Chapter Sixteen
Ciara
“Did you know I have never fallen for a scam?” I put the phone to my ear, relishing the excuse for a break. “Not via email, not via text. Not by a salesperson coming to my door. I don’t even play the lottery. I am scam-proof, my friend. Scam. Proof. So go ahead. Do your worst.”
There’s nothing but silence on the other end of the line. And then: “What the hell are you talking about?”
I frown at the vaguely familiar voice and double-check the unknown number that flashed up on my screen. “Are you not calling to tell me about fraudulent activity on my account?”
“I am not,” the voice says. “I’m calling to tell you I have your friend.” A pause. “But not in a kidnapping way.”
“Who’s this?”
“Shane McCauley,” he continues. “We met at the scene of the crime a few weeks ago?”
“I gave it back to you,” Maddie calls in the background.
“So you admit that you took it,” Shane replies.
“No.”
“Your friend’s drunk,” Shane says to me, and yeah, I got that.
“How drunk?”
“She was singing Aerosmith at Delaney’s.”
“Delaney’s doesn’t have a karaoke machine.”
“I didn’t say anything about karaoke.”
Oh my God.
“I’ll be right there.”
“We’re outside,” he says. “I’d take her home myself, but I don’t think she’d be comfortable with that. Yours was the only number she’d give me.”
“No, it’s fine. I can be there in fifteen. Can you stay with her?”
“Not like I’ve got anywhere else to be,” he says, and I hear a mangled Maddie version of a Sinéad O’Connor song in the background.
I hang up and stretch my back until something cracks.
I’ve been working all day and had only just taken my phone off Do Not Disturb when Shane called.
I’d planned on making a giant bowl of pasta and collapsing in front of the television, but I guess I’ll be doing that now with a drunk Maddie snoring on the couch beside me.
Not like it’s the first time.
Luckily, it’s a nice night for a drive. A warm breeze, a starry sky. I’m feeling pretty Zen by the time I pull up to Delaney’s, where it looks as though Ireland has won some sort of World Cup, judging by the number of parked vehicles and noise coming from inside.
It’s weird, but I focus on Maddie, who’s decided to wait for me in the middle of the road.
“That is not a safe place to stand,” I call.
“I’m keeping an eye on her,” a voice says from the shadows, and Shane steps out from behind the cars. “Thanks for coming.”
“Thanks for calling,” I say as Maddie teeters over in high-heeled boots. She’s all dolled up in a purple dress and her curls are pulled back in a matching claw grip. She looks beautiful.
And wasted.
“What happened?” I ask as she throws her arms around me.
“I got stood up,” she mumbles into my ear. “So I thought I’d come here for a drink.”
“And what exactly did you drink?”
“Ronan started making whiskey in his bathtub.”
“I see.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“I bet.” I squeeze her hand as I pull back, smiling encouragingly. “Want to go to mine? Watch a movie?”
“Do you have bathtub whiskey?”
“I do. I have so much of it, and I will give it all to you if you get into my car.”
She squints at me, swaying slightly. “I think you’re lying to me.”
But, before I can protest my innocence, a pair of headlights come speeding down the road, and Natalie pulls right up to us with her window down. She takes one look at Maddie and sighs.
“You’re paying me overtime for this,” she warns.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as she side-eyes Shane.
“Ronan rang me. Said she needed a ride.”
“Why didn’t he call me?” I’m weirdly hurt, but Natalie just shrugs as she hops out.
“You can take her if you want.”
Maddie puts her hand to her mouth. “I think I’m going to vomit.”
Yeah. No. “She’s all yours.”
Natalie mutters something under her breath, and takes hold of Maddie’s wrist as she steers her toward the car. “Come on, boss. Only because you’d do the same for me.”
“You’re just going to hold this over my head.”
“Yes,” Natalie says seriously, and helps her inside, shutting the door firmly behind her. Not that that helps, as Maddie almost falls out the window waving to me.
“I love you!”
“I love you too,” I call back. “Talk to you in three days when you’re not regretting your choices!”
Shane she ignores, which he doesn’t seem to mind, waiting placidly by my side as Natalie drives off.
“Thanks again for staying,” I say, feeling the need to defend her. “She doesn’t date a lot because of the business, so she—”
“We don’t need to talk.”
Oh. Good.
“I’ve got to get home,” he continues, already walking away. “The birthday boy’s in there, by the way.”
“Who?”
“Your friend? The American.” He unlocks a pristine silver van with his company’s logo on the side. “You’re missing quite the party.”
I’m too confused to say anything back, but he’s driving off anyway, his headlights sweeping over me as I turn back to the pub. As I do, a cheer rises inside, and with a sudden case of FOMO I push open the door.
For a moment, it’s as if I’ve walked into another dimension.
The place is as packed as I’ve ever seen it, so much so that I’m not able to move another step without bumping into someone.
I wasn’t aware Delaney’s even had a stereo system, which means somebody brought theirs from home, because what sounds like ABBA’s greatest hits blares from wall to wall.
A poker game is under way on my left, while there are so many people waiting at the bar to my right, I can’t even see it.
I’m aiming toward it anyway, trying to spot Ronan, when there’s a tap on my shoulder. I turn to find Sam grinning down at me.
At least, I think he’s Sam. He certainly looks like Sam. Dressed like him too. But his smile is a little too wide, his eyes a little too bright. There’s a faint flush to his skin, and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone.
Drunk Sam.
“You’re here!”
Happy drunk Sam.
“I am,” I say. “What’s going on?”
“Did you know Marcus can play ‘Waterloo’ on the fiddle?”
“I didn’t. And who’s Marcus?”
“The guy with the fiddle.” Sam glances about as though looking for him. “Do you want to hear it?”
“Not particularly. How much have you had to— Whoa.” I brace as he tilts toward me, and somehow manage to hold him upright. Looks as if Ronan’s bathtub whiskey has been doing the rounds. “All right, big guy. I hate to ruin a good time, but I think you’re done for the night.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are. But you won’t be in the morning. Trust me.”
“I’ve been thinking about the ending,” he says. “When Finn’s at the keep and he—”
“Okay, okay, shush.” I slap a hand over his mouth. “Ixnay on the ookbay.”
He just smiles beneath my palm as I panic.
Crap.
“I’m taking you out of here before you start spilling state secrets. Let’s go for a walk, hmm?”
“I’ll get my stuff.”
“Do you have any stuff?”
“No.”
Okay. I latch on to his elbow in case he wanders off and pull him toward the bar, where I catch Ronan’s eye in the crowd.
“Do I need to close a tab?” I yell over to him.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“He’s three sheets to the wind. I know he’s good for it.”
But Ronan just shrugs. “It’s the lad’s birthday. He had one drink on the house, and then everyone else chipped in. He’s good.”
Birthday? Shane mentioned this too. “Sorry, what do you mean it’s his—”
A sharp tug on my arm cuts me off and I glance over my shoulder to see Sam gently petting Bernard’s dog. “You are very soft,” he tells it.
“Here,” Ronan says, dragging my attention back to him. “Take the rest before it’s gone.”
“Before what’s—”
My free hand shoots out automatically as he thrusts what looks like a plate of half-eaten birthday cake into my hands. “Best before was a month ago, but it should be all right. Only thing I could find in the back.”
“Ronan—”
“Can’t have a birthday party without any cake. We’re not savages.” He leans over the bar, and I have to strain to hear his lowered voice over the noise. “He said you had an argument.”
“He…what?” I glance back, tugging at Sam as he tries to follow the dog.
“I like the lad a lot,” Ronan says. “But to be clear, I’m on your side. No matter what you did.”
“I didn’t do anything!”
“Exactly,” he says. “But maybe be mad at him tomorrow, yeah?”
But before I can explain that I didn’t even know it was his birthday, I’m jostled back by people trying to order.
I turn to Sam, beyond confused, just knowing that I need to get him out of here. “Okay,” I say, ushering him out the door. “Let’s roll.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’re going back to your room. Where you will sleep.”
“Do you have a tent?”
I blink at the change in conversation. “What?”
“Can’t stay in the room,” he explains absently. “Don’t want to sleep in the car.”
“Why would you sleep in your— Nope.” I tighten my hold as he tries to go back inside. Sam just laughs, and I keep him there, considering my options.
Unless I lock the guy in, there is a high chance that as soon I leave he’ll just make his way downstairs again, and while I know it’s none of my business and that he can do what he likes…
“Sam? Sam.” I wait until he focuses on me. “You want to go back to mine? Do some work?”
“Work?”
“Yes. You love work.”
“Now?”
“Uh-huh. Night owl, remember?”
“I remember,” he murmurs, and then glances down to where I’m still holding on to him. He makes no move to free himself. “Are we walking?”
“No. I drove.”
“I think we need to look at the dungeon scene again,” he says as I take him to the car. “I think you can go darker.”
“Noted.”
I open the passenger door for him, expecting a struggle, but he seems happy to go now that I’m not forcing him upstairs. In fact, he turns downright chatty, telling me all about Ronan’s side hustle as a brewer and how Shane isn’t that bad a guy once you get to know him.
He’s happy. Almost giddy, and at any other time I might enjoy this side of him. But instead, I’m just mad.
Mad that he didn’t tell me it was his birthday when he told everybody else. That he might as well have lied to me about it.
That he didn’t want me there.
It hurts me a lot more than it should, and doubt rears its ugly head as I drive, sinking my mood further and further, but Sam doesn’t notice. He keeps up a running commentary all the way home and then hops out before I even turn off the engine, gazing at the house as though he’s never been here.
“Have you ever tried writing horror?” he asks. “I think you can lean into the horror in the dungeons. Make it dark.”
“You already said that,” I remind him, but it’s as though he’s talking to himself, speaking every thought that comes into his mind.
“You shied away from it in your books, but it didn’t feel like your decision. It was like you were restraining yourself. Especially in your second one. With the poison.”
He climbs the porch steps, only seeming to realize I’m not with him when he gets to the door. “Do you have the…” He makes a twisty motion with his hand as he turns back to face me. “Thing?”
“You read my books?”
“I read all your books,” he says, not seeming to register my surprise. “May I have some water?” he adds politely, and I realize I’m staring at him.
I fumble with my key, my thoughts a confusing tangle as I let him inside.
He waits patiently as I turn off the alarm and then trails after me into the kitchen, humming something under his breath.
He seems to have lost any understanding of personal space.
He’s so close that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
The man is like a furnace, but for some reason it only makes me shiver as I put the cake on the table and pour him some water. He chugs it back in three gulps.
“It was a commercial decision,” I say awkwardly.
“What?”
“With the books. They thought it would turn readers off if I made them too dark.”
He scoffs at that, switching back into Mr. Editor mode so quickly I blink. “They were wrong.”
“They said it was too risky.”
“You could pull it off.”
The compliment makes me flush, which is weird. It’s not as if he hasn’t said good things about my writing before, but this feels more personal somehow.
“I would have edited you better,” he adds stubbornly.
“Yeah,” I say. “Probably.”
“Do you have a TV?”
“In the living room.”
“There’s a movie I want to show you.”
“But you— Okay.”
I follow as he about-turns and heads across the hall, only to seemingly forget what he came in for. He stops by the couch, frowning as he places his hand on his stomach.
Uh-oh.
“Are you going to throw up?”
He takes a while to answer. “No,” he says finally, but he sounds as unsure as he looks.
“Do you want to sit?”
“Yes.”
He does so gently, and I set the water on the table beside him.
“I’ll get you something to eat,” I say, but he reaches out before I can, clasping warm fingers around my wrist. I freeze, my heart doing a little stuttering thing as I stare down at him. He’s got that earnest look again. The one that makes any walls within me crumble into dust.
“I think you’re a wonderful writer and I’m glad I came here.” He says each word slowly and clearly, as if he wants to imprint them onto me. “And I really like your hair.”
“Thank you,” I say when he doesn’t continue.
“You’re welcome.” He lets me go and rubs his face hard, looking exhausted.
“You can lie down,” I tell him.
“My shoes.”
“You can take them off.”
He does, fumbling with them briefly before dropping them to the floor with a thump. Once that task is completed, he slumps back against the cushions with so much force that a dark wave of hair falls across his forehead. By my side my hand twitches with the sudden urge to fix it.
“Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re cute when you’re drunk.”
A smile stretches across his face even as he closes his eyes. “I’m going to remember you said that.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Yes, I will.”
“Sam?”
“Yeah?” He drops his voice to a whisper, matching mine, and I lean in so he can hear me.
“I’m glad you came here too.”
“That’s good.” He sighs, and his entire body seems to sink into the couch, the picture of relaxation.
“I’m going to get you some food, okay?”
“Okay.”
I leave him be and come back a minute later with some buttered toast, but he doesn’t answer when I call his name, and when I set the plate on the table I find him fast asleep.