Chapter Nine
WES
I watched Patsy closely as he ate, loving the little sounds of pleasure as he enjoyed the lasagna.
I couldn’t help but smile. I’d planned out the dinner to thank him for opening his home to me, crossing my fingers that he’d like it.
I adored cooking, even when I’d lived by myself, but I loved cooking for other people too.
I’d taken mom’s old recipe box with me when I’d packed up my belongings for the last time but I’d completely forgotten about her old Betty Crocker cookbook with handwritten notes in the margins.
She’d meticulously recorded how much she liked certain recipes, highlighting which ones worked or had been failures, regardless of how tested they’d been.
I’d regretted leaving it behind ever since.
I regretted a lot of things from that turbulent time in my life, but had to admit, seeing Patsy’s reaction to the homemade, cheesy, garlic rolls as he bit into one, made me feel happier than I had in a long time.
“Wes,” Patsy moaned, “this food is delicious. Thank you.”
I reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “It’s the least I could do. It’s nothing really. It doesn’t even begin to repay you for every kind thing you’ve done for me. You have no idea how grateful I am.”
He smiled softly at me, squeezing back before letting go and lifting his knife and fork again. “Ya don’t have to thank me, Wes. I want ya here.” He held my gaze for several seconds before looking out to the living room.
“I hope you don’t mind that I straightened up around the apartment,” I rushed to say, suddenly feeling nervous.
Cleaning up had been something I did to show how much I appreciated him.
I ducked my head and studied my plate. “Cleaning sort of…relaxes me.” The burst of laughter from across the table made me look up sharply.
His face was truly beautiful when he was happy.
“Cleaning is the bane of my existence. I feckin’ hate it.” He waved his hand at the room. “As ya can no doubt tell, I’m totally shite at it.”
“Just a bit,” I said, taking a bite of biscuit to hide my smile. For some damned reason, Patsy made me want to smile all the time.
“I don’t mind ya cleanin’ up at all. Napoleon says I’m a pig who enjoys wallowin’ in me own sty.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I can’t be bothered with puttin’ in the effort, which—come to think of it—doesn’t say great things about my character, does it now?”
I shook my head, trying really hard not to show how amusing I was finding this conversation.
“From my perspective, you have the finest character, Patsy.” When he just shrugged, I figured he wanted to drop the subject.
I took one last bite of food then pushed the empty plate away and sat back. “Damn, I’m stuffed.”
“Whew, yer not kiddin’! That was the best meal I’ve eaten in donkey’s ages, Weston. Thanks again ma—Wes,” he corrected. “Goin’ to have to work on that.”
“Calling me mate?”
Patsy nodded. “Aye, and when I slip up, just know I meant it with great affection.”
I smiled. “Will do.” He pushed his chair back from the table and stood, reaching for my dish. I got to my feet. “Let me do the dishes, Patsy.”
“Feck no. I can do a couple of plates. You’ve been cleanin’ and cookin’ all day.”
“I told you. It relaxes me and I really don’t mind it at all.”
He shook his head. “Come talk to me in the kitchen while I do these.” He hefted the plates and silverware he’d picked up.
“Fine,” I grumbled. He made quick work of the dishes while I stored the uneaten lasagna and rolls in the fridge. I leaned against the counter behind him, admiring his gorgeous ass until he shut off the water and dried his hands. When he turned around, he caught me. His wicked grin was quick.
“I felt the weight of that stare.”
I pushed off the counter and closed the distance between us, sliding my arms around his shoulders. “Ask me if I care if you know how badly I want you.”
He looked up at me as he leaned close. “Ya could put it in mathematical terms.”
I snorted, which quickly turned into laughter. His eyes danced with amusement. “I could do that, but the number would be a high one,” I replied, when I could finally catch my breath.
He slid his hands around my waist and turned his face up, inviting a kiss. Since I couldn’t think of a better idea, I bent and took his lips in mine, kissing him slowly. I loved the taste of Patsy. When he finally pulled away, I broke the kiss, and his eyes danced with a devilish glint.
“Come on. Let’s grab a drink and sit on the sofa, Wes.” He walked over to the fridge to look for something. I had to admit, I was more than a little surprised because talking on the sofa wasn’t exactly where I thought the evening was headed.
Patsy straightened and turned around. He was holding two sweating bottles.
I’d spotted the six pack when I’d rummaged around looking for ingredients earlier in the day, and it had dawned on me that he either wasn’t a big drinker or wasn’t a drinker at all.
The first night I’d ever seen him in the convenience store, he’d been headed back to the alcohol aisle, so I’d just assumed it’s what had prompted the late-night visit to the store. He intrigued me.
“I don’t keep alcohol in the house but I do have the non-alcohol version or Gatorade and fizzy drink if ya prefer.”
“A fizzy drink?” I grinned.
“Ya know, the bubbly stuff. A soft drink.” The twinkle in his eye made me laugh.
“Oh, that’s fine,” I said, pointing to the non-alcoholic beer. “Not a big drinker either.”
His sudden grin was like a burst of sunshine lighting up the room.
He handed me a bottle and then took my hand, pulling me out to the living room.
We settled closely beside each other on the couch, twisting off the bottle caps and drinking a few sips.
When he folded one leg and turned to face me, his smile was absent, replaced by a more serious expression.
“Listen, I don’t want ya to worry about what the detectives said. Everythin’ is goin’ to be okay. I know ya didn’t kill anyone.”
I slid my arm along the back of his couch, and he immediately reached for my hand, twining our fingers before dropping it to his knee. “I know. Like I said before, I don’t know how you know, but I’m so grateful, Patsy.”
“I guess you’ve worked out I have a military background, Wes.
” When I nodded, he continued. “I met my boss—Captain Sorensen—in Afghanistan more than ten years ago. My mate and I had been assigned to his U.S. Special Forces unit as part of a multi-country relationship. Tommy and I were Irish ARW—Army Ranger Wing. That’s a special branch of the Irish defense forces.
We were part of the contingent Ireland sent to Afghanistan to fight in America’s War on Terror.
” I nodded, caught up in his story. “Tommy and I were on patrol about three miles outside the camp when we were captured by the Taliban.”
I sucked in a breath.
“I can’t say much about it, because it’s classified,” he said. “What I can tell ya is by the time our unit found us, we’d been held for five days.”
“Christ, Patsy, that’s horrible.”
He nodded. “I came out of it, but Tommy didn’t survive. He died from injuries after being tortured.”
“Oh, my God—”
“His loss was a terrible blow. He was much loved by all the guys but to me…Tommy was my best friend. We’d grown up together in our wee village, close to The Curragh, in County Kildare, and we joined the ARW together.
When our captain asked for volunteers to pair up with the American Special Forces, we volunteered for that too.
” Patsy shook his head. “Those feckers killed him because they knew we were working with the Americans.”
I swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to drag him into my arms and make him forget all of it. “And…did they—” I paused, not knowing how to ask the question or if I even should.
The sharp look in his eyes told me he hadn’t missed my hesitation.
He nodded slowly. “We’d both been tortured.
I survived but Tommy didn’t. The reason I’m tellin’ ya this is because it’s important that ya know the context for what I’m goin’ to say.
” He waited for me to nod. “After I got out of hospital in Dublin, I was sent home to the farm to recuperate.” He sighed.
“I went through a bad patch, Wes. I couldn’t sleep, lost weight…
was in lots of pain while I recovered. I started drinkin’ instead of getting counselin’ since I didn’t want to talk about what’d happened.
The last thing I wanted to do was to relive all the…
stuff, includin’ what had happened to Tommy. ”
“That’s why you don’t drink anymore.”
“Aye. I drank for almost two years. I had PTSD, though, I wasn’t sure what to call it at the time.
I told myself it was only depression, somethin’ I’d eventually snap out of, but the truth was, I was in denial.
Drinkin’ was the only way to fall asleep at night.
I avoided friends, didn’t talk much to my family.
When my mam found me passed out at home one too many times, she contacted Candy who’d returned to the States with the rest of our unit. ”
“Candy is Sorensen, right?”
“Sorry…yeah. Anyway, he flew to Ireland, scooped me out of the vomit I’d passed out in, and brought me back to the U.S. where the rest of my brothers were. They’re the same men I work with now at the FBI. They saw me through my detox and rehab, and Candy put me on his team. He saved my life, Wes.”
Patsy leaned forward and brushed tears off my cheeks. I hadn’t even realized I’d been crying until he reached for me. He wrapped me up in his arms and kissed the side of my head. “I didn’t want to upset ya, mo mhuirnín, but I wanted ya to understand why I don’t drink.”
I leaned back, looking into his beautiful eyes. “Moo warn…neen?”
“Uh, yeah…close enough.” He lifted a hand and cupped my cheek. “Dear…it means my dear or darling in Gaelic.”
I smiled. “I like it.”