12. Brennan
twelve
Brennan
Later That Evening
“Y ou sure you’re on board?”
I glance over at Astrid as I turn onto my parents’ street. I’m not having second thoughts, but I realize this is a big, bold move.
She might be freaking out. ’Cause I am.
A wee bit.
I mean, I didn’t exactly beg Astrid to come to dinner with me tonight, but bringing her home to meet my family feels like the next step. Why wait?
Besides, there’s no way I can afford to slip into my old habits if I want things to work romantically with Astrid—and I do. Even though the timing sucks, with the pressures of the upcoming transaction looming, she’s important to me. I’ve got to figure out how to balance everything for once in my life.
The way I see it, if my family meets her and realizes how much she means to me, they’ll help me stay accountable. Besides, Cillian promised my ma he’ll be here tonight. We haven’t seen each other in months and it’ll be helpful to get his take.
Astrid turns to me with a cheeky grin. “Honestly? I didn’t expect you to introduce me to your parents the day after we first touched pee-pees, but yeah. I’m strangely okay.”
Jesus, she’s so fucking sexy. Even in simple black jeans and gray sweater. A few strands of her hair have fallen loose from her ponytail, framing her soft skin. And those lips. God, those lips. My cock stirs when I picture her lips wrapped around it…
“Brennan?” She gently touches my arm. “Watch the road.”
Luckily, I’m not going fast and swerve out of the path of the line of parked cars. “Shit, sorry.”
“You were thinking dirty thoughts. Maybe we’ll have time for a quickie in your childhood bedroom.” She cups my junk and waggles her perfectly plucked brows.
Aaaannnd , I’m at full wood. I hadn’t even fathomed the possibility of fucking her in my old bedroom and now it’ll be the only thing on my mind all night.
I move her hand away and clasp her fingers with mine so she doesn’t get feistier. “You’re a very bad girl.”
“You like it because you’re such a good, good boy.” She grins as I park in front of my parents’ Craftsman. “Now, think of something unsexy to tame him down a bit.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and concentrate. Wrinkly grannies. Wrinkly grannies. Wrinkly grannies.
It’s Connor’s tried and true method for getting rid of unwanted and inappropriately timed erections. He swears by it and passed the wisdom down to all of us younger brothers. I have to concentrate until my erection subsides. When wee Brennan is under control, I breathe a sigh of relief.
Astrid stares at me, bemused. “Impressive mind control, Loki.”
“Uh, thanks. Can’t have a boner in front of my ma. Besides, I didn’t tell them you were coming.” I reach for the door handle and get out, dash around to the passenger side to help her out, holding out my hand for leverage. “Wait, did you make a Marvel reference?”
“ Duh .” She rolls her eyes and, anchored by my arm, gracefully exits. “Don’t change the subject. You didn’t even text ? Why not?”
“My family’s on a need-to-know basis.” I lead her to the stone steps.
Astrid laughs nervously. “You think they’ll be okay with me being here?”
“Shit, they’ll be thrilled. My ma will act like she’s known you forever and ask when we’re getting married.” I pat her hand. “Ready to meet your future mother-in-law?”
Instead of being in on the joke, Astrid freezes, pastes a smile on her face and breathes in deeply. I watch her, fascinated, as she transforms into the public version of herself. Poised look, check. Warm, engaging eyes, check. Shoulders back, spine straight, check. Her movements seem to be subconscious. I doubt she realizes what her own pre-game routine is.
A fleeting thought crosses my mind, though. It’s possible my family isn’t going to meet the version of Astrid I’ve gotten to know. I hope she relaxes and allows herself to be loose. Vulnerable. Authentic .
Well, even if they get the polished version clients see, they’ll love her. She’s flawless. Engaging. Polite.
The way I see it, any version of Astrid is perfection and, considering I’m throwing her into a strange situation, whatever makes her feel comfortable is fine by me.
Hand in hand, we climb up to the front porch. Before I have a chance to knock, the door swings open and Ma stands in the doorway. She doesn’t visibly act surprised when she sees I’ve brought a woman home, but her eyes dart back and forth from me to Astrid. “Brennan! And who’s this?”
“Astrid Gustafsson...” Before I can finish, Ma pulls her into a warm hug.
A couple of seconds later, Astrid drops my hand and wraps her arms around my mom’s shoulders. Almost like she craves the affection. They stay like this for longer than what I consider normal, which I guess is a good thing. Finally, they break apart.
Ma beams. “Well, aren’t you such a darling girl. Welcome. Come in, love, come in. I’ll set another place at the table.”
“Thank you, Mrs. McGloughlin.” She looks at me and shrugs as we follow Ma into the house, her face flushed with embarrassment. “She gives a wonderful hug.”
“Everybody says so,” I reassure her, though I can’t recall anyone ever saying those words. I want her to feel at home and if hugging my ma enhances her experience, I’m all for it.
Inside, the entire place smells like garlicky herbaceous goodness. Astrid takes it all in. The warmth of the living room. Family photos lining the walls. Candles flickering on the dining table. It’s the definition of coziness, though our family life wasn’t always this way.
“Rory!” Ma calls up the stairs. “Brennan’s here. He brought a guest. Have you heard from Cillian?”
My hackles go up. Shit. Is Cillian going to be a no-show again ?
Da trots down the stairs, the only sign of his longstanding health issues these days is a slight limp. Years of sobriety have softened him, but our relationship is still a bit strained. I have a lot of respect for him—he’s managed to rebuild himself after nearly destroying our family.
On the other hand, I’m still bitter he was a shitty father-figure for most of my formative life. Cillian, Seamus, and I were still boys when he got into the accident. Throughout our teenage years into our twenties, Da was a drunken asshole with fleeting bouts of sobriety here and there.
Cillian, at least, shared an interest in construction with him, eventually taking over our family’s business. Seamus and I, on the other hand, are academics. We never developed the same strong bond with Da. He didn’t relate to either of us and we both were forced to carve our own path.
“Hello.” He nods at me before focusing on Astrid. “Who is this lovely lass?”
Astrid takes his rough hand between hers. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mr. McGloughlin. I’m Astrid. Your accent is so thick, I love it.”
“Ahh, it’s Rory, lass. You see, I never wanted to lose it. As they say, no woman is safe from a charmin’ Irishman.” Da winks at her. Holy shit, he’s flirting. I haven’t seen this side of him. Ever . “My boy didn’t tell us he had taken up with a beautiful lady friend.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Mr. Secretive.”
“Da,” I mutter, slightly annoyed.
“Oh, we’re new.” Astrid reaches for my hand. “We were friends until…recently.”
“Where’s Cillian?” I abruptly change the subject back to something a little less intimate as we head into the dining room. “When’s he supposed to be here?”
Seamus, looking buff as hell, is setting the table. My quiet, thoughtful wee brother lifts his head to hear the answer.
“Oh, aye.” Da looks down at the floor dejectedly. “He sent me a text, so he did. Something’s come up. Astrid can take his place at the table.”
Seamus peers at Astrid with a slight smirk.
“Astrid, this is my wee brother, Seamus.” I nod toward him. “He’s the surgeon.”
“Nice to meet you.” My brother holds up his hand.
“Likewise.” Astrid winks.
Ma bursts through the door with a platter of roast pork surrounded by potatoes and vegetables. Classic, simple, and perfect. Dinner kicks off quietly as we fill our plates but, soon enough, the topic of Cillian is dropped and Astrid becomes the main focus.
As soon as they find out she was Connor’s realtor, it’s game over. Ma leans in, grilling her about the real estate market, Seamus pontificates about different Seattle neighborhoods. Da chimes in with stories of construction projects. Astrid is engaging and animated, making them feel like they’ve known her for years. Her social skills are flawless.
Though I’m listening, I’m silently fuming. My family is dancing around the problem right in front of us.
Cillian . How can we continue to blow off his behavior? Pretend like everything’s fine. It pisses me off. I haven’t been in town much over the past several months, but it’s clear my Irish twin is in trouble. Are none of them taking it seriously? I take a bite of the pork but it tastes like nothing. I’m too worked up.
Beneath the table, Astrid clutches my hand to remind me she’s here with me. She leans in and whispers into my ear, “You okay?”
I turn to her, astonished at how perceptive she is. “Uh…I guess.”
“Say what you need to say.” She squeezes my fingers and nods toward my family.
That’s all I need to hear.
“When’s the last time Cillian was here?” I put my fork down and glance around the table.
Ma looks sideways at Da. “He was supposed to be here tonight.”
“Yeah, but you know he never shows up these days,” Seamus mutters, his eyes flicking to mine.
“We’ll talk about it another time.” Da fixes me with a look as if to say he’s not keen to discuss Cillian’s problem with Astrid here. Like it’s none of her business.
Astrid hasn’t taken her eyes off me during this exchange, but now she looks around the table. “How about we finish dinner and I’ll do the dishes while you all have a family chat.”
“Ach, no.” Ma pats her hand. “There’s no need…”
“There is.” Seamus points his fork at her before taking a bite. “Thank you, Astrid.”
“It’s no trouble. I totally understand.” Astrid squeezes my fingers before releasing my hand, resuming her meal.
It hits me all at once.
Astrid meant to divert attention from the Cillian situation because, unlike me, she knows how to read a room. It didn’t even occur to me to exercise discretion about a sensitive and private subject matter. Da wanted to respect his son’s privacy. I should have picked up on his cues.
Astrid saved the day and it hits me like a club to the head.
We’re not opposites at all.
Maybe we’re two halves of the same whole.