Jhene
TWENTY
“Girl, get your butt over here and sit down for five minutes before you collapse!”
Chantal calls out to me as I pass their table carrying a tray laden with pints of Guinness.
I manage a quick glance over my shoulder to find her waving at me from the corner booth where she’s seated with Simone and Monique.
The three of them are dressed to the nines, looking comically out of place in the Irish pub.
…but I’ve gotten to know them well enough to know they don’t give a damn.
All three ladies pride themselves on being fashionistas.
I’m the opposite in my scuffed sneakers and faded T-shirt with the logo of a soda brand stamped on it. Killian’s offered to take me shopping for an entire new wardrobe. An offer I’ve turned down because I genuinely hate shopping.
Trying on frames was torture enough when he bought me new glasses.
I deliver the tray of Guinness to the table of ruddy-faced Irishmen, then pivot back over in the direction of the lady’s table.
Tonight’s the grand reopening of the Banshee, which means it’s a packed house. Every last one of Tom’s regulars has shown up in solidarity and so has almost the entire Callahan clan.
Even their women.
It’s sending the exact message Ronan wanted—a show of strength to the Bratva. They can burn down the building, but they’ll never defeat them. The clan will always rise from the ashes.
As I approach the lady’s table, I slide my notepad out of my waist apron in case they’re ready to order more drinks. I should’ve known they were really calling me over for a break.
“You’ve passed this table six times in the last ten minutes,” Monique says flatly. “Sit down before I trip you.”
“I’m fine, really—”
“Girl, sit your booty down right this instant,” interrupts Chantal. “You’ve been scurrying around this pub like a chicken with its head cut off.”
“Do you see how packed it is? Every table is full!”
“And I’m sure the other four servers on shift can handle it. Sit.”
I put both hands on my waist and peer at the ladies stubbornly. As if I’m about to stand my ground. But it turns out they’re standing theirs too. They stare back at me with raised brows and lips pressed into expectant lines.
They’ve even made a spot for me at the booth.
I sigh and drop into the empty seat next to Simone.
“Five minutes,” I say. “That’s all I can spare. I have tables waiting on me!”
“They’ll live. You shouldn’t even be working so hard now,” Chantal replies with a wave of her hand.
Simone shakes her head in agreement. “Please tell me Tom’s not working you to death on reopening night.”
“We’re all working hard. We wanted tonight to be a success,” I say defensively. “But wait… why shouldn’t I work hard now?”
Simone, Chantal, and Monique share a glance. The sort of look that tells me they’re in on something I’m in the dark on.
“I mean… you’re one of us now,” Chantal says. A slow smirk comes to her face. “You don’t need to be about that struggle life anymore.”
I blink a few times, completely lost. “One of you how? I’ve always been Black.”
Chantal releases a snort of a laugh. “Now, you know good and well that’s not what I meant.”
“She’s talking about your man,” Monique jumps in. She’s sipping on the straw of the Long Island iced tea I delivered her a while ago.
“My man?”
“Killian,” Simone adds. “No need to pretend you’re not dating him. The entire clan knows.”
“He’s cute,” Monique says. “Way cuter than the redhead who yaps like a chihuahua.”
“That would be Sean, and he’s obnoxious to everyone. Don’t worry.” Chantal’s gaze travels over to the table opposite theirs, where the men they’ve come with are seated.
…and a few others, including Sean, have joined them.
My face has warmed up, and I nudge my glasses up my nose, stalling for time as I think up what to say. It’s true Killian and I are officially dating, but we hadn’t planned on making a big thing of it. I didn’t really think any of the ladies would notice.
“Have we been that obvious?” I ask.
Chantal raises both brows. “Are you really asking that right now? Have you seen you two?”
“Killian does look at you like you hung the moon,” Simone says. “Which is interesting because he’s scowling like Oscar the Grouch any other time.”
“Speaking of romance,” Monique says, tone brighter than seconds ago. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t see that giant rock on your finger, Chani.”
Chantal’s face lights up with the beam she gives.
Simone grabs her hand and holds it out for everyone at the table to get a good look. “Read ’em and weep. An engagement ring that would probably make Elizabeth Taylor jealous.”
Monique snorts. “If she were still alive.”
“You’re engaged to Lochlan?”
“He asked me last night! He was so romantic about it—and nervous! It was the cutest thing.”
“Congrats, Chantal. I’m happy for you,” I say, sliding out of the booth. “I should get back to work. Thanks for... you know, including me.”
“Anytime, girl,” Chantal says warmly.
Simone winks. “We’re serious. You’re one of us now.”
I turn to walk away from their table, weirded out by the fact that I enjoyed that exchange. It was possibly the first time I’ve been included in a girl group like that and actually felt welcomed.
Growing up, I wasn’t the most popular kid in school. I had one, maybe two friends at best most school years.
Never three. Let alone three women as beautiful and amazing as Chantal and the others. They’re basically like Black Barbies.
…and I’m the girl with chewed up nails and beer stains on my T-shirt.
I’ve barely made it a few steps before Killian’s suddenly approaching. He intercepts me by the elbow and eases me over to the side of the pub where we can have some semblance of privacy.
I’m lost for half a second… until his mouth is on mine, kissing me on the barroom floor like we’re the only two people present.
A sweet and public display of affection. One that lasts a couple seconds before he pulls back and brushes a curl behind my ear.
“You alright?” he asks. “You’ve been looking overwhelmed all night.”
I soften peering up at him. He’s checking in on me; he’s been watching me on the floor and snagged a moment alone the first instant he got.
Maybe Chantal and the others are right—we’re not exactly subtle, especially Killian.
A small smile comes to my lips. “Just busy. But thanks for making sure.”
“I can’t keep my eyes off you,” he admits, and my cheeks instantly flush. “So stop by my table every now and then, alright? Or I’ll come find you again.”
I’m left dazed like a schoolgirl as he strokes my cheek and gives my hip an affectionate squeeze, then he’s back off to his table with the rest of the clan.
It’s really hard to believe I’m dating a guy like Killian Rourke. Sometimes I want to pinch myself to make sure it’s real.
On paper, he’s so different from me. He’s brawny and brooding and objectively troublesome. But on the inside, there’s so much about him most people would probably never guess.
They’d be surprised to know he’s introverted and caring and probably the most modest guy you’ll ever meet.
I hover in place for a couple more seconds before reminding myself I am on shift. I have tables to serve.
Table six asked for pretzels. Like ten minutes ago…
I head toward the back to grab a fresh bowl from the kitchenette area, my mind still pleasantly fuzzy from Killian. The fuzziness evaporates the second I round the corner and spot Bridget near the back entrance.
She’s not alone, joined by some guy I’ve never seen before.
He’s tall, with sharp features and an alabaster complexion. He’s dressed well enough to reveal he has fat pockets. They’re standing close, talking as intimately as I was seconds ago with Killian. Though I’m a few feet away, I’m able to make out the distinct sound of a Russian accent.
…I’ve spent enough years around them to be able to pick one up a mile away.
I move to back away, but my stupid burner phone in my back pocket chooses this exact moment to start buzzing.
Probably another threatening text.
I’ve been receiving so many in recent days it’s hard to keep up with deleting them. The last message was chilling enough.
You will suffer for your betrayal, Myshka.
“Crap,” I mutter, rushing to silence the phone.
Both Bridget and the man she’s with look up. Her eyes narrow into slits. She mutters something to the man and ushers him out the back door.
I slide the phone back into my pocket and turn toward the cabinet to grab a bag of pretzels.
“Were you eavesdropping?”
“Not really. I came back here to grab more pretzels.” I hold up the bag.
She folds her arms and scoffs. “Save it. I really don’t get you. Isn’t it enough that you already have Killian? Do you have to stick your nose into my business too?”
“I wasn’t trying to—”
“Stay out of my way, Jhene.”
She brushes past me, stomping out of the kitchenette area and back down the hall that leads to the pub’s main floor.
I roll my eyes and shake my head. We’ve never exactly been the best of friends, but this level of attitude from the redhead is new.
Whatever her issue is, it’s none of my concern. I have bigger problems to worry about.
The weeks that follow are some of the happiest times of my life.
Killian and I reach a point in our relationship where we’re so domestic, so used to each other that life feels safe.
My nervous system has settled, and I’ve remembered how to smile and laugh again. I’m able to appreciate our moments together, even with the dread I’ve never been able to shake.
It helps that I trust him. That I know he’s fighting for me. That maybe… just maybe we’ll find a way to get Eva back and survive Fedorov’s wrath.
Does it sound delusional? One hundred percent. Actually, one thousand percent delusional.
But I let myself believe a little. Hope forms as a bubble inside my chest, and I can’t bring myself to pop it just yet.
We go grocery shopping on Sundays.