Chapter 9
Aidan
The ghoulish grinning face of a ventriloquist dummy peeks out from the darkness when I open the wardrobe in the guest room.
“Holy shite!”
I stumble back, slamming it shut. “Fionn! Marie!”
Laughter rings out from the hallway. Their Christmas bathroom prank had been so successful, our da thought it was Marie shrieking and not me. Blame the R. L. Stine books I devoured as a kid, but nothing is creepier than a ventriloquist dummy. Fionn tumbles into the room with a shite-eating grin.
I rip the wardrobe open again and grab the dummy, tossing it at his chest. The wooden body hits his sternum with a thud. “You will cry when I exact my revenge.”
Marie walks in and he thrusts it at her as if we’re playing a game of Hot Potato. She launches it onto the bed. Fionn plops down beside it, unfazed. I resist the urge to snatch up the demonic thing and throw it in the bin, only because it belongs to Marie.
“Where are you headed?”
“Callum and Lark’s stag/hen party,” I remind him. “Lo will be there.”
Fionn picks up the dummy and shoves his hand inside. Speaking from one corner of his mouth, he goes, “Oooh! Can I come, too?”
“Stop that right now. It’s…unsettling.”
“The dummy isn’t what’s unsettled you,” Marie says. “I saw you and Lo talking at the hospital.”
The relieved uptick of Cielo’s mouth has haunted me since. When I told her I’d be attending the wedding without a plus-one, a brief smile had flashed across her face. That had to mean something, right?
“Don’t get excited.” I ought to listen to my own advice.
Marie looked up to Lo so much during our relationship; she’d always wanted a sister.
Growing up an only child, Lo had wanted that, too.
For a time, they filled that role for each other.
Lo helped her with homework and taught Marie to apply feathered eyelashes after she’d lost hers to chemo.
It really felt like she was a part of my family in that moment.
I imagined her being a part of my family, my life, forever; something I’d never thought before.
“We were just trying to get over the awkwardness between us before we spend all afternoon trapped on this tiny boat together.”
Marie raises a brow. “Didn’t you arrange this party?”
“Yes.”
“So you planned a party where you’d be trapped together in close quarters…
” Fionn says, tenderly tucking the dummy under the duvet.
Sick in the head, that one. When we were kids, he trapped me in the pantry and stuck a mop in the handle to lock me inside.
The little bastard took full advantage of his younger age with the knowledge that I couldn’t retaliate. Him and Marie both.
“Callum has social anxiety. We needed to keep it small for his sake.”
“Right,” Marie mutters skeptically.
It is true. And I wanted to do something special to make up for missing their engagement party last year since I’d been touring.
I knew Callum would enjoy a chance to experience the bay from one of the sailboats he loves to watch.
It was only a convenient coincidence that I chose a tour in the smallest ship: a twenty-footer with a fixed boom and stays.
One that would practically keep Lo in my lap the entire afternoon.
“Hey, remember that shirt Cielo liked? You used to wear it all the time?” Fionn asks. “You should pick that one today. I found it in the wardrobe when Mam made me clean up. Surprised you left it behind last visit.”
I shrug. “I didn’t leave anything here over Christmas. What are you on about?”
He sighs in exasperation. “You did. And I remember her making a big deal about how great you looked in it during one family dinner.”
“Put me off my food,” Marie adds. “No one wants to hear what a ride their brother is. And I hear it all the time in school now, too. Ugh.”
“If you cared about us, you’d wear a paper bag over your head,” Fionn says.
I have no recollection of that meal or that shirt, but if it made such an impression on Lo…“Where is it now?”
“It’s all the way in the back, I think. Behind the winter coats.”
Wooden hangers slide out of the way and I’m suddenly nose to nose with another grinning ventriloquist face.
“Gah!” I stumble back as Marie cackles. I’d forgotten we had two of these awful things in the house. I poke a finger at my siblings. “You’re twisted.”
“?‘Reach further back…’?” Fionn says with mirthful eyes. “I can’t believe he fell for it!”
“The biggest dummy here is the one who doesn’t have a hand up his ass,” Marie hoots.
An impressive hooker is anchored before me. Crimson sails gently flutter in the salty breeze and traditional, shiny black tar coats the hull.
“It’s pretty.” Lo’s lightly accented voice comes from behind me as I watch the waters of Galway Bay shimmer from the pier.
I point to a vessel in the distance. “Actually, our boat’s the last one there on the end.”
Passionate locals keep the sailing tradition alive, lovingly restoring and racing the iconic red-and-black boats.
However, the one we chartered for the day looks like a “before” picture.
Barnacles encrust the hull, tattered sails hang in a faded mauve instead of the signature blood red.
Maybe I can get a refund. It’s not even decorated for a stag do, other than Happy Hooker in worn paint on the stern.
“I canceled what I had planned for Lark for this shipwreck waiting to happen?”
My cheeky response to Lo’s skepticism evaporates when I turn and get a look at her.
A sleeveless cotton sundress offers a peek at her cleavage before flaring out over her thick thighs.
Understated and effortlessly gorgeous. She watches me stare, but I can’t help myself.
Self-conscious, I tug at the too-short, too-tight GAA shorts Fionn loaned me when I realized that I’d only packed trousers.
Lo’s eyes drop to my thighs and bounce away a split second later.
Saoirse strolls up and peers over her sunglasses at me. “Who invited Paul Mescal?”
Thanks, Fionn.
“Ha,” I reply dryly as she and Cielo exchange an amused glance.
Lark’s mates from the KinetiColor studio appear on the boardwalk next. Anvi’s glossy black braid is thrown over her shoulder, and the platinum-haired, androgynous Rory is decked out in lime-green board shorts.
“I brought sandwiches and TK lemonade!” The brim of Deirdre’s sun hat flops as she ambles down the wooden path, holding a cooler aloft. She’s old enough to be Callum’s mother—and she acts like it—but the wedding party wouldn’t be complete without the funeral home receptionist.
“This is ridiculous.” Lo whips out her phone. “Let me find something else. Anything else.”
But just then, Callum and Lark stride down the pier. He’s pale as a glue stick all in black and she’s sporting pink polka dots. Hand in hand with Lark, he takes in the handsome vessel with an almost boyish wonder.
“Hate to break it to you, but ours is the homely one on the end,” I tell them. “Captain McGrath told me his family has been Claddagh sailors for generations. I didn’t know.”
Anvi’s jaw drops.
Deirdre makes the sign of the cross. “The state of it!”
Callum squints at the boat a moment then breaks into a grin. “B-b-brilliant.”
Lo’s eyes dart to mine in disbelief. Perhaps this isn’t so bad after all.
Lark uncaps a tube of zinc cream. Taking care not to get it on Callum’s glasses, she thumbs a thick white smear across his nose.
It makes him look like the unfortunate victim of seagull target practice, but there’s something about the gesture that makes me stop and watch as he kisses her on the cheek in thanks.
When was the last time someone touched me in such a tender way?
Naturally, when I turn my head, the first thing I see is Lo.
“Let’s see if we make it back to the pier dry before you start congratulating yourself,” she quips.
Captain McGrath is a man weathered by the sea, with a wiry silver beard and a no-nonsense demeanor.
Not the kind of man I’d expect running a stag party operation.
Waving us down the boardwalk for a crash course in boating before we board, he announces that we must learn a couple basic knots.
Bundles of rope are laid out on a folding table for us close to a railing.
Callum takes one and claims his place on the end, leaving me sandwiched between Lark and Lo, while Saoirse, Deirdre, Rory, and Anvi spread out at the end of the rail.
Captain McGrath begins with a bowline knot, explaining that it doesn’t tighten much under tension, making it both secure and easy to untie. He demonstrates the entire process first, then walks us through it.
Sunlight pours across Cielo’s bronze shoulders and up her graceful, exposed neck as she loops a length of rope around the railing. Kissing that junction of sensitive skin used to make her squirm. I still remember the taste. Her full lips purse in concentration as she follows each the step.
God, those delicate, nimble hands.
Annoyed at myself for the lapse in focus, I double back and yank at the end of the rope to tighten it, then loosen the knot and try to repeat it on my own.
Beside me, Lo moves with confidence. Smooth braided nylon glides against her soft palms. Slow, deliberate movements manipulate the rope.
Always in control. Her hazel eyes slide to me, seductive and smug.
With a swift tug—bordering on aggressive—she undoes the whole thing.
I suck in a tiny breath. She knows this will plant ideas in my mind: rope tied across my chest, snugly binding my wrists as she takes charge.
I swallow thickly.
We’d flirted with light restraint before but had never gone for all-out rope play. I didn’t know I’d find it so exciting until I saw the rope in Cielo’s elegant hands.
Focusing on the captain leading us through a clove hitch is impossible when Cielo bends closer to the rail, giving me an eyeful of her chest while tilting her ass up.
The sea breeze stirs the hem of her dress around her powerful thighs.
Following along is futile when all I can think of is being tied up and smothered between them.
My own rope has become one messy tangle.
I find myself holding my breath when she crosses the rope back over itself, sliding it through her fingers.
I nearly collapse when the tip of her tongue darts out to glide over her plush lips. Diabolical woman.
“Hey!” Anvi hip-checks Rory. “Let me help you.”
That snaps me out of it. I blow a shaky breath through pursed lips and try to ignore the flare of heat between us.
Captain McGrath hands each of us a life vest, laying down some basic safety instructions.
The boards creak underfoot as Lark and Callum zoom toward the ugly hooker at the end of the pier.
Lo walks ahead of me, head high and hips swishing with each step.
It’s awkward to board the boat, so I reach out to steady her.
The touch of our hands, however brief and practical, hits me like a lightning strike, shooting up my arm and spreading through my chest before I can pull away.
The pungent aroma of fish assaults my senses when I step on the boat last, and I welcome its cooling effect on my libido. Lark and Cielo exchange pinched expressions. Is it the far end of the pier that smells so rancid, or the sailboat itself?
“Listen, Lark,” I begin. “If you want to do something else—”
“This is class!” Callum pulls me into a hug for the first time ever.
Surprised, I look over his shoulder at the rest of the wedding party. Deirdre grins and gives me a thumbs-up.
This really means a lot to him—and he doesn’t seem to notice the smell of rotting fish—so of course we’re doing this.
The boat is small, with no space wasted.
There’s no techie equipment, not even a steering wheel, or winching handles or cleats to fasten down the ropes.
Most modern hookers are used to race—a biannual event that brings locals much pride—not for sightseeing excursions.
Callum goes right to the bow, craning up to examine the frayed sails.
Dierdre wastes no time opening the cooler and distributing cans of red lemonade.
“We could be having brunch right now like normal people,” Lo mutters as we untie the moor lines and cast off.
“You can get a mimosa and some eggs Benedict anytime,” I say.
Deirdre thrusts a sandwich at Lo. “Here, have an onion and egg!”
Looking queasy, Lo politely declines and shoots a pointed expression at me. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Play nice and don’t throw Aidan overboard,” Saoirse replies through the hand covering her mouth and nose.
“I’m right here.”
“I said ‘ don’t .’?”
“Lark,” I ask, “does Callum have a sense of smell?”
“Pretty sure he does, but nothing seems to faze him.”
Deirdre shrugs and starts eating. Maybe formaldehyde exposure has affected them both.
Salty wind blows through my hair as we pick up speed.
The smell abates as we head into more open water.
Thankfully, it must’ve been the docks. Or else I’ve already gone nose-blind to it.
Captain McGrath settles into a mystery paperback once we’re out in the bay, letting us take our places as the crew.
Callum and Lark go first, delighted to steer the vessel.
“Okay, loveen, turn the tiller to bring it left here,” the captain directs Lo next, half paying attention. Something about the rudder or a sail, but it goes fuzzy when I recognize the bright yellow diving tower to our right. Salthill Promenade.
She and I have history at this spot. A memory I occasionally return to during long showers. The faint taste of ocean water beaded on Lo’s skin, the way she whimpered into my palm as we lay on the wet sand together after the sun went down and the Ferris wheel at the fun park lit up in the distance.
When Cielo turns back in my direction, it’s clear that she recognizes it, too. Well, that’s a nice change of pace from earlier, when she had me practically panting. Two can play that game.
Without breaking eye contact, I wrap my hand around a rope attaching the sail to the mast. Her attention drifts from my eyes, down my chest, across my arm, to my hand.
My grasp confident around the rope, I caress the braided surface with my index finger.
She tracks the movement, then slides her gaze up my hand to the strong tendons of my forearm and her mouth drops open.