Chapter 9 – One Week Later
CHAPTER 9
CALLUM
ONE WEEK LATER
“ S o,” Bowie declared, leaning against the polished, wooden bar top. “What you’re sayin’ is, you got married so you could buy time to raise the cake to keep the Shamrock in the family after Lorcan used it as security to borrow from a mobster to pay for his cancer treatment. Your wife’s an Irish Mafia Princess slash archeologist who spent two days here after your wedding before jetting back to New York for a meeting at some big museum. Oh, and she’s a nerd and not in that sexy, big glasses, red-lipped, let the hair down, hot secretary kinda way, more like, in a straight-up nerdy way, somethin’ you’re not down with at fuckin’ all.”
“That about sums it up.” I folded my arms across my chest. “Except, I better add, I almost fucked her stepsister a while back, a non-event which Maeve overheard us talking about an hour after we got married. That went down like a turd floating in a swimming pool, seeing as she hasn’t spoken to me since. If Donny hadn’t been checking in with her, I wouldn’t know if she was dead or alive.”
Bowie whistled through his teeth.
“It’s like Days of Our Biker Lives all over again.” Atlas, the Speed Demons’ huge, heavily tattooed Sergeant at Arms, declared with black eyes full of humor. “I can’t fuckin’ believe you got wed to your nerdy little bitch then straight-up told her it wouldn’t be a real marriage, and you were gonna fuck other women, to which she told you, hell naw, and now you gotta enjoy a spell of self-imposed celibacy, at least until she leaves your fucknut ass.”
“Well, yeah,” I admitted, my tone a little defensive.
“It’s a Maury moment if ever I heard one,” Atlas muttered, shaking his head incredulously. “I’m shocked your gonads are still hanging between your legs, and your nerdy bitch didn’t kick ‘em back up inside your gut.”
I heaved out a frustrated breath. “I know it sounds bad, and maybe it wasn’t my finest moment, but my head was scrambled. Dad had just died, and I was facing losing everything?—”
Bowie leaned toward me and roared, “Are you fuckin’ crazy? Why didn’t you come to me? I could’a helped.”
Silence fell over the room, and I winced.
Atlas jerked his thumb at me. “Crazy doesn’t come close. Hand to fuckin’ God, you’re simple as all fuck, and there ain’t no gettin’ away from it. Always thought Donovan was the village idiot of Hambleton when in fact, he’s turnin’ out to have more brains in his scab-covered dick than Cal here.”
“I heard that,” Donny snapped from behind the counter.
“You were fuckin’ meant to, fuckwit,” the SAA snarked.
“I’ve got the green you need, Cal,” Bowie clipped out, leaning toward me. “If I didn’t, I’d ask the club to invest. You know we help out local businesses, brother. I don’t get why you didn’t make an approach to set up a meet at the time.”
I straightened my back. “And that right there’s exactly why I didn’t. I knew you’d help; it was never in question, but it’s not your job to mop up my mess. I wouldn’t take your scratch; I sort my own bullshit, or I go down trying.”
“We’re family, Cal,” he argued, his tone lowering. “You’re my brother.”
“Yeah,” I replied, the word catching with emotion. “And I’d never take advantage of that.” I clasped his shoulder. “I fucking appreciate you, but I needed to do this. My da had just gone, and I had to prove I was worthy to pick up where he left off. I got given a reprieve in Maeve, and I took it.”
Bowie’s lips twitched. “And now you’re married.”
Releasing his shoulder, I dropped my hand and muttered, “Yep.”
“What’s she like?” he asked curiously. “Apart from the nerd thing.”
“Cute as fuck,” Donny interjected. “Sweet, unassuming, hilarious without knowing it. She laughs all the time and sees life through eyes full of stars. Maeve’s been hurt, but you wouldn’t fuckin’ know it, seeing as she’d give you her last dollar bill if you needed it.” He jerked his thumb toward me. “He constantly witters on that she’s not his type, but she’s the kinda girl you find yourself getting to know, then suddenly, you’re crushin’ on her like you’re twelve years old, and you just saw Helena Christensen in “The Wicked Game” video for the first time. Add on the fact that she’s smarter than Einstein, and you’ll get it when I say she’s too good for this ugly cunt.”
Bowie swiped his mouth with his thumb thoughtfully. “So, you’re fucked then?”
“Nah,” my mouth denied, while at the same time, my brain wondered if maybe I was.
Since we got back to Hambleton and Maeve flew back out two days later, I’d discovered something weird and very unsettling.
I kinda missed my little wifey.
Throughout the flight home, I tried to get her to talk to me. I needed to break the ice and at least get us to a place where we could discuss the convo she’d overheard with Shannon. But Maeve just gave me a cold look, turned away, and feigned sleep.
It was crazy how, one short week ago, I’d have done anything to replace my wife with her stepsister. Now, I couldn’t imagine being married to anyone other than Maeve Monroe or Maeve O’Shea as it stood now.
I smiled to myself.
Maeve O’Shea had a nice ring to it.
“Yo. Fucknut,” Atlas called from the window where he’d been talking on his phone.
I jolted out of my daydream. “What?”
He pocketed his cell, jerking his chin toward the street. “Either there’s another cute, klutzy little redhead come into town, or your Mrs. is home.” A wide smile spread across his face, and he turned to me and waggled his eyebrows. “And it seems she’s found herself a knight in shinin’ leather.”
The bell above the door gave a light tinkle. The instant it cracked open, Maeve almost fell through it with a crash. “ Shit on a stick! ” she exclaimed.
“You okay, babe?” a deep voice asked from outside, busting out a laugh.
Maeve pulled herself straight, turned toward the guy standing in the doorway behind her, and let out a hearty chuckle. “ Oh my God, ” she cried. “I’m such a nincompoop. ”
“Jesus Christ,” Atlas grunted, grinning down at his boots.
Bowie stepped to my side and gripped my shoulder. “You’re well and truly fucked.”
My heart gave a hard thud, and I moved toward the door just as Carbine strutted inside, loose-hipped walk and all. “Morning,” he greeted, his mouth stretching into a bright smile. “Just saw this beautiful lady struggling off the bus with her bags. She said she was coming here, so seeing as I was coming here too, I thought I’d be a gentleman and help her out.” He swung Maeve’s bag off his shoulder and hauled it onto the bar. “What you got in there, babe? Any sexy undies?”
My body locked, and a growl rumbled through me.
Maeve’s cheeks turned pink.
Atlas threw his head back and roared a laugh.
“Oh my God ,” Maeve cried out again, her gaze catching on the SAA. “I love your tattoos. They’re awesome !”
Atlas preened.
“And I love your crow’s wings,” she announced. “They’re so rad .”
“Got ‘em done by a dude over in Mapletree,” Atlas rumbled. “Though if you ever want one, our Virginia chapter has a guy, Picasso. I’ll see if he wants to come for a little vacay, and he can ink ya.”
“That would be so darn awesome!” Maeve breathed. “I always wanted a bookish tattoo. But I’m not sure I could choose. It’s like, how do you pick just one? It would be like picking a favorite child.” She stuck out her hand. “Hey! I’m Maeve! Nice to meet you.”
Something inside I didn’t even know was out of sync clicked into place, and I flinched slightly. My eyes fixated on how gently Atlas took her hand.
“Hey, Toots. I’m Atlas. Sergeant at Arms of the Speed Demons.”
Maeve’s gaze zeroed in on his leather vest, and her eyes sparkled. “Your cut looks fantastic. It’s just like I imagined.”
His black eyebrows pulled together. “You know the real name for it? Wouldn’t have thought a nice girl like you would run in MC circles.”
“Oh, w-well,” she stammered, her cheeks pinking again. “Callum told me he was friends with the local MC, so I read a couple of books about biker club etiquette because I know that’s a thing. Then, just to make sure I had it all straight in my head, I read a few MC romances, so I kinda have an idea about cuts and Prezs and hogs.”
Atlas’s mouth hitched. “MC romances, you say?”
“Yeah, as in books,” she confessed. “I’m more of a fantasy and historical romance girl—on account of being a historian, I guess.” She gave him big eyes, and I watched his lips curve wider. “But I’ll give all genres a go. I don’t discriminate against books. All stories are beautiful in their own ways,” she peered up at Atlas through her thick-rimmed glasses, “don’t you think?”
Atlas gazed down at her dreamily as if he’d been bewitched. “Yeah, Toots. I certainly do.”
“Yo!” Donovan barked from the corner. “Got no sugar for your favorite brother?”
“Donny!” Maeve shrieked, whipping around and rushing toward him. “I missed you!” She flew into his arms and hugged him tight before pulling back to look up at him. “Thanks for the late-night call. I was wired after my meeting, and you really helped me calm down and think about the opportunity I’d been offered.”
A heavy feeling slid through my gut. “What opportunity?” My stare shifted to Donovan. “And what late-night fucking call?”
Maeve turned her big, blue eyes on me. “Oh, hey there,” she said breezily before turning her back on me coldly.
My gut sank.
Bowie looked between us before coughing, “Doghouse.”
I let out a ‘don’t give a fuck’ grunt, but in reality, the bitter taste of disappointment hit the back of my throat while a strange heaviness enveloped my chest.
It was clear I’d really gone fucked up.
As soon as we said our vows, I felt a sense of camaraderie with Maeve that I hadn’t had since my brothers and I were young. It was obviously normal to experience those weird ass feelings after what had happened; I mean, I wasn’t entirely emotionally constipated. Still, when Maeve and I made that pact in the church about doing things our way, I experienced something quite deep for my usually unbothered ass.
I realized I really liked the person I was with.
The problem was, the second I became aware of it, I got spooked and pulled a dick move by making it so she didn’t like me. I mean, God forbid I actually got along well with a woman who I wasn’t blood-related to and developed some damned feelings.
And I made her not like me really fucking well because my wife wouldn’t even look at me, let alone have a conversation and allow me to apologize about the other disaster that manifested that day, namely Shannon Doyle and my secret assignation with her.
The entire day turned out to be shit, with a big dash of show and a splash of fuck you, Callum, for good measure.
When we got home, I dumped Maeve in my apartment and threw myself into getting the bar open again. Then, wifey announced she was flying back to NYC for a couple of days for some big meeting about a job, and away she went again.
So much for marital bliss. I knew living separate lives was what I told Maeve I wanted. Still, over the passing days, I’d realized I was suffering from a big ol’ case of ‘be careful what you wish for’ because I found I missed having her around.
And now she was here, charming the leather off Hambleton’s answer to the Village People, and her spontaneous laughter was doing funny things to my chest cavity.
Bowie was right; I was well and truly fucked. If I was honest with myself, I’d been fucked since I picked her up off Patrick’s hallway floor and she’d hit me directly in the heart with her cosmic eyes.
It wasn’t insta-love, but it was insta-something, maybe insta-like. Except now Maeve was ignoring my ass; it was turning into insta-obsession. The chick was driving me nuts, I even found my britches getting tight at the crotch when I caught a whiff of her subtle, flowery perfume, and for the life of me, I couldn’t work out where the fuck my head was at when I announced I didn’t want us to fuck each other.
Maeve’s peal of laughter pulled me away from my thoughts. By then, she’d moved across to meet Bowie, as evidenced by the way he pulled out his wallet to show her pictures of all his kids.
She handled the photographs as if they were lost treasure. “Sweet baby Jesus,” she breathed, staring down at the images. “I think your children are amongst the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.”
I watched my bud visibly melt, and my insides melted right along with him.
Atlas appeared at my side and nodded toward my wife. “I see you’re finally getting it, though goin’ by the way she’s blowing your stupid ass off, it may already be too late. I was the same at first with my Stitch, tryin’a convince myself she wasn’t mine.”
“She’s not mine,” I protested quietly. “Jesus, don’t let her hear you say that shit. She’ll get ideas. You know I don’t do serious.”
Atlas exhaled through his nose, his lips thinning as he shook his head at me. “It’s true what they say; you can’t educate pork.” He gave me a hard clap on the back. “You’ll learn the hard way, dipshit.” Pursing his lips, he let out a sharp whistle. “Wrap it up, Bo. We gotta jet. Church in thirty.”
Bowie gave him a chin lift, tucking his photographs back inside his wallet.
“Good to meet ya, Toots,” Atlas declared. “I’ll get my Stitch to call in and introduce herself. They’re always over at the coffee shop or the salon talking to Tristan. My woman would love to show you around town, especially seeing as this fuckwit hasn’t bothered.”
“She’s been in New York...” I began, but my protest fell on deaf ears while my wife kissed cheeks, gave exuberant hugs, and got caught up in a flurry of goodbyes.
Donny caught my eye and jerked at me to join his convo with Carbine. I made my way toward the far end of the bar where my brother had been restocking the fridges but was now elbows to countertop, shooting the shit.
“Carbine wants to know if Maeve’s single,” Donovan announced, acting like butter wouldn’t melt before taking a swig of Bud.
My chest felt like it would explode. “No. She’s not!”
“Shame,” Carbine muttered, eyeing my wife’s juicy ass as she walked the men to the door.
“Attention on me, dickwad,” I snapped. “Put your beady little wandering eyes back inside your head. Anyone would think you’d never seen a woman before.”
“You don’t get many like that around here,” he grumbled. “The girls in town, like Lucy and Saskia, are okay for a good time but not for a long time. Maeve’s what I call interesting; she’d keep my attention for more than five minutes.”
My hands clenched into fists, and I squared my chest toward him. “Except, she’s not gonna ‘cause like I said, she’s very taken and very off-limits.”
A strangled laugh came from Donovan’s throat.
Glaring at Carbine, I tamped down the urge to smash my fist into his smug face for looking at my wife like he wanted to bend her over one of the tables, pull her jeans down, and ram his dick inside her. So much for Maeve being invisible. It looked like I’d have to protect her virtue from all these man whores in town.
“What did you want me for, anyway?” the asshole asked. “Cash said you needed to ask me somethin’. That’s why I headed over.”
My stare drifted over to Maeve, who was in the process of locking the door behind Atlas and Bowie. “They were lovely,” she cried. “Atlas is a sweetheart, and Bowie’s so nice !” She whirled around. “How’s everything been?”
“Quiet,” I admitted. “Especially without you.”
Silence fell over the room.
“Well, okaaay,” Maeve murmured awkwardly, jerking her thumb toward the kitchen where the stairs were situated. “I better take my bags upstairs.” She threw a huge smile in Donovan and Carbine’s direction before turning and disappearing through the door to the back.
Carbine’s stare followed her before sliding toward me. “What’s goin’ on there?”
I heaved a sigh and scraped a frustrated hand down my face, muttering, “Nothin’.”
“He’s the reason Maeve’s taken,” Donovan informed him, smirking knowingly. “They got married a few days ago.”
Carbine’s eyes rounded. “No fuckin’ way. But you’re the original fuckboy.”
“Nah,” I replied, nodding toward Donovan. “He’s the fuckboy. I’m the commitmentphobe.”
“Not anymore,” he said under his breath. “Wait, how the hell is the town not buzzing with the news? This is the biggest thing to happen in Hambleton since, well—sorry—but since your dad’s funeral service.”
I ignored his little quip, uncaring and unbothered, all except for the need to get him the fuck outta my bar and stop him eyeing up my wife’s ass.
Folding my arms across my chest, I looked him dead in the face. “Your band.”
Carbine’s forehead wrinkled. “What about it?”
“I’ve heard you play, and you’re good. That guitarist you hired has really elevated your sound. Your style’s developing nicely. Want you to start a residency here, one Saturday every month. I’ll pay you a grand per gig and all the beer you can drink. That’s two hundred green each.”
“You’ll probably get laid into the bargain too,” Donovan called from his knees as he peered into the fridge. “All the girls like dudes in bands.”
“Is that all you think about?” I snapped.
Donny shrugged, taking a bottle from the crate. “If it walks like a slut...”
I sighed.
“We’ve been asked to play for that new MC, the Kings of Anarchy, up in Rock Springs,” Carbine announced. “Their prez and VP saw us play over in Mapletree last month and want us to headline the opening of their new bar. They’ve offered us three grand.”
“Can’t you do both?” Donovan asked.
“Yeah, if you wanna pay us the same,” he quipped.
I cocked my head. “We’re giving you exposure.”
“We get exposure on TikTok,” he explained, shaking his head like I was a clueless fucking idiot. “And YouTube.”
“Oh my God!” a sweet voice exclaimed from behind me. “Are you in a band?”
Slowly, I craned my neck to see my wifey standing in the doorway, her eyes shining excitedly at Carbine.
“Yeah, babe,” he told her, grinning at her enthusiasm.
“I’d love to hear you play,” she cried. “That would be so awesome ! Oh my God! You could play here!”
He studied Maeve’s excited face, and after a brief pause, he sighed his surrender. “Alright, How about my band plays your opening night?”
“Really?” she squealed, then her face fell. “That would be grand. The thing is, though, we’re trying to build the bar back up, so I’m really not sure if we can pay you much, Noah.”
I shot him an accusing look and growled, “Noah?”
Carbine, or ‘Noah,’ grinned at my wife. “Seeing as you want to see us play, and your ol’ man’s a friend of the club, we’ll do the first gig free. After that, a grand should cover our travel expenses. Plus, we’ll definitely want the beer.”
My shoulders relaxed, and I held my hand out. “Deal.”
He took it in a hard grip and shook on it, his eyes sliding toward Maeve. “Your wife drives a hard bargain, Callum. One look from those pretty eyes and I turn into a damned sucker.” His stare came back to me. “You’re a lucky man.”
I squeezed his hand slightly too hard in a silent warning. “Yeah, bud. Tell me something I don’t know.”
Carbine squeezed right back, eyes still on mine. “Just make sure you don’t forget it. You never know who’s waiting in the wings to shoot his shot.” He dropped my hand, turned, and made for the doors. “I’ll tell our manager to call ya. His name’s Braden Hunt.”
“Sounds about right. Braden Hunt’s definitely a name for a music manager. Bet you fifty bucks there’s a good reason it rhymes with cunt.” Donny stood to his full height so he could study Carbine leave and saunter down the street, a contemplative expression on his face. “Maeve, you know you just saved Callum two grand a month on a band that’s worth paying every cent of that and more. You won’t be able to move in this place when Dischordium plays. People will come from as far as Laramie, and the cash registers won’t stop ringing.”
“Did I?” She smiled innocently, her eyes twinkling at my brother. “Now you come to mention it, Bowie may have remarked when we were chatting about Noah being in an up-and-coming band that had started to gain traction and was garnering interest from record labels in New York and LA. Also, I may have eavesdropped a little on your conversation when I came back downstairs.”
My head jerked around to face Maeve. “You knew?”
She shrugged, a small smile playing around her lips. “Maaaybeee.”
My brother threw his head back and roared with laughter before hooting, “You’re a fucking shark, woman.”
Maeve punched her hands to her hips and popped one out. “Donovan O’Shea, I haven’t lived with Patrick Doyle and his snaky wife and daughters for twenty years and not picked up a few tricks.” Her eyes swung to me, and her stare hardened. “I may not be,” she held her hands up to do the quotation sign with her fingers, “everyone’s type to look at. But I’m far from stupid.”
My chest tightened at the meaning behind her words.
I did that. I made Maeve feel like she wasn’t good or pretty enough when, in reality, she was worth everything.
I’d just watched Mae charm Atlas, who incidentally was a man not easily won over. And she did it by being herself. No airs, no graces, just a natural ability to make a man feel like he was the only person in the room worth talking to.
The word idiot didn’t scrape the surface of what I embodied.
“One thing I never thought you were was stupid, Mae,” I told her softly. “You’re the smartest fucking person I know. As for ‘not my type,’” I copied her move and did her quotation gesture, “I’m starting to discover that ‘my type’s’ changing drastically, and it’s veering toward little redheads with smart mouths and cosmic eyes.” I dipped my chin to look at her intently. “Now tell me, wifey, have you eaten today?”
Maeve’s lips parted, and she peered into my face like she was seeing me for the first time. “No.”
“Atlas was right,” I declared. “It’s about time I showed you around town. Go get your coat, and I’ll take you to the coffee shop for a lemon heaven bar.”
“Really?” she asked, a thread of shock lacing her tone.
“We can’t stay out all afternoon,” I warned. “Ma and T are coming over to discuss the bar. There’s a few things I wanna run by you all, and I want us all together making decisions as a family.”
Maeve was already heading for the back stairs again. “Give me a minute,” she called out.
I watched her indulgently, marveling at how her excitement was so fucking contagious it even made my grumpy ass face want to crack a smile.
My gaze caught on Donovan, who was elbows to the bar, staring at me with a knowing grin.
“What?” I demanded.
He shook his head, smiling. “Nothing.”
“It’s not a big deal. She should get her bearings and make friends.”
My brother cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t need to explain, asshole. By my reckoning, you should’ve done this shit on day one. What I’m surprised about is how you’re telling everybody you’re married. Thought you’d give it a couple of weeks at least. Even Ma said she wasn’t gonna broadcast it to give you two time to settle in together. Now, Atlas’ll tell Sophie. Bowie’ll tell Layla. And Carbine’ll tell every fucker the women don’t get to in time.”
I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. “Hmm. Didn’t really think that one through, did I?”
He grinned, shaking his head slightly. “Jesus Christ, this is gonna be entertaining.”
My head reared back slightly. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Donovan began to laugh.
“I’m ready!” a sweet voice called out.
I turned to see Maeve rushing back through the bar. She stopped in front of me, tipped her head back, and beamed. “I can’t wait for a lemon heaven bar. I bet they’re”—she shrugged—“well… heaven .”
A warm feeling meandered its way through my gut. “Before we go, there’s something I need.”
Her eyebrows snapped together. “What?”
My eyes narrowed. “Your goddamned number. You call every fucker except me, and it’s not on. In the future, you tap on my name first. If the subject matter’s out of my remit, i.e., monthly lady cycles, lipstick, or shoes, I’ll tell you who’s next on the list and farm the call out to the next best person of expertise.”
“To be fair,” she relayed. “I think you're safe from lipstick and shoe calls. It’ll be more like funny history GIFs and memes, along with panic attacks about how I made a fool of myself that day.”
I felt my shoulders relax at her banter. “Number,” I barked.
Maeve cocked her head. “Tell you what. Let’s go to the coffee shop and have a chat, and then I’ll decide if you deserve my number or not.”
Donovan snorted a laugh from behind the bar.
My lips set into a line, but underneath, I secretly loved her sarcastic little comeback. Why did I ever think she couldn’t hold her own? My little wifey had more steel and fire inside her than I realized, something I was experiencing firsthand.
And something I didn’t intend to repeat.
Not ever again.