around women.
Oddly, the urge to reach out and dip my fingertips over the dress gets worse the closer she gets, and when she’s finally standing before me, beneath an inflatable whale, I peer down at her, studying.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I say, catching the flecks of copper glimmering in her irises. Like a punch to the gut, the vague recognition of my fight the other night renders me speechless. Are her eyes?—
“You know, you’re almost charming when you’re without words.”
I nearly growl. “And ye’re almost kind when ye’re not being so brutally honest.”
Summer rolls her eyes and turns to the kids, asking them to line up as she passes out the tri-fold brochure maps from the aquarium. Handing me one, she introduces Rick, our class’s tour guide. He’s in tight khaki pants and an aqua-blue polo shirt, looking too excited to be standing next to Summer. Dark brown hair is shaved close to his head, the rest of his facial features are average aside from his straight brows. He looks around her age, too—this man thinks he’s got a shot.
I hope this guy has experience with the piranhas here.
Rick guides our group to the first exhibit of penguins explaining the two types, African and Rockhopper, and I seek Aoife to watch her face light up with pure enjoyment as she watches them waddle on the rocks and jump into the pool of water. She giggles with another little girl as they point.
But after Aoife, I can’t help but discreetly glance at Summer gawking at the penguins herself. I’m sure she’s been here before as a teacher, but her smile lights up the room. She has some of the whitest teeth, and I find myself captivated by her lips as she lifts another little girl up to see better.
The little girl wraps her arms around the back of Summer’s neck, hand tangling in her short hair. She doesn’t seem fazed though. Content to care more about her students’ experience rather than the new snarls or the bunched wrinkles in her dress from picking up child after child.
Finally, Aoife makes her way over to Summer, and she does the same thing. Summer points to a close Rockhopper penguin and they both giggle while Summer ruffles Aoife’s hair giving her a bed head-like style to mimic the bird.
A knot I can’t swallow lodges in my throat. Then, laughing, Summer throws her head to the side, gaze snagging mine. Heat rises from a hollow pit in my stomach to my cheeks and warmth floods them. She’s breathtaking. The way she effortlessly seems to connect with Aoife—it’s like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I look away. I have never felt embarrassed before. I take what I want. I observe without shame, but … what just happened to me?
Rick leads us on, and we come to a tank full of vibrant colored fish all swimming around an equally colorful coral reef. Though there are names posted of all the different species, Rick reads them aloud. The kids run around, pointing to the funny-looking fish, and several of the boys make faces at the tank. The only one paying attention to Rick is Summer, and by default me because I’m paying attention to her.
She notices my stare and marches over. Looking up at me, she asks, “Having fun yet?”
I hiss out a contemplative sound. “I mean, me yacht is only half a mile from here, so I’m pretty tempted to snatch a penguin and make a run for it.”
“Hilarious,” she deadpans.
I grin, then gently knock her body with mine. We stand there for several seconds watching the fish, though, I’m distracted by Aoife pressed against the glass, enraptured. “I don’t get to do this much, spend time with Aoife. Her mother left when she was two days old, and I …”
Damn it. I can’t finish that sentence.
Where did that come from? I don’t meet her gaze, though I can feel her looking at me. Mentally, I chide myself for this unnatural need to confide in a woman I don’t know, and I’ve basically admitted what she already suspects, but I clear my throat, kicking at the speckled floor.
“You’re here now. That counts, Kieran.”
Then she moves away. Back over to Rick and the kids as they play some counting fish game. I stare at her as she waves her arms in the air to the beat with the kids. Bleeding hell, she’s beautiful.
It takes another hour to move through the jellyfish, sea lions, and sea turtles. I do my part being the caboose of the group and keep any stragglers from falling behind. I take a handful of boys to the bathroom multiple times, and by the time we hit the spiral ramp to look at the enormous ocean tank, I’m drained.
Not Summer. She’s still as upbeat as ever, and I wonder how she chose such a selfless job. Her parents must’ve raised her right.
Thankfully, we’ve made it to lunchtime, and all the Ardenbrook students move to the café for sandwiches and pizzas. Every student brought money for lunch, so all the teachers and parent helpers help children order and pay. When it’s Aoife’s turn, I step in, and she orders a turkey sandwich while I order a pizza.
Noticing Summer hasn’t ordered yet, I ask, “What do ye want?”
“Oh, I’ll get it. Thanks though.” She hands a girl I’ve learned to be Lucy a drink.
“Ye’re holding up Shelly. Tell me what ye’d like.” I wink at Shelly just as she’s about to shake her head to indicate she’s fine waiting. Instead, she giggles.
Summer sighs. “I bet you think all the girls around here are falling for your rugged charm, don’t you?”
“Clearly not all of them,” I mumble under my breath, then add, “Probably just the ones who can’t resist a good challenge.”
Summer rolls her eyes. “I’ll have a salad and lemonade.”
The young girl behind the counter nods and adds it to my order.
It feels like a slight victory, but then she digs around in her oversized teacher’s tote for cash. She holds it out to me.
“I’m not taking yer money.”
“Yes. Ye’re!” she bites back.
I shake my head while handing Aoife her water bottle.
Stepping closer to me, Summer whispers, “Please, Kieran. I don’t like to owe anyone.”
A laugh almost tumbles out, but then I look down to see her brow is knit in concentration—she’s serious.
“Ye don’t owe me.” I step back, place my hand on Aoife’s shoulder, and guide her to one of the tables near the wall of windows looking out into Boston. I set our tray down on a table that reminds me of the lunch tables from high school, and Aoife slides a wood-colored metal chair out and climbs up. I glance back at Summer, who’s standing there waiting for Mr. Terry and Shelly to get their food, a tray of salad and lemonade in hand.
Another chair grinds against the deep blue floor and leaches my attention away from where Summer has just realized I’m looking at her.
“This seat taken?” Ms. Brooks, the handsy parent helper, beams up at me.
Yes.
Maybe.
“Nah,” I end up saying with one more glance up.
Ms. Brooks sits next to me while Aoife is on my other side. There are still nine chairs at our table, so a few other preschool students from Miss Smith’s class sit near Aoife. Then, Summer and Shelly walk over to sit down across from us.
“You own O’Brien’s, right?” Ms. Brooks forgoes her burger and fries to prop her chin in her palm, elbow resting on the table. She smiles at me while I finish chewing the most awful bite of cheese pizza I’ve ever had.
“Aye,” I say, then wash my mouth out with a swig of water.
“Oh! That’s so fascinating. And you’re really Irish?”
Pinching my lips together, I try to keep from saying something sarcastic.
“Aye.”
“Did you come over here from Ireland then?”
That earns the attention of Shelly and Summer. They both glance over, waiting for an answer.
“No. Me great-great-grandparents came here from Ireland. I was born and raised in Boston.”
Ms. Brooks bats her eyelashes. “But your accent is so strong. That’s amazing.”
Summer tilts her head and tucks a few strands behind her ear. Does she want to know, too? Is she curious about me? Part of me wants to share.
The thought is quickly doused as though I’ve been dunked in the very tank we just toured. The deepest, darkest parts of me would make her run so far in the opposite direction.
What would Summer think of me if she truly knew who I am? Surely a woman content to spend her days with a roomful of giggling, screaming preschoolers wouldn’t have any idea what it means to be an Irish Mob boss—or the darkness that comes with it.
“Aye. Growing up, I spent a lot of time with other Irish men. Still do. It’s the nature of my business.” It’s the truth. But I’ll let them think it’s the pub.
“I’ll just have to come visit one of these restaurants of yours then. I love authentic?—”
My phone rings just in time to spare me from the rest of that sentence.
“Excuse me,” I say, standing. “Aoife, I’ll only be a moment.” She nods and goes back to clinking her water bottle with another student.
“Aye?” I answer, knowing it’s Cormac already.
“Katsuro’s dead.”
My pace slows as I walk away from the table, and I have to reach out to stabilize myself on the textured wall, featuring a subtle, wavelike pattern. I blink, trying to process what he just said.
“How?” is all I can muster out.
“Sources say it was an internal execution.” Cormac sniffs on the other end of the phone.
“The Japanese killed one of their own?” I repeat back to him. Shite.
“Aye. Do we need to meet with Yuki? The men here are worried the tide is changing, Kieran.” Cormac sounds spooked. “What the bloody hell is going on?”
I shake my head before realizing he can’t see.
“I don’t know. Let me reach out to Yuki. Ye know he handles communication with me only.”
“Okay.”
“And Cormac? Who are the other Japanese fighters scheduled for next Wednesday?”
He pauses and papers rustle on the other end of the line. “Ren and Shota.”
“Have Finn see if he can get an eye on them. I’ll message Yuki.”
“Aye, Boss.”
When I hang up the phone, I type a message out to Yuki. Meet me tomorrow 10 p.m. The usual spot.
Sliding my phone back in my pocket, I turn and jump back, startled to find Summer standing there.
“We’re headed to the gift shop. The buses will be ready to pick us up in thirty minutes.” She gestures where I’ve pocketed my phone. “Everything all right?”
I work my jaw back and forth, steeling my expression. “Aye, ready to be done with today.”
She smirks as I move past her to follow the students and the guides to the overpriced gift shop. “And here I thought you’d be buying a souvenir to remember this lovely trip.”
My lips twitch. “Ye bring up a good point. Maybe I’ll see if they have earplugs.”
She halts, raising her eyebrows. Shite. Did she think I meant to keep from hearing her? I meant for the overhyped bus ride back to school. No way in hell I’d ever want to keep from hearing her voice.
Her chin raises, and she squints at me. “Rick said octopuses have three hearts. Maybe you can buy one of those.”
“And why’s that?”
“So you can borrow one.” She marches off, her corduroy dress swishing with her accelerated walk and her captivating hips. I pull my lower lip between my teeth and groan.
I definitely don’t need a souvenir to remember this day.