Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
IRISH
Y esterday was beautiful. Fifty degrees and sunshine. A day later, the forecast included snow. Fucking Colorado and her four seasons in a day bullshit. Growing up on the east coast, he’d been used to four seasons. Snow would fall by the foot in the winter, and he’d sweat balls in the summer.
It’d taken a bit to get used to all four happening in one day. Instead of the long ride he’d planned, he headed over to his office. They were a month out from the next Wilderness Warriors Expedition camp. There was paperwork to do, insurance policies to renew, supplies to order and teen profiles to get familiar with.
His cell ringing had been a welcome interruption. The urgency in Sean’s voice set him on edge immediately. He had little time to get everything in order and make it to Denver International Airport before Makenzie’s flight came in. Locking up the office, he headed over to the Spartan Watchmen compound to switch vehicles and grab Clover.
Ten minutes later, the rumble of his Harley faded as Irish parked next to his F-150 outside the clubhouse. Pulling off his helmet, he ran a hand through his red hair before fishing out his phone and dialing Bull's number. He walked inside the clubhouse while talking, grabbing his dog’s leash off the wall by the door. Clover had become the Watchmen’s mascot of sorts. Irish often let her chill at the clubhouse while he worked, knowing the men would spoil her rotten with love and attention. Still, she was very much his dog and he wanted companionship on the drive to Denver. He let out a low whistle, and Clover came bounding over to him.
“Hey, Bull,” Irish spoke, his voice carrying the weight of urgency, “I need a favor, brother. Can your girl swing by some shop and grab clothes for Makenzie? I don’t know what is going on, but Sean sent me her sizes. She needs something comfy; she's in a bit of a bind and could use a solid. Veronica can use my credit card.”
“Sure thing,” came the gruff reply from the other end. “I’m sure Veronica won’t mind a reason to go shopping. Casual stuff? Any specifics? Is she a Little?”
“No, not a Little, not that I know of anyway. Tell her to grab a couple of items that are comfortable like joggers, tees, pajamas, and the likes. A pair of jeans and a top. She can go shopping herself in a day or two. Umm… I don’t know what, if anything she will have with her so see if Veronica can get all the necessities a woman would need for like a weekend. I don’t know what she is running from, but Sean told me she needed to get away and fast,” Irish said, the corner of his mouth twitching with concern. He trusted Veronica had a sense of what would make a woman feel at ease yet cared for. They were about the same age. The only other person he could think to ask was Trinity, Lucky’s girlfriend, but she was old enough to be Mak’s mother. “Can you ask her to go soon? I’m picking Makenzie up in Denver in a couple of hours.”
“Got it. Will do.” Bull's assurance was brief, but it was all Irish needed to hear.
“Thanks, man,” Irish ended the call and pocketed his phone, his gaze drifting to Clover, who sat patiently beside him, her tongue lolling out in a pant. He reached down and gave the mountain dog a rub behind the ears. "Ready for a ride, girl?"
Clover's tail thumped against the ground, her bright eyes locking onto Irish’s. They understood each other, the rescue dog had rescued him years before.
He walked over to the office with Clover. “I’m headed to Denver to pick up Sean’s baby sister from the airport,” Irish told Lucky. “I’m going to be out of pocket for the rest of the night.”
“Everything okay?” Lucky asked, looking up from the ledger he was going over with Arrow.
“It will be. Something went down at home and Sean needs me to look after Makenzie for a few days.”
“You said his baby sister? How old is she?” Arrow asked, his brow wrinkling.
“Not a child.” Irish responded. “Although she will always be to me. She’s what, thirty? I think now. Maybe twenty-eight.”
“Thank God. Don’t get me wrong, brother. You do amazing work with the teens during camp, but the thought of a teenager runaway chilling at your place…” Arrow shrugged.
“Come on, Arrow. Do you really think I’d allow someone to fly a runaway teenage girl across the country to me?”
“Honestly? If she was in trouble and needed help?” Arrow said.
He had him there. He was a sucker for helping at-risk children. “She wouldn’t be staying with me. I’d see if Trinity or Delilah or one of the older women could take her. Not risking it.”
Lucky nodded. “A moot point anyway, Makenzie is an adult.”
“Anyway, I’ll have my cell on me if you need me. Figure three hours there, three hours back and whatever time it takes to get her a hot meal.”
“Travel safe. I saw snow in the forecast today.” Lucky said before turning his attention back to the ledger.
Snow was not uncommon in mid-April in Denver. He just hoped it wouldn’t ground her flight. A few hours later and they arrived at Denver airport. Irish parked in a spot in the cell phone waiting lot and sent a couple of messages off to Sean.
Irish: I’m in the cell phone staging area. Tell Mac to text me when she gets here, and I’ll drive around and pick her up.
Sean: PD still refuses to let anyone park in front of the airport?
Irish: They are militant about it. I’d park and go inside but I have Clover with me and it’s snowing.
Sean: I don’t miss April snow in Colorado.
Irish: It’ll be seventy tomorrow.
Sean: I really appreciate you doing this.
Irish: What’s she running from?
Sean: I’ll let her tell you.
Irish: Any criminal activity I need to be aware of.
Sean: You made me choke soda out my nose, asshole. Kenzie and criminal do not fit in the same sentence.
Irish: You never know. She could have been mixed up with the wrong crowd.
Sean: Less criminal, more relationship.
Irish: Did a boyfriend hit her? Because if a man hit her, I’ll…
Sean: You don’t think if someone hit my sister, I wouldn’t be calling you from jail?
Irish: True.
Sean: Family situation. Gtg. I’ll have her text you when she lands.
Irish turned the music up in his truck and leaned back in the seat while waiting for Makenzie’s text. He closed his eyes, remembering the last time he’d seen her. It must have been Christmas the year before he married Darian.
Darian.
He didn’t think about his ex-wife too often these days. Talked to her only when she needed something for their kids. Kids, she was hellbent on alienating him from. Thinking of his children, he sent a quick text to his sixteen-year-old son. They had a great texting relationship. Unfortunately, his kids had to sneak around to call him. When Darian found out they were communicating, she would yell at them and make them feel guilty. If she had her way, he’d be a paycheck every month and nothing else.
After receiving Makenzie’s text, he drove around to a spot near the sliding doors and parked. He got out of the truck and stood next to the passenger side door, shooting a warning look at the officer, who started to approach him. He knew exactly what the officer would say, “You can’t park here, drive around again.” His scowl worked. The police officer kept on walking.
As he leaned against the truck, he scanned the crowds for a familiar face. The airport buzzed around him, people swarming like bees in a hive, each engrossed in their own reunions and farewells. The scent of overpriced coffee hung heavy in the air, mixing with the noise of rolling suitcases and distant terminal and package claim announcements.
Clover’s head hung out the window, as if she was looking for Makenzie too.
He noticed children running, their faces lit up with the sheer joy of adventure, their parents trailing close behind. A group of teenagers came out together, wearing matching t-shirts from some trip they’d been on. It reminded him of the kids he mentored, the ones who saw the wilderness for the first time under his watch. It was about offering them control over something when their lives were often dictated by chaos.
“Any second now, Clover,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the hustle of the place. Clover let out a soft woof as if in agreement.
The doors slid open again with a hiss, spilling out weary travelers from the terminal. Among them, a figure in white, like some misplaced bride on the run from her own wedding. Irish tried to take it all in stride, which was harder than it should be. The urge to rush to her, swing her up into his arms, and carry her off overcame him. The pain and uncertainty in her eyes cut deep. His visceral reaction took him by surprise. He wanted to protect her and wipe away the sadness he saw plastered on her features.
Gone was the child of his youth. In her place stood a woman with curves in all the right places. A woman with pain etched across her features. She looked up and their eyes met.
In that second, Irish knew two things. One, Makenzie was a grown woman and two, she was his. He felt it in his chest and radiating in his soul.
Fuck.
His mother always told him, “When you know, you know.” He hadn’t known with Darian. No, he’d married Darian out of some false sense of responsibility. As he held Makenzie’s gaze, he knew. Knew as certain as he knew his own name.
He couldn’t know. Not her. Sean’s sister.
Makenzie fucking Sullivan.
He pushed off the truck and headed toward her. “Mak, baby. Over here.”
“Hey!” Her voice cracked, heavy with unshed tears and relief.
Irish reached her in a few quick strides. Her cheeks were flushed, makeup smudged, and mascara lines betrayed the fact that she’d been crying. Regardless of the hot mess she was in, her raw beauty shone through brightly. On second glance, Irish saw a little girl, just like when she’d fallen off her bike and skinned her knee all those years ago, in a vulnerable state that needed help.
“Come here, Mak,” Irish commanded, opening his arms to her. She ran into them, like a long-lost friend, and he embraced her, wrapping her up tightly in his arms. Irish couldn't help but notice the way her curves filled out the dress, the softness of her against the hardness of him. She was no longer the gangly little girl he'd known, always chasing after her older brothers with scraped knees and wide, adoring eyes. No, this woman was heart-stopping femininity, wrapped up in white satin and lace. When had that happened?
“Look at you...” Irish began, but words failed him as he took in the sight of Makenzie—the transformation wasn't just physical, but something deeper. There was a defiance in her posture, a wildness that matched the untamed mane of her chestnut hair, and it struck him then—she was not just Sean's little sister anymore. She was Makenzie, the woman.
“I’d rather you not look at me. I’m a hot freaking mess. Thank you for coming,” she said.
“Anything for Sean,” he replied. He released her from his arms and opened the door for her to get into the truck. The second he released her; he felt an emptiness. The responsibility to protect her felt natural, like an extension of his being—a dominant force rising to shield this precious and brave girl turned woman he’d loved his entire life, and never once admitted it.
“Who is this?” Makenzie said, turning to where Clover was hanging her head out the back window.
“This gorgeous girl is Clover. She rescued me a few years ago.” He reached in and rubbed her between her ears.
“She rescued you? Isn’t it normally the other way around?”
“Nah. I think it’s normally the dog rescuing the human. We just take credit for it.” Irish said with a small laugh. He helped Makenzie in the door and smiled wide when the first thing she did was to love on Clover.
“What a beautiful girl! What kind of dog is she?”
Irish grabbed the top of Makenzie’s seatbelt, pulled it across the layers of wedding gown and snapped it in before shutting the door and walking around to the passenger side.
“She is a Bernese Mountain Dog. She doesn’t normally like women so don’t be offended if—” Irish stopped talking, staring in shock as the large tan and black dog cuddled into Makenzie’s side. “I’ll be damned.” In the past five years, the only women Clover had tolerated were Trinity and Kylie.
Makenzie laughed softly.
“All dogs like me,” she said with a small shrug. “Remember, when we were younger and the dog bit Sean and then came over and sat in my lap?”
“I remember wanting to spank your butt when you called the damn dog over after it took a chunk out of Sean’s thigh,” Irish growled. It was one of many times she’d done something dangerous when they were children.
“Nah. He was a sweetheart.”
“When he wasn’t biting people…” Irish said as Makenzie burst into laughter. “So, should we stop and get you something more comfortable to change into?”
“I almost stopped in the terminal at one of the shops, but I realized I am going to need help getting out of my dress. It has about ten billion little buttons running up the back.”
“If you are okay with me helping, we can run into Target. Otherwise, it’s a few hours back to Grand Ridge. There are a couple of women there I know would be willing to help.”
“To be honest, I don’t want to walk through Target in this… it’s heavier than it looks. But I really want to get out of it.”
“How about this, you and Clover hang out in the truck, and I’ll run into the store real fast and grab you a pair of sweats and a comfortable shirt. Then, we can stop at the large rest stop in a couple of miles. There’s a family bathroom we can use. I’m sure Clover would like the chance to stretch her legs, too.”
Makenzie smiled gratefully at him. “That sounds perfect.”
“Here, take my phone and pull up what you’d like me to grab you and put it in the Target cart. If we order for pickup, we’d have to wait at least an hour.”
“You have the Target app?” Makenzie looked at him surprised.
“Yeah. I mean, men shop at Target too. I happen to like the pick-up option.” Their banter continued lightheartedly until they reached Target. Irish refused Makenzie’s outreached credit card and hurried into Target.
After he quickly grabbed the pair of joggers, camisole, and sweatshirt, he approached the self-checkout lane. Adding a couple of pieces of candy to the haul and two bottles of water, he checked out and headed back to his truck.
“The rest stop is only a few miles down the interstate,” he told Makenzie, handing her the bag. “I didn’t know what kind of candy you liked, so I picked up several to choose from.”
“I don’t eat candy,” Makenzie said, frowning.
“You don’t eat candy?” The little girl he’d known as a child was always getting into sweets. Was the woman sitting beside him a health nut?
“Nope.” She winked at him before she tore open the bag of gummy bears. “I devour it.”
“You’re still a little brat,” Irish said teasingly. “Some things never change.”
“And some things change a lot.” She said almost wistfully.
“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked her as he pulled back onto the road.
“No, not yet. If that’s okay.”
“Whenever you are ready. I’m here for you. So, what have you been up to these days? Sean bragged about you when you got your master’s degree.”
“He did?” She seemed surprised. “Let’s see, that was five years ago now. I’ve been working as a forensic accountant for…”
Makenzie caught Irish up on her professional life before inquiring about his. Before long, they arrived at the rest stop Irish had told her about. Other than a couple of semi-trucks parked in the back lot, the place was empty. They slipped into the family restroom and Irish deftly locked the door behind him.
“You weren’t lying about the buttons,” he said. “My hands are almost too big for this. I’m trying to be careful.”
“It’s okay. I don’t plan on ever wearing this dress again, and to be honest, there’s no emotional connection. We bought it at David’s Bridal on the sale rack…”
“So if I accidentally pop one or two off?”
“Totally fine,” Makenzie laughed.
He worked quickly and when the dress was undone enough for her to step out of it, Irish slid out of the bathroom to give her some privacy. He walked Clover around the rest stop, keeping the bathroom door in sight the entire time. She emerged a few minutes later, smiling from ear to ear, wearing the pair of black joggers and light blue sweatshirt.
“Where’s the dress?”
“In the trash where it belongs,” she said softly.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. If my mom is upset, I’ll pay her back for it. I don’t want it. I don’t want to look at it. I want to forget today ever happened, to be honest. I know I won’t be able to just forget what happened, and I have to face it, but right now, I needed to throw it away. ”
He held the truck door open, and she got inside. Clover immediately hopped in and cuddled into her side, resting her head on Makenzie’s lap. Irish couldn’t get over how quickly Clover trusted her. The road stretched before them, a ribbon of asphalt cutting through the rugged landscape as Irish's truck ate up the miles back to Grand Ridge. Makenzie was quiet for the first few minutes before turning to Irish and breaking the silence with more childhood memories.
“Remember that time we tried to dig a pool in your backyard?” she asked.
“Yes, I remember how much trouble I got into when my dad got home from work. He threatened to send me off to a camp for wayward youth.” Irish chuckled.
“Speaking of camps, tell me about yours,” she prompted as she turned toward him.
“Well, it's more than just a camp,” he began. “I worked closely developing it with some of my operator friends on Valhalla. It took a couple of years to get it just right, but we’ve found our rhythm. It's a place where kids can break free from the concrete jungles, from the noise and chaos. Out in the wild, they get to challenge themselves, find some peace, maybe even figure out who they want to be. So, I work closely with different organizations to sponsor each child. Of course, it’s a tax write off for them, and then once a quarter, I run a different camp aimed at different ages. In the winter, we do a ski-resort trip for high school juniors. The other three camps are wilderness themed. Teachers, social workers, and family members can nominate a child through our website. We meet as a committee and go over the applications. The children often come from low economic environments, are foster kids or have other struggles they need help overcoming. We match them with different mentors, all highly vetted and background checked, in their communities after they return so they don’t just get a good experience and are forgotten about. Several of these kids were on the verge of jail or dropping out of school and now are excelling in college and military careers.”
“Sounds amazing,” she said. “It’s clear this is more than just a job for you. Sounds like you found your calling.”
“No one gets to pick who their parents are or where they are born, you know?” Irish said, glancing at her. “We both were blessed to have parents who love us. These kids are victims of their circumstances or environments. Every kid deserves a chance, you know? They all have potential inside of them. We help them find it. Sometimes, they just need someone to believe in them and show them there is a different world out there." His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as if holding onto the belief that he could steer these kids toward better horizons. “These kids believe their futures are already written out for them. We help them erase those thoughts and write new stories, Makenzie.”
“I understand feeling as if someone else has written your story for you and the desire to erase it and write your own,” she confessed.
“I know your parents had high expectations for all you kids. I remember how much pressure they put on Sean. They expected him to start in every sport, get straight As and attend every church event with a smile on his face. I was thankful my parents weren’t quite as demanding as yours.”
“I was jealous of you growing up, not going to lie. Your mother didn’t limit the amount of sugar you ate or control the amount of sleep you got. Our household was a tightly run ship.”
“It was, but I never doubted your parents' love for you.”
“No, me neither. I knew they loved us. They raised us the way they were raised, doing what they knew. We never wanted for love, for hugs, or kisses. Don’t tell Ma this, but sometimes, I miss the strictness. I mean, I never had to guess what was going to happen next or figure out how things needed to be done. There was some freedom in it.”
Irish smiled to himself. He knew entirely too well what she spoke of. He’d heard it from many of the submissives at The Citadel.
“So, Sean told me you are in a motorcycle gang?” She changed the subject quickly.
“A motorcycle gang? Did he now?” Irish laughed. “I’m a member of a motorcycle club, not a gang.”
“There’s a difference?”
“A large difference. The Spartan Watchmen are a veteran’s motorcycle club. Our mission is to support and defend our fellow special forces operators as they transition from active duty back into civilian life. We raise money for a variety of charities, work together with our brothers who fight child abuse and continue to protect and serve society the way we know how.”
“Sounds noble.”
Irish’s deep laughter filled the space between them in the truck. “Please tell Lucky, Arrow, and Savage that they sound noble. I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces when you do.”