Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
CALLUM
H ours later, I watched from behind the bar as the strains of a harmonica and the twang of a banjo filled the bar.
Tyrone closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and began to sing the opening lines to “Dirty Old Town.”
My hand automatically wiped the inside of a glass with a towel while I watched the patrons swaying in time to the tune. I forgot how Tyrone Doyle fancied himself as a modern-day Daniel O’Donnell at every fucking wake he landed in. Clearly, he could carry a tune, but he was no Bono.
My eyes caught T’s, and I rolled them left to right as if to say, Jesus Christ.
Tadhg grinned at me, then turned back to the tables to grab some dirty glasses.
My stare slid to Donovan, who’d caged Lucy Bloom against the wall and was in the process of sweet-talking her while trailing his index finger down the side of her neck.
Lucy was the town bike; most of us had ridden her at some point. Usually, I didn’t regard girls that way—I mean, I wasn’t exactly the Virgin Mary myself—but Lucy was a special kind of easy, and Donny was a special kind of cunt even trying to get into her knickers at our athair’s wake.
I was surrounded by idiots—the exception being my mam—and I had to leave them in charge when Kennedy read my aul fella’s will while I dealt with whatever Paddy was about to throw at me.
Jesus, help me.
I caught a flash of blonde and turned to see Kennedy beckoning me from the corridor leading to my office. My stare went straight to Patrick, who was already looking over at me from his place beside Tyrone, and I jerked my chin to indicate it was time.
Paddy shot Liam a knowing look and got to his feet, fastening the buttons of his black suit. I walked out from behind the bar, and together, we headed up the corridor toward Kennedy, who was waiting at my office door.
“Sorry about Lorcan,” Paddy murmured in his half-American, half-Irish lilt, which was ridiculous since he’d never stepped foot on Irish soil.
My brothers and I all had U.S accents, seeing as we were born and raised here, except for the odd Irish word or phrase that we’d picked up from my da or Mam over the years. Unlike Patrick, we didn’t pretend to be something we weren’t.
My mam’s accent was strong, but then she hailed from a pretty town in the center of Ireland called Roscommon. She was a good Catholic girl of nineteen when my aul fella fell in love with her at first sight when he was thirty years old.
Da had moved to the States when he was twenty-two. He hailed from Belfast originally and often went back to see his folks. He met Mam in her local pub when he visited a friend, and six weeks later, he wifed her up and brought her back to New York with him.
He managed bars and restaurants and loved it so much that he decided to start his own business. After the family tried to involve him in a shady protection racket, he moved Mam to Hambleton and opened the Lucky Shamrock.
Their marriage was mostly a happy one, lasting forty-two years, but then a few years ago, Da was diagnosed with an aggressive type of lymphoma.
And here we were.
I gave Paddy a tight-lipped smile of acknowledgment.
Everybody was sorry for our loss, but what could I say?
Da was gone.
Death was a part of life, and my responsibility now was to honor Da and look after my ma and younger siblings the way he would’ve wanted. I had a bar to run, and my family needed help to navigate the grieving process. People’s condolences, although comforting, didn’t put food on the table.
Only working hard did that, which was why I didn’t protest about Paddy being there. I needed Kennedy to hurry this along so I could go pull more pints.
She led us into my office and nodded toward the chairs situated around my desk. Kennedy sat next to where a thick file lay on the table. “If you could sit, gentlemen, we can start.”
Grabbing the chair furthest from the door, I parked my ass and watched Paddy unbutton his suit jacket before he did the same. Our eyes caught, and he gave me a small nod before turning his head to study Kennedy.
She opened the file, took out a single sheet of paper, and donned a pair of large, black-rimmed glasses. “Gentlemen, thank you for coming,” she began. “I have a letter here from Lorcan, who left instructions to read it when you were together. He also asked that you let me finish before speaking. Lorcan came to my partner six months ago and asked Scotty to outline his intentions in regard to his business and financial affairs. He would like this letter read to explain his decision and why he made it, and that’s what I’ll do today in accordance with his wishes.”
I took a deep, calming breath, preparing myself to hear Da’s last words.
“I, Lorcan O’Shea, being of sound mind, do bequeath the contents of my savings and checking account to my wife, Maureen. Along with those, I would like to bequeath my two life insurance policies in the hope that, combined, the proceeds will allow her to live a good life until the day we meet again. If the dividends fall short, I’d ask that my eldest son, Callum, help his mother financially to ensure she’s looked after.”
I bowed my head.
“The family business, The Lucky Shamrock bar, is to be given to Patrick Doyle, to whom I owe three hundred thousand dollars.”
My body locked.
What?
Kennedy paused briefly, her face paling, then she cleared her throat and continued, “Son. I’m sorry. We had a rough couple of years back when our patrons were getting drugged. Profits went down, overheads went up, and I had medical bills to pay—bills I didn’t want to leave your mother worrying about. I was happy to refuse treatment and leave everything in God’s hands, but your mother begged me to fight, and my insurance didn’t cover everything I needed.”
Slowly, my stomach sank.
No. No. No.
Kennedy’s incredulous stare met mine, and she went on, “You have choices available, Callum. You could sell the bar and open a new one with the proceeds, or you could listen to the proposal Patrick and I discussed. Personally, I want the Shamrock to continue in the family. I want you to settle, be happy, give my Maureen grandbabies, and make a success of the bar. I know I’ve left you in an awkward spot, but I didn’t have a choice. There’s no question about how much we both love the place and the memories we made there together, but I’ve been telling you for years, what good is it if there’s nobody to pass it on to? Please think about what Patrick’s about to offer; don’t write it off, Son, you could do a lot worse. I love you, your mam, and your brothers and sister. Never forget that, and do everything in your power to keep the Shamrock.”
My ribs squeezed so hard I thought my chest would cave in. My skin itched, and blood rushed through my ears as I tried to make sense of what was happening.
I knew the bar had gone through a rough patch a few years before, but Da never mentioned that it was bad enough that he had to take out a goddamned loan.
And from Patrick Doyle, of all people.
Jesus Christ.
I wasn’t even sure the bar was worth that much. Hambleton was a sought-after town to live in, but after it came to light that the mayor was trafficking local women, house prices plummeted. The townsfolk didn’t care; they were here for life, but it didn’t bode well for me if I sold the bar, and there was no guarantee there’d even be enough to pay off Da’s loan.
Plus, we’d be fucked.
No bar.
No livelihood.
No income.
I turned straight to Patrick. “I don’t have the money to give you. I’ve some savings, and I’m sure my brothers do, too, but not enough to make a dent in what we owe.”
Paddy’s blue eyes bored into mine. “We’ll work something out.”
Relief washed away the rising panic in my chest. “Really?”
“We’re family,” he told me softly. “Like your da said, I have a proposition for you.”
A wave of dread crashed into me.
Patrick’s proposition could range from asking me to mule enough cocaine to sink a small country to whacking a politician. I wouldn’t put anything past him, and it wasn’t because he was untrustworthy or a liar. It was because he was the head of the Irish Mob and ruthless. Every deal he made was to benefit himself, and I didn’t believe for one second he felt any loyalty toward me or my business.
I wasn’t the most upstanding citizen in the world. When assholes got rowdy in my bar, I wouldn’t think twice about taking them outside and showing them the error of their ways. I got scrappy when I needed to, but I wasn’t a killer or a drug mule.
Nonetheless, it seemed I owed Paddy Doyle a small fortune. If he was going to be amiable in helping me out, I had to at least show him the respect of listening. I didn’t have upward of a quarter of a fucking million dollars, so if he was in a generous mood and wanted to throw me a lifeline, I didn’t have any choice but to take it.
My eyes drifted to Kennedy. “Could you give us a minute, please?”
Her face remained impassive, but I caught her eyes narrowing slightly. “That’s not advisable, Callum. You may need legal counsel.”
“If I do, I’ll discuss it with you after,” I assured her.
Her mouth tightened slightly, but she jerked her chin in assent, even though I knew that underneath her calm exterior she was probably worried sick. Slowly, she rose, gave Paddy a courteous nod, and left the room.
Patrick loosened his tie and slumped back in his seat. “Your aul fella would’ve loved this turnout. Lorcan enjoyed a good wake. He was the first one to pour the Guinness and celebrate life. I got closer to him in his last months, Cal. Gonna miss him.”
My mouth hitched at a distant memory of Da laughing from behind the bar while winding my ass up for one of my many infractions back when I was a dumb kid. It was crazy how he’d left Ma and me in this position; it hadn’t sunk in, and it probably wouldn’t for days.
“He asked me to throw you a bone,” Paddy continued. “The loan was and still is interest-free. I can’t write it off, you know that. I want to, I loved your athair, but my organization wouldn’t allow it. My cash flow is tied up in business. I can give you time to pay it, even wipe fifty grand off it for ya, but there’s one condition.”
I swallowed so hard that my Adam’s apple bobbed. It didn’t take the asshole long to get down to the brass tacks of the matter. “And what’s that?”
“Maeve,” he murmured.
My forehead creased questioningly. “What about Maeve?”
Paddy’s eyes rested on mine and held. “She needs a husband.”
“What’s that gotta do with...?” My voice trailed off as his meaning washed over me, and my jaw dropped.
“The fifty-thousand’s her dowry,” Paddy explained. “I’ll take it straight off what Lorcan borrowed. And I’ll give you twelve months to pay the loan back.” He leaned forward, placing an arm on the desk. “Lorcan told me more than once that you needed to settle down and have kids. Maeve’s twenty-eight, and the same applies. She’s always got her head in a book, and she doesn’t go out except to seminars and lectures about old bones and artifacts. It’s time for my girl to get her head outta the clouds and start living her life.”
I opened my mouth and closed it again, speechless.
What the fuck was he playing at? He couldn’t blackmail me into marrying his daughter. I’d met Maeve on a few occasions, more so when we were younger, and out of all the women God put on the Earth, she was the one I’d be least likely to wed.
I liked my girls with tits, ass, and sass. Getting to know them wasn’t on the cards because I never wanted to go that deep. I wasn’t a relationship kinda man, so marriage was never in my sights. I had fuck buddies, and I never deviated when I spent time with a particular girl. I liked one woman at a time in my bed, and when it fizzled, or somebody else caught my eye, I moved on, but always with care.
Maeve was shy and quiet as a church mouse. She was the daughter of Paddy’s second in command, who was killed protecting him from an assassination attempt years before. Her mother was dead, too, so Paddy and his wife adopted her out of a sense of loyalty and appreciation for what her da Grady did.
The last I heard of Maeve, she was doing her Masters in archeology at Yale. She was hella smart, and that was great, but not for me. She could’ve been a lovely girl, but she’d never been on my radar ‘cause the nerdy type never appealed, and if Maeve was one thing, it was nerdy.
I cast my mind back to the last time I saw her.
It was a year ago at Paddy’s wife’s birthday party in New York. Maeve sat in a corner all night, looking as if she’d kill to be anywhere but there. Da tried to make me ask her to dance, but I told him I’d probably scare the girl half to death, seeing as she already looked terrified. Her hair was a bright ginger red and frizzy. I’d never seen skin so pale, which wasn’t helped by the dowdy clothes she wore or her unattractive, black-rimmed glasses with lenses so thick her eyes looked comically huge behind them.
She reminded me of a younger version of that teacher, Professor Trelawney, from the Harry Potter films. Not a woman I’d even stick my dick in, let alone marry.
My dismay intensified. “I’m not in the life. Wouldn’t it be better to marry her off to a son of one of your men or maybe a business acquaintance?”
“I’ve thought about it,” he admitted. “But I know Maeve’s not cut out for that. She loves reading and researching old shit. She’s never happier than when she’s in welly boots, knee-deep in mud, looking for an old plate from a hundred years ago. I promised her dad on his death bed that I’d break my back to make her happy, and I won’t rest until I’ve fulfilled my vow to him.”
“But me, Paddy?” I reasoned. “Me? Think about it. I’m too old for her. Marriage and kids aren’t even on my radar. All I got is a bar, a ma, and a debt so big it makes my balls shrivel up. What the fuck can I offer her?”
“She’s mooned after you since she was a kid.” He leaned forward, staring me straight in the eyes. “And what my Maeve wants, Maeve gets.”
My head tipped back, and I closed my eyes. “I’m not chattel for you to pass around at your leisure.”
“No,” he agreed. “Nobody’s making you do shit, but remember, your da wanted you to settle down, and he loved Maeve. We’d talked for a while about getting you two together. I know she’s not all glitz and glamor; she’s more than that. Maeve runs deep, and she’s sweet and loyal. I have two blood daughters who I love, but all they care about is their image and their wardrobes. Maeve cares about people. She’ll support you.”
A flash of heat burned through my chest.
Maeve didn’t care about shit, and she certainly didn’t care about trapping a man who didn’t love or want her. Paddy’s other two daughters may have been vain, but they were more my speed. Both Erin and Shannon were society girls who were easy on the eye. I’d almost fucked Shannon once. Luckily, I came to my senses in time and remembered whose daughter she was, but at least if I married her, my dick would get hard.
“What about one of your other girls?” I asked. “I get along well with Shannon.”
Paddy’s lips pursed. “She’s promised to the Russians, and believe me, Cal, six months with her, and you’d be begging me for Maeve. Love Shannon, but she’s a handful, and not in a good way. She’ll do well with Gregor’s son; he’ll get her in hand.”
I swallowed past my distaste at his words. “What about Erin?”
“Promised to the Kelly family in Boston,” he explained. “Plus, she’d bore you stupid. All she talks about is clothes. I know I sound harsh, Callum, but you’ll do better with Maeve. It’s her who needs a husband.”
“Why haven’t you married her off already?” I inquired.
His lips pursed.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I demanded. “Be straight with me.”
Paddy sat back and glared. “Drop it.”
“No,” I argued. “What the fuck?—?"
“Jesus, Callum!” he roared. “I want her away from the life, okay?”
All the tension left my body.
“I get it,” Paddy bit out, his tone softer. “Maeve’s not a raving beauty, but I’m telling ya, she’s gorgeous inside. My girls are spoiled and selfish, thanks to their mother giving in to them at every turn. I raised Maeve, and I’m offering her to you ‘cause I know she’ll be happier out of the life with a man she’s liked since she was a girl. Let her read and study, be kind, listen to what she says, and in return, you’ll get a girl who fucking shines for you, Callum.”
My gut twisted. “But there’s something you’re not taking into account, Patrick. I don’t want her.”
Paddy’s eyes shone with what appeared to be disappointment. “Then we’re done here. You’ve got one month to repay your da’s loan. If you haven’t got the cake, this place goes up for sale. If the sale doesn’t make enough to pay it all back, you’ll need to make up the shortfall immediately. If you can’t do that, we’ll have problems.” He stood, fastened the buttons of his suit jacket, and reiterated, “Again, Callum, sorry for your loss,” then he turned on his heel and walked out.
I waited for the door to close before slumping back in my chair.
Disbelief wasn’t a strong enough word for what I felt at that moment. If somebody had told me an hour ago that my aul fella would stitch my ass up and feed it to Patrick Doyle, I would’ve ordered them their very own straitjacket.
My da loved me, my ma, and my brothers and sister more than life, so what the fuck was he playing at? He’d always told me the bar would be mine, so why would he hand the place over to a man like Paddy?
My thoughts went back to the day my parents sat us down and told us about Da’s illness. He spoke in an emotionless, stoic tone, giving us the facts of what was going to happen. I recalled how Mam had sat there, proud and dignified, with hope shining in her eyes, and it suddenly hit me; that was why. He did it for her because he would’ve done anything for her.
I got it because I would’ve given up everything I had for more time with my dad, so I understood why he gave up everything to get more time with my mam.
The problem was, he’d fucked me over in the process, and the bright future I’d envisaged had gone up in a puff of smoke. I owed more on the place than it was worth, and if Paddy sold it from under me, I’d lose my business as well as my home because I lived in the apartment above the bar.
I’d worked here since I was sixteen years old. I’d invested my time, blood, sweat, and tears into the Shamrock. To lose the bar would equate to losing myself.
What the fuck was I gonna do?
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell. Unlocking it, I typed a message into the group chat I had with my brothers.
SOS. Office, now.
Within seconds, two green ticks appeared, and I sat back and waited.
It didn’t take long for me to hear the voices of my brothers get louder as they approached the office. The door flew open to reveal Donovan and Tadhg.
“Get your arses in here,” I ordered.
Donny sauntered over, dropped into Kennedy’s chair, and sprawled out. T took Paddy’s chair.
“Well?” Donovan drawled.
I scraped a hand down my face. “We’re fucked.”
His forehead creased.
“Da left the bar to Patrick,” I informed them. “His medical insurance didn’t cover the cancer treatment, so he borrowed money against the business. Paddy’s owed three hundred thousand dollars.”
Donovan’s head tipped back, and he spat, “Fuck!”
Tadhg’s eyes rounded. “What the hell was he thinking?”
I shook my head frustratedly. “Been asking myself the same thing, bro. Mam’s got the life insurance policies and the money in their accounts, but that’s all there is. The bar’s gone.”
Donny sat up and leaned forward on the desk. “Can’t we buy it back?”
My eyebrow cocked. “Yeah, if we can come up with three hundred thousand green in one month.”
“I just completed the sale for the gym,” Donny declared. “It’s taken everything I’ve got, and I had to get a business loan.”
“I can come up with about twenty thousand,” Tadhg offered. “I know it’s not much, but I live on the road; all my cash goes on hotels and my ride. Surely he understands our position. Did you ask if he’d give us longer to pay?”
“He will,” I admitted. “But at a price.”
“He’s charging us more interest?” Donovan asked.
“No,” I told him quietly. “I’m the fucking price.”
A brief silence fell over the room.
“What do you mean, you’re the price?” Donny murmured, his expression puzzled.
“He’ll pay fifty grand off the loan and give me a year to repay it, but only if I wed one of his daughters.”
Donovan’s jaw dropped while Tadhg stared at me with his eyes bugging out.
“Needless to say,” I added. “I refused his kind offer.”
“Fuck me,” Donny breathed. “I can’t blame ya. Both those girls are bitches. They were mean as fuck to Maeve at Orla’s birthday party. Nearly lost my shit.”
My head jerked. “You know Maeve?”
“Course I do. I got talking to her that night. She’s scary smart and sweet, if a bit shy. The girl came out of her shell after she relaxed a bit, though. But back to the point, Cal. I’d rather us lose the bar than let you marry one of those bitches.”
My face blanched. “It’s not Erin or Shannon he wants me to marry.”
Tadhg shot me a frustrated look. “Will you stop talking in fucking riddles and tell us what the fuck’s going on? Who does he want you to marry if not bitch Erin and bitchier Shannon?”
My mouth twisted. “Patrick wants me to marry Maeve.”
The room fell silent, apart from the snort coming from Donovan.
I glared in his direction. “Don’t fucking say it.”
“What?” he blustered innocently.
“I’m not marrying Maeve,” I insisted. “I don’t fancy her.”
Donny shrugged. “You don’t have to fuck her.”
Tadhg busted out a laugh.
“She’s a lovely girl,” Donovan added. “Nice to talk to. Sweet. Da loved her; Mam still does, and she’d help out in the bar, too. Free labor is exactly what you need right now if you’re gonna raise a fuck load of cake in twelve months.”
“I’m not marrying Maeve,” I reiterated.
Tadhg smirked. “Of course you’re not.”
It was Donovan’s turn to laugh.
“Bastards,” I muttered. “Look, we’ve all seen Maeve, so we know she’s not my type. Can’t imagine even kissing her, so putting a damned ring on her finger is out of the question.” My fingers drummed impatiently on the desk. “There’s got to be a way to save the bar without getting married to a girl I hardly know. And you better believe me when I say I’ll find it.”