6. Dee
CHAPTER 6
Dee
T he bench outside the pub had seen its fair share of conversations—some sober, most not. It was a little wobbly, the wood warped from years of rain and use, but it was where Maggie and I used to sit after we closed the pub, and now Ronan and I did. He with his cigarette and me with my nightcap, sharing a moment before we each went our separate ways.
Tonight was no different, except it felt like the whole village was still buzzing from the scene Jax had caused when he kicked Cillian and Aoife out.
I couldn’t lie—it had been satisfying, watching him tell them to take their entitled arses out of The Banshee’s Rest. He’d done it without breaking a sweat. And for more than a fleeting moment there, as everyone in the pub clapped and cheered, I felt my heart flutter like it never had before, not even with Cillian. See, that was different. We’d known each other forever. Jax, I barely knew, and yet there was this attraction. Oh, he flirted alright, but that could just be who he was.
I really needed to order that new vibrator.
“He’s not so bad, you know.” Ronan took a puff of his cigarette.
“Who?” I swirled the whiskey in my glass. I knew who!
“The Yank.” Ronan blew out a plume of smoke. “Cillian was beggin’ to be thrown out. Someone needed to do it. Jax just beat us to it.”
“Are we becoming a Jax fan?” I teased.
“Aye…he’s growin’ on me.”
“Like mold?”
Ronan laughed. “Jesus, Dee.”
Before I could reply, the door creaked open behind us. I turned to see Jax stepping out, his tall frame silhouetted in the dim light spilling from the doorway.
“All okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. I…just couldn’t sleep and thought I’d take a walk.”
“Come join us, Yank,” Ronan offered.
“Yeah, okay.” His Southern drawl rolled over me like honey.
Ronan stood, flicking his cigarette onto the gravel and grinding it out with his boot. “I hear Paddy will have your car all fixed up in a few days.”
“So, he says.” Jax sat on the bench next to me.
“You must be in a hurry to get out of here,” I remarked casually.
The words felt heavy. Why did I care when he left? He was just a boarder. Seventy-five dollars a night plus food and drink. It was a good deal for me. It was such a good deal that I’d even straightened up his room. I didn’t leave chocolate on his pillow, but I did make his bed and clean his bathroom—even left fresh flowers on the old, weathered desk.
He was a neat man, I’d discovered. He’d hung up his towel and folded his clothes, tucking them away in the small wooden wardrobe.
His room smelled like him. His cologne, which I’d discovered when I was cleaning his bathroom (not snooping), was Tom Ford. Something black beauty. It was musky and delicious. I may have sprayed a little on my wrist…you know, to test it, as you did when you were at one of those fancy cosmetic stores in Cork. Was it professional? No. Did I care? Also, no.
Jax shook his head. “I thought I’d be. But I’ve been here a day and…no, Dee, I’m not in a hurry to leave.”
There was no reason for me to like hearing that. I wrapped my coat around me tighter and decided that enough was enough, and before I jumped the Yank, I’d see myself into my room and order that bloody vibrator.
And that was when Ronan chose to bid us goodnight.
“You did good, Yank.” Ronan clapped Jax on the shoulder. He leaned and kissed my cheek. “Night, Dee.”
“Night, Ronan.” I watched as he disappeared into the dark. He parked his car at the back of the pub and would be home in fifteen minutes. My family farmhouse. The one I had trouble stepping into these days.
Jax stretched his long legs out in front of him. For a moment, we sat in silence, the sound of crickets and the faint rustle of the wind filling the space between us.
“You and Ronan,” he said finally, glancing at me. “Are you…?”
I nearly choked on my whiskey. “Me and Ronan?” I laughed, the sound echoing into the night. “Not a chance in hell. He’s like my brother. Besides, I’ve seen how he eats a sandwich. I could never after that.”
Jax grinned, his dimples flashing. “Good to know.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Just curious. You’re…hard to figure out, Dee Gallagher.”
“No, I’m not,” I protested. “You get exactly what you see.”
“Ah, but I don’t see everything, do I? No one does. You’ve got some layers.”
“Doesn’t everybody?” I took a sip of whiskey.
He folded his arms across his chest. “You were engaged to O’Farrell?”
“Aye.”
“For how long?”
“A year. We were together for three. We were to be married, but Maggie fell sick, and I didn’t have time to plan a wedding.” I remembered the shock of finding out how sick she was and discovering how hard the chemo was. “Maggie…ah…she was my sister.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said sincerely. “Paddy told me about her. Apparently, she was an even better cook than Ronan, which means she must’ve been spectacular ‘cause Ronan is pretty damn good.”
The man was smooth. The way to my heart was by talking about my sister, fondly.
Shut up, Dee, he’s looking to get into your pants if he is, and not your heart.
“You know, Dee.” He turned to me and locked his eyes to mine. Even in the dim streetlight that spilled out from the pub, I could see he was serious. “That man didn’t strike me as someone who deserved you.”
I stared at my glass, the whiskey catching the light. “He didn’t. But that didn’t stop me from wasting nearly three years on him.”
Jax didn’t say anything, waiting for me to continue.
I sighed, leaning back against the bench. “Cillian and I grew up together. His family’s loaded, and mine…well, we weren’t. His parents never liked me—they were always a bit hoity-toity, all notions and no warmth. They thought I wasn’t good enough for him. We started seeing each other, and…it was comfortable, I suppose. Familiar.”
“And then?” Jax prompted gently.
“And then Maggie got sick.” My voice caught slightly. “I spent every waking moment either at the pub or taking care of her. Cillian didn’t like not being the center of attention. I found him fucking Aoife in his office three days after Maggie died.”
“ Dee !” Jax’s voice was low, full of sorrow for me.
I shrugged, forcing a smile. “It’s ancient history now. Maggie’s gone, and so is he. Good riddance, I say.”
“But it still hurts.”
I was ready to say something flip and caustic, but instead, I spoke the truth. “Yes. Not because he broke my heart. I think I stopped loving Cillian while Maggie was sick. He was selfish and spoiled, and I saw it more clearly than ever. Still…after losing Maggie, I thought we’d find our way back. I thought we’d sort ourselves out. But when I threw his ring in his face, I realized it wasn’t heartbreak that cut the deepest—it was the loss of trust. It was knowing that while I was drowning in grief, the person I should have been able to rely on was making a mockery of me behind my back.”
“He’s a fucking fool, Dee.” Jax cupped my cheek. His hand was warm, big, comforting. I resisted the urge to stroke my face against his skin. “You’re beautiful, warm, feisty , wonderful—he was lucky to have had a chance with you and a damn fool to have squandered his good fortune.”
I swallowed, desperate to lighten the air between us. “Ah now, Jax, I already gave you my good whiskey—there’s no need to be butterin’ me up any further.”
Jax stroked my cheek, not letting me succeed in removing the tension between us. “A big fucking fool, that’s what he is.”
He dropped his hand, and we sat in silence. I finished my whiskey and thought it was the perfect excuse to get up and leave. Instead, I found myself saying, “What about you? Any Cillian’s in your closet?”
“You think I’ve got skeletons, darlin’ Dee?”
“Well, yeah,” I replied airily. “You’re cocky, rich, and handsome. Bet you’ve left a trail of broken hearts from Charleston to Dublin.”
“You think I’m handsome?” His eyes twinkled, and his dimples…aye, they should be feckin’ illegal.
“And cocky.”
He groaned. “I could say something now, but it would come off as crude, and I’d prove your point that I am indeed a cocky asshole.”
“Jax, were you goin’ to make a joke about your cock?” I teased.
He made a sound like he was being strangled. "Ah, Dee, you’re a tonic, so you are,” he said in a bad Irish accent.
“You saying I’m an astringent?”
“No, darlin’, a dose of good medicine.” There were those insidious dimples again, and that, combined with the kindness in his blue-blue eyes, was enough to make any lass’s head spin.
“I had a Cillian. Her name was Dani. We were high school sweethearts. In love. She was my first and only for a long time.”
Dani was a hussy. I was certain of it.
“What happened?” I urged.
He took a deep breath. “She wanted me to be a Caldwell. My family has some businesses, and she saw me running one of them. I saw myself swinging a golf club.” The memory appeared hard as he ran a hand through his hair. “My father disowned me, and Dani left.”
“What?” I was outraged on his behalf.
He smiled as if amused by my defense of him. “I couldn’t give her what she wanted. Stability, certainty, status, family name. She fell in love with a guy who’d join the family business and settle down, not one who was chasing a golf dream.”
“If you love someone, you don’t leave them because they make a choice you don’t agree with,” I fumed.
“It was for the best. She married someone else. She’s got kids. I’m happy for her.”
He sounded sincerely pleased for the bitch who broke his heart. That made my chest ache. “You don’t hold a grudge?”
“No, I don’t.” He met my eyes. “You can’t make someone stay if they’ve already decided to leave.”
I had to admit there was wisdom in his words.
“If you were in love with a man who didn’t conform to society, you’d hang on tight, wouldn’t you?” he continued softly, dangerously. “You wouldn’t run, would you, darlin’ Dee.”
My mouth went dry. “No,” I agreed. “Not if I was in love.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He leaned his head back and looked up at the sky. “I don’t think I’ve seen so many stars in ages.”
“Well, we don’t have a lot of city lights around here.”
“Yeah, I noticed.” His voice was quieter now, like he didn’t want to disturb the night. “Here, it feels as if the stars are brighter, closer.”
I followed his gaze, tilting my head back to take in the sky. It was breathtaking, a view you didn’t appreciate when you saw it every night.
“See that one?” Jax pointed toward the sky, tracing a curve of bright stars. “That’s The Plough.”
I squinted. “The one shaped like a ladle?”
“That’s the one.” He took my hand in his, and I didn’t resist. This Yank was making mush out of me. “My granddad used to say that if you could see the whole thing—clear as day—it meant you were where you were meant to be. Like you’d found your way home.”
He interlaced his fingers with mine, absentmindedly running his thumb over my knuckles.
I glanced at him, his face shadowed by the faint glow of starlight, his eyes fixed on our hands. “And what if you can only see part of it?”
His eyes held mine. “Then you’re almost there. Just gotta trust the stars and keep going.”
I wondered if he wasn’t just talking about stars.