Chapter 8
Shannon unpacked his bag in the small room the company kept on the third floor of the Beachcomber.
The room contained only a narrow bed, a dresser and a tiny bathroom, so it took him all of five minutes to empty his bag.
At the bottom of the bag, he noticed the envelope he’d put there before he left Ireland, the envelope he hadn’t once touched since landing on Gansett.
He withdrew it now and held it in both hands for a full minute before he could bring himself to open it.
Inside were the photos of Fiona he had brought with him, for no other reason than he wanted to know he had them if he needed to see them.
For an entire year, they had remained in his bag, under the bed he’d shared with Victoria.
In all that time, he’d never once felt the need to retrieve them or to look at them.
Realizing how long it had been since he’d seen her face, he felt guilty and sick at heart.
He carefully extracted the priceless photographs from the envelope and sucked in a sharp deep breath, as if that could somehow assuage the streak of pain that traveled through him at the sight of her achingly familiar face.
How could he have gone so long without needing to see her?
That was proof he’d let this thing with Vic get way out of hand.
Fiona, his Fiona, deserved so much better from him than a whole year without once looking at her photo.
Not that he needed pictures to remember every detail.
As he gazed down upon her face with the adorable sprinkling of freckles across her nose and the gorgeous green eyes that had always danced with such mischief, he was flooded with memories.
For years after her death, he’d relied upon these images and many others to wipe away the ghastly memories of her violent death.
He’d been haunted by the horror he’d encountered in their cozy flat the night he returned home from work to find her dead.
As he ran a finger over the golden curls that fell to below her shoulders, he was transported back in time to those awful first days.
A shudder traveled through him, and he shook his head as if that could snap him out of the unwelcome trip down memory lane.
Shannon kissed one of the photos and returned them to the envelope. Then he put it back in his bag and zipped it closed, as if that could keep the memories contained in the past where they belonged.
“I need a drink,” he said to the empty, lonely room.
In the bathroom, he splashed water on his face and combed his hair.
The face gazing back at him in the mirror reminded him far too much of the way he’d looked for a long time after Fiona died—haunted and hollowed, as if someone had cut the very heart of him out of his chest.
The one thing that had helped him then was the same thing that would help him now—Jameson Irish whiskey. He went down the two flights of stairs to the lobby and took a seat at the bar where Chelsea Rose, one of his many new friends on the island, held court most nights.
She came over to greet him with a smile, placing a cocktail napkin on the dark wood in front of him. “How’re things?”
“Oh, um, good.” Things were a fecking mess, but she didn’t want to hear that. She was just doing her job, making conversation.
“What can I get you?”
“Jameson neat, please.” He usually drank Guinness here, but tonight he needed something more.
If she was surprised by his drink choice, she didn’t let on. “Coming right up.” She placed the drink on the napkin. “Are you starting a tab?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“No problem. Where’s Vic tonight?” Chelsea punched information into the computer that acted as the register, so she missed the stricken look that crossed his face, but he caught it in the mirror behind the bar.
“She’s…at home.” He had no idea where she was, and he hated that.
“Heard she’s had a busy couple of days in the baby business.”
“Indeed. She’s knackered.” People would find out soon enough that they’d broken up, but no one would hear it from him.
“Define ‘knackered.’”
“You would say wiped out.”
“Ahh, I see. We’re so lucky to have someone with her skills on the island.”
Shannon nodded in agreement and then focused on his drink, hoping to send the message that he wasn’t in a chatty mood.
Chelsea moved on to other customers and refilled his glass when he emptied it. She had something friendly to say to everyone who sat at her bar, keeping up a running banter as she served drinks and rang up sales and supported the waitresses and waiters who worked the dinner shift.
Shannon’s stomach growled, letting him know he needed more than a liquid dinner or he was going to land on his arse before the night was through. On Chelsea’s next pass, he ordered a bowl of New England clam chowder, which had become one of his favorite things to eat since he’d come to Gansett.
He ate the soup and was working on his third glass of Jameson when someone took the seat next to his.
Glancing to the right, he saw Dr. Kevin McCarthy lean over the bar to kiss Chelsea.
The two of them had been together for months now.
He and Vic had hung out with them a couple of times, and Shannon had enjoyed the doctor’s company as well as his wise insights on life.
“How’s it going?” Kevin asked Shannon when Chelsea went to tend to customers at the other end of the bar.
“Good. You?”
“Never better.” As he spoke, Kevin’s gaze landed on Chelsea. They were madly in love, or so it seemed to Shannon.
“Glad to hear it.”
“You here by yourself?”
“Yep.” He didn’t offer any explanation, and Kevin didn’t ask for one. No time like the present to start getting used to flying solo again.
The two men made small talk as they sipped their drinks and took in the activity around the bar.
A solo guitarist, another guy from Ireland named Niall Fitzgerald, added to the atmosphere on the deck that overlooked the ferry landing and South Harbor.
Shannon took in the sight of the ferry that would make the first trip off the island tomorrow, a reminder that he wasn’t allowed to go to work for the next three days.
What the hell would he do with himself for that long without work or Victoria to be with or anything else to do?
He rubbed his chest, hoping the panicky feeling would subside.
“What’s the matter with you tonight?” Kevin asked, shocking Shannon out of his ruminations.
“Nothing.”
“You’re wired and antsy and drinking like a man looking for oblivion.”
“Don’t shrink me, Doc.” The comment came out more harshly than Shannon had intended.
“I’m not. Just commenting on what I’m seeing.”
Shannon had no response to that.
“What happened to your hand?” Kevin asked, nodding toward Shannon’s bruised and swollen knuckles.
“Got it caught in a door at work.”
“Ouch.” Kevin took a drink from the beer he’d been nursing for an hour now. “So, hey, I was talking to an old college friend of mine today. He just got back from a trip to Ireland. Said the highlight was Killarney. You ever been there?”
Relieved by the new topic that didn’t focus on what was wrong with him, Shannon nodded. “It’s down in County Kerry. Nice place.”
“You from anywhere near there?”
He shook his head. “My family is from Wicklow on the Irish Sea side. Kerry is on the Atlantic side.”
“Ahh, gotcha. I told him I had a friend named Shannon, and he said that’s not a very common name for men in Ireland.”
“Don’t I know it,” Shannon said with a grunt of laughter. “It was my mother’s maiden name. She thought it would be unique. It’s given me more grief than anything.”
“Oh, I see. That makes sense.”
“Glad it does to you.”
“Visiting Ireland is on my bucket list.”
“You’ll like it.”
“I have no doubt I’ll love it. You ever get homesick?”
The question hit Shannon squarely in the chest. He hadn’t been.
“Not really. I like it here.” Or he’d liked it here until today, when it all went to shite.
I love you, Shannon. I’m in love with you.
I want a life with you. I want us to have so much more than a shared address, a shared bed and the best sex I’ve ever had.
I want a family. I want kids and a husband and a commitment from a man who loves me and only me. I want the fairy tale.
He couldn’t stop seeing her tears or the imploring expression on her lovely face. His Vic didn’t cry or beg. His Vic was a joyful, happy person, and he’d reduced her to tears.
“Where’d you go, man?” Kevin asked.
Shannon realized he’d checked out of the conversation. “Sorry, what were you saying?”
“I was just saying how much I like it here, too.” As he spoke, Kevin’s gaze landed on Chelsea. “Feels like home.”
Shannon took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly.
Gansett did feel like home, or it had while he was with Vic in their little house.
Now, home was a tiny temporary room in a hotel.
Goddamn, he’d made a fecking mess of things.
He pointed to his glass, asking Chelsea for a refill.
Was that his third or fourth? He’d lost count.
Niall took a break and came over to say hello, shaking Shannon’s sore hand, which hurt like a bugger, and clapping him on the back.
They’d met months ago right here at the Beachcomber, bonding over their shared heritage.
Niall’s dark brown hair was cut short, and he had big blue eyes that the ladies went nuts over.
“You know Kevin McCarthy?” Shannon asked.
“I do.” Niall shook Kevin’s hand. “Nice to see you again, Doc.”
“Likewise,” Kevin said. “Love your music.”
“Thanks, mate.” To Shannon, Niall said, “Where’s Vic tonight?”
The ache in Shannon’s chest intensified every time someone asked for her. He supposed he’d have to get used to that. “Taking the night off,” Shannon replied as he took a deep slug of whiskey, relishing the burn of it landing in his gut.
Niall visited with them for a few minutes. “I’ve got something for you in the next set,” he said to Shannon before he moved on to greet other friends.
“Nice guy,” Kevin said.