8. Rory
Rory
“The Anchoring Pig,” Eliza said into the phone. There was music in the background, a swell of laughter and cheers that seemed almost surreal given my situation. I could imagine Maeve there, applauding with the rest of them, caught up in the moment.
Ian and I had been driving in his old beater truck for two hours, the engine groaning along the highway. We were close, less than ten minutes away.
Maybe I should’ve waited to call. Or maybe I should have just shown up there. Probably should’ve. But the truth was, I needed to hear Maeve’s voice first. To know if there was still a chance before I walked into whatever storm awaited me.
“Hey, Eliza, it’s Rory.” Silence on the other end. I pressed on. “Look, can I talk to Maeve? Is she there?”
Another long silence. Then she hissed, “You’ve got some nerve calling here.”
“Eliza…”
“Go to Hell!” The line went dead.
I lowered the phone, staring at it like the answer might materialize if I willed it hard enough. If I could just talk to Maeve —give her a better explanation now that I had the words — maybe she’d understand. Or at the very least, I could warn her about Frank.
Frank had a talent for grinding people down to their rawest selves.
Some folks welcomed it, called it clarity.
But those who didn’t? They left as husks, missing pieces they never meant to part with.
That was why Frank and I could never see eye to eye anymore.
We’d destroyed too much together —businesses, lives— and I couldn’t keep pretending it didn’t bother me.
“You alright?” Ian asked, his hands steady on the wheel.
I chuckled dryly. “Not really.”
We drove on in silence, the highway giving way to dirt roads flanked by sprawling fields.
The landscape was peaceful, almost soothing, despite the weight in my chest. For a moment, I let myself wonder what life might’ve been like if I’d stayed on the farm my parents had built before they went bankrupt.
A quiet life, growing corn, selling it at markets. Maybe I’d have been content.
But that wasn’t the path I’d chosen. And if I hadn’t left, I wouldn’t have found Maeve. The thought of never meeting her was unbearable, even worse than the idea she might never want me back. At least I’d had her once—felt the warmth of the sun, even if just for a moment.
Ian broke the silence. “I don’t know what you did, but if she still wants something to do with you, she’ll let you in. It’s not about convincin’ her. Just remind her why she picked you in the first place.”
I didn’t reply. The quiet world outside seemed to hum with its own wisdom, the starlight blanketing the hills in silver. A thick fog rolled across the ground, making it feel like we were floating.
“What if she thinks it’s all been a lie?” I finally asked.
“Has it been?”
“No. Not my feelings for her.”
“Then that’s all there is to it.”
I stared at the phone again, then redialed the pub.
Eliza answered, sharper this time. “Hello?”
“Eliza—”
“Seriously? Get a life.”
“Wait—please. Just put me on the phone with Maeve.”
There was a long, frustrated sigh on her end. “I don’t know why you’re bothering. If you haven’t convinced her by now, you’re not going to. I told her as much when she went to find you.”
“Unless she drove to Cork, Eliza, she didn’t come to me,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “I was mugged and left in a farmer’s yard.”
Her voice was microscopic when she spoke next, “She went to you. I don’t know. She didn’t give me a location— she just left. Look, it’s busy here and I?—”
“I gotta go, Eliza.”
“How dangerous were the people who mugged you?”
I didn’t say anything for a moment. Finally, I said, “They didn’t kill me. That’s something.”
I hung up the phone. There was no way she could have tracked me down to where I’d been mugged.
Could she have? Sure, plenty of people in the market saw me run after the boy.
Maybe a few of them even saw me round the street, but if anyone actually knew what happened, then things would be a lot different.
Wouldn’t they be? I’d heard of towns protecting their own, but Galway wasn’t exactly a small place.
It was a major city. And cities chewed people up and spat them out.
“You alright there?” Ian asked.
I opened my mouth to speak, but the sudden glare of bright yellow lights swallowed the words before they could escape.
The oncoming car’s headlights washed over us, flooding it with an eerie glow that made my stomach lurch.
I glanced up instinctively, my heart leaping to my throat. Ian looked a second too late.
Ian’s old truck rattled as it surged through the stop sign, and the other vehicle hit us broadside with a deafening crash.
The sound was visceral— metal folding against metal, glass shattering, and the gut-wrenching thud of impact.
The force hurled us sideways, slamming my shoulder against the door.
My seatbelt bit into my chest, knocking the breath from my lungs.
As the world spun in a chaotic blur of darkness and motion, I thought back to the last car crash I’d been in.
That was back when I’d been with my first love Rebecca.
I’d been driving then, and I’d been distracted.
We flipped and I cracked my skull against the steering wheel.
I’d lost my memory in those few days, and in that time, Rebecca had stopped loving me and found someone else.
My head snapped forward, and pain exploded in my skull as the car careened off the road.
Only this time, I didn’t black out. I listened to the gravel crunch beneath us, then the truck smashing into a weathered wooden fence, splintering it with a sharp crack.
I was fully awake to it. Completely alert, and it was all the scarier.
When everything finally stilled, only the creak of the truck’s frame and the faint bleating of startled sheep filled the air. My ears buzzed with the aftermath of the crash, a high-pitched whine that drowned out the distant hum of the other car speeding away.
I groaned, gingerly touching the side of my head. Pain radiated down my neck. “Ian?” My voice came out hoarse, barely audible.
Ian shifted in the driver’s seat, a hand pressed to his temple. “I’m here. You alright?” his voice wavered.
I scanned the scene. Our headlights illuminated the nearby flock of sheep, their woolly forms glowing in the misty night. They huddled together near the broken fence, wide-eyed and unharmed, their soft bleats blending with the rustle of the wind through the fields.
“I think so,” I said, wincing as I unclipped my seatbelt. My fingers trembled as I braced myself against the door, the rough texture of the handle grounding me for a moment. “Are you okay?”
Ian nodded, his jaw clenched. “Yeah. Damn fool didn’t stop. Bloody hell, my truck…” He trailed off, surveying the crumpled side of the vehicle with a grimace.
I leaned my head back against the seat, the adrenaline ebbing and leaving behind a throbbing ache. The cold night air seeped through the cracked window, stinging against my skin.
“We’re lucky,” I murmured, watching the sheep slowly settle back into grazing. “It could’ve been worse.”
He let out a strangled laugh, then climbed out of the vehicle, surveying the damage. I still gripped his phone in my hand, so I called for help.
“Hey, Frank,” I said, and for the first time in a long time, I was relieved to hear his voice.
“Where the hell are you?” Frank snapped, never been known to mince words.
“It’s a long story,” I groaned. “Look, can you come get me? I got in an accident.” I looked for nearby mile markers or street signs, and when I found one, told him the coordinates.
He cursed under his breath. “You really know how to make a situation go from bad to worse, don’t you?”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
Neither of us spoke for a moment. Then he said, “I spoke with that business owner,” he said.
“You spoke with Maeve?” I had hoped I’d have just a little bit of time. “I thought you were going to wait until we went in together.”
He snorted. “Yeah. She’s pretty. I get why you’re hesitant. Feisty, too.”
“Frank—” I started, but stopped, then said, “Can you get me?”
“You’re not that far away. Call a taxi.” Then he hung up.
I stared at the phone for a moment, disbelief coursing through my veins. Then red and blue lights filled the street.