20. Dee
CHAPTER 20
Dee
R ain or shine, grief or joy, when St. Paddy’s Day rolled around, Ballybeg celebrated with bells on. So even though my heart was heavy, and I had no answers for the village’s troubles—or for the fact that I couldn’t pay the farm’s upcoming taxes, knowing that in a few months, everything could change—I refused to let any of it darken my mood as the whole village celebrated.
Green streamers hung from the ceiling of The Banshee’s Rest, and shamrocks cut from faded construction paper were pinned to the walls.
Ronan had made an enormous sign and hung it behind the bar, which read: " Sláinte! Don’t blame the Guinness !"
He’d been cooking up a storm as well. The smell of Irish stew, soda bread, and a variety of pies wafted in from the kitchen, and we liberally served beer and whiskey. Outside, the sky was a pale gray—because, of course, it was—and probably would be, no matter if there was a resort here, I thought smugly.
Mickey had dusted off his bagpipes and stationed himself near the door, puffing away on a tune that sounded suspiciously like Danny Boy , but who could say? Last year, Mickey’s friend, Tiernan, had played the bagpipes (he knew how to) for the last time. He’d passed away a few weeks after, peacefully in his sleep, after playing the tunes at The Banshee’s Rest every St. Patrick’s Day for nearly fifty years.
“Rest in peace, Tiernan Daley, and have a Guinness on us up there.” I held up my pint and toasted.
Everyone joined in.
“To Tiernan Daley, may that bastún salach be playing the bagpipes for Saint Peter himself,” Seamus cried out.
“What’s bastún …whatever?” I heard Jax ask Liam.
“Means dirty bastard, it does,” Liam Ryan told him.
“And Tiernan Daley was that,” Liam Murphy added. “May his dirty soul rest in peace,”
Jax raised his pint and cheered Tiernan on.
Liam, Liam, and Seamus were parked at their usual stools, already working on their second pints of Guinness. And on the other side of the bar, Mrs. Nolan was giving a stern lecture to young Darragh about how he was not to try the whiskey—even though the lad had insisted he was "basically eighteen" now, even though he wasn’t a day older than fifteen. But, hell, I had my first whiskey…I couldn’t remember, but for sure, I’d been drinking it when St. Paddy’s Day came along when I was fifteen.
“Let him drink, Eileen,” Ruadh Flaherty called out to Mrs. Nolan. “You keep doin’ that, and the lad won’t know how to hold his liquor.”
“You mind your own business, Ruadh Flaherty, and leave me nephew to me,” Eileen retorted.
Darragh sighed. “I’m gonna hang out at the ice cream place with my friends.”
“Get the whiskey-flavored one,” Ruadh shouted at Darragh as he left the pub.
It was chaos. It was loud. It was perfect .
I poured another pint and slid it across the bar to Talula Gilgan, who nodded her thanks before returning to her table. She was sitting with Cadhla, who had closed the bakery early to bring over trays of shamrock-shaped biscuits, half of which had already been eaten.
“Come on, Yank, have a try at the bagpipes,” Mickey insisted, dragging Jax away to the stage we’d set up for the occasion—which wasn’t really a stage at all. It was just a table pushed against the wall and a few chairs scattered around, sitting awkwardly at the head of the bar. It looked more like a last-minute seating arrangement for a family dinner, but it served its purpose well enough.
Jax climbed up cockily, shooting me a look that said, “ Watch me, baby .”
I grinned and waved him on. Mickey handed him the bagpipes, and the entire pub seemed to lean forward, eager for the spectacle.
Jax took the pipes in his hands like they might bite him. He studied them for a moment, then looked up and asked in his typical drawl, “So, where’s the on button?” That earned him a roar of laughter from the crowd.
He gave it a shot— literally . His first attempt produced a high-pitched screech that sounded like a cat being strangled, and the pub erupted into laughter and cheers.
“Keep going, Yank!” Mickey called out, slapping his knee.
Jax’s face turned determined like this was now some kind of personal challenge. He adjusted his grip, puffed out his cheeks, and tried again. This time, the sound was less of a screech and more of a long, mournful groan that sent everyone into hysterics.
I was doubled over, laughing so hard my stomach hurt.
Jax was enjoying himself, not minding that we were laughing at him rather than with him. He was a good sport.
“This is the sound of your ancestors,” Jax admonished mockingly. “So, show some respect.”
By the time he handed the bagpipes back, the pub was roaring with approval, and Jax hopped down from the “stage,” laughing along with everyone else.
“Not bad for a Yank.” Mickey clapped him on the back.
“Not bad for a pair of deflated bagpipes,” Jax shot back, wiping his hands on his jeans and coming back to sit at the bar.
“That was awful,” I told him as I poured him a shot of my good Irish whiskey. The lad deserved it.
Jax leaned forward and beckoned me closer with a come-hither gesture of his fingers. I leaned over the counter, and he put his lips close to my ear. “Darlin’, what that was…was me showing you how my mouth can play your pussy.”
I had to laugh. I straightened and looked at him with mock disdain. “Jax Caldwell, you have a big ego.”
“What else does he have that’s big?” Paddy yelled from the other end of the bar.
Jax raised his pint. “A big co?—”
“Don’t you dare say that out loud in my place of business, Jax Caldwell,” I warned dramatically, my hands on hips.
“Co…ld.” He did put on a show of fake coughing.
Everyone laughed.
“You having fun yet, Yank?” I asked.
“Yeah, baby, I’m havin’ the time of my life.” He flashed me that easy, disarming grin, his dimples going in deep. My stomach flipped with sheer lust.
“You’ve been on your phone and computer a lot.” I leaned my elbows on the bar. Now that the village knew we were together—and, yes, having sex—I didn’t feel the need to hide it or pretend otherwise. I was a straightforward lass, and this was what it was: a fling. Something fun while Jax was here.
For how long, though? He’d be leaving soon, I reckoned. From the bits and pieces I’d overheard when he was on the phone with someone named Brad—who I guessed was his agent or manager—it was clear he had other responsibilities piling up, ones that couldn’t be ignored.
He didn’t miss a thing because he tilted his head. “I have a few things in the air.”
“Things that need you to leave Ballybeg, I assume.” My heart thundered, and I felt a pain in the deep recesses of it and knew when Jax left, it would hurt…a lot.
“Yes,” he admitted. “There’s a meeting in London with some sponsors. I have a thing I need to do in Dublin.”
I nodded, keeping my face neutral. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot going on.”
“Dee, darlin’, ask me what you want to ask.”
“I’m just making conversation.” I straightened and was about to walk away when he grabbed my hand from across the counter.
“I told you when I leave, I’ll come back.”
He looked at me then, his eyes searching mine like he was trying to gauge my reaction. And I could’ve told him I’d be fine when he didn’t come back because I knew he wouldn’t. Why should he? But that would have been a lie. So, instead, I smiled softly. “It’s okay, Jax. Ballybeg isn’t the center of the universe. You’ve got a life to get back to.”
“Dee—”
“No, really,” I interrupted gently. “I mean it. I’ll miss you when you go. But I’ll be alright.”
It felt like someone had wedged a stone in my chest, but I wasn’t going to cry. Or beg. That wasn’t who I was. I’d spent too much of my life learning how to let people go. Jax Caldwell wasn’t going to be any different.
He looked like he wanted to say something, but then the music shifted, and the sound of Mickey’s bagpipes gave way to a lively reel from Noreen’s fiddle. Someone shouted for a céilí , and before I knew it, half the room was pushing tables and chairs aside to make space for the dancing.
“Dance with me, Dee, and when I have you locked in my arms, I hope you’ll do me the honor of actually listening to me and not to whatever you got going in your head.”
He wasn’t angry, not overtly, but I could feel the steel in his tone.
“Look—”
“I’m looking, babe, and I don’t like what I’m seeing. So, why don’t you get your tight ass from behind the bar and give me the feckin’ time of day, yeah?”
I couldn’t help but grin. He was now saying feckin’ instead of fuckin’. It was cute.
I came around and put my hand in his. “I was going to spare you.”
“From what?” he demanded, yanking me to him.
“Me crying into my pint. Now, come on, you wanted to?—”
He slammed his mouth on mine and shut me the hell up. He kissed me like there was no tomorrow. I didn’t care that the entire village of Ballybeg was watching us; I kissed him back and held him tight. Whatever time we had, I would enjoy it. Sure, I was afraid of getting hurt, but now that I knew it would happen and soon, I could be prepared for it.
He raised his head.
“What was that for?” I arched an eyebrow.
“Baby, you’ve got to stop expecting the worst all the time. It’s a tacky way to live life.”
Now both my eyebrows shot up. “Tacky?”
“Yeah.”
I tried to pull away. “Oh, come on, Dee, let’s dance. You survived me playin’ the bagpipes. You’ll survive this.”
We joined the crowd in the middle of the room, where Cadhla was barking out instructions to a group of laughing villagers. “Alright, lads and lasses, it’s the Siege of Ennis! Let’s see if you can remember your steps!”
“What the fuck is that?” Jax asked, bewildered.
“Follow my lead, Yank, and you’ll be fine,” I told him.
The music kicked up, and Jax fell into step beside me; his movements were awkward at first, but the grin on his face told me he didn’t care. Liam Murphy tripped over Seamus, Cadhla spun Paddy around so fast he nearly toppled, and I hadn’t laughed this hard in months.
But all the while, as we danced and laughed and celebrated, I felt the bitter taste of oncoming heartbreak when Jax left, and I’d never see him again.