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Diarmuid

 

 

 

Now—Limerick, Ireland

 

 

There was a figure hunched over on my porch and a flashy Audi parked in my driveway when I got home from the boxing gym. I got out of the car and the figure rose into an imposing six-foot frame of one of Ireland’s most violent fighters.

I slammed the door of my truck behind me. “Look what the bloody cat dragged in.”

Declan grinned at me as I strode up to him. “Nice to see you too, fucker.”

He was a brutal-looking man, his handsomeness hardened by the steely planes of his face. He was also one of my oldest and best friends.

“You should have rung me,” I said.

“And have you pretend to be too busy to see me?”

I snorted. It was always Declan that was too busy for us. We hugged and he slapped my back.

“I was just at O’Malley’s,” I said, pulling back.

“Jesus, is that old shed still running?” he said, but his tone was full of affection.

“If I knew you were here I’d have gotten you to meet me there.”

“And risk having you show me up in the ring? Not a chance, mate.”

I laughed. As if I would have a chance in hell at showing him up. Declan was only the world’s current number one MMA fighter.

I let us both into my house, a small terraced home in Limerick’s west side. He dropped into the couch while I went to grab us a couple of beers. I returned and handed one to him.

“What did I do to deserve your presence?” I dropped onto my armchair and took a swig of my beer. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring the damn paps to my door.”

“Still grumpy as fuck, I see.” He grinned and knocked back his beer, downing half in one go. Declan’s metabolism was like a racehorse, I swear. He could drink more and train more than either Danny or me. “I’m just back in Ireland for the next few days.”

“Lucky us. Have you been over to Dublin to see Danny yet?”

“Not yet.”

“News flash, the bastard’s the same old moody prick as always.”

He let out a snort. “That’s musicians for ya. So, what’s the craic?”

Before I could answer, my phone began to buzz across the table.

“Who’s calling ye?” Declan swiped it before I could grab it. “She better be hot.”

“Hey, asshole. Give me my phone.”

Declan’s face screwed up when he saw the screen. “Why the fuck is Ava calling you?” He turned an accusing look to me. “I thought you were moving on?”

The phone continued to blare.

“I have moved on. I’m separated from her.”

“So why is she calling you?”

“I don’t bloody know.”

“Are you going to answer it?”

“No.”

“I’ll answer it.”

“No, don’t—”

Too late. Declan had swiped the screen. “Hello, wench, it’s Diarmuid’s answering service…nah, he doesn’t want to speak to you…”

I tried to grab the phone off him but Declan hopped off the sofa, skipping out of my reach. The fit fucker. I was never getting my phone off him now.

Declan let out a snort. “Ava, honey, I suggest you go fuck yourself.”

He hung up and threw the phone at me, plopping back onto the couch.

“Nothing’s going on between Ava and me,” I said before he could ask.

He raised a thick eyebrow at me. “Are you seeing anyone else?”

I shuffled in my chair. “No.”

“Have you even fucked anyone else since her?”

I winced. Sometimes Declan could be so crude. “No.”

“Jesus, brother, it’s been almost three years since you kicked her out.”

I let out a groan. “I’m still married.”

Declan let out a snort. “Technically.”

“Not technically, literally.”

“That’s because the Irish marriage law is fucked and they won’t let you get divorced unless you’ve been separated for four years.”

I rubbed my face. “So you can ask me again in a year when I’m a single man.”

“Jesus Christ, Diarmuid, are you actually going to go four fucking years without getting laid?”

“You sound like it’s the end of the world.”

“It would fucking be for me. Jesus Christ, my dick would fall off.”

“What would all your ringside bitches do then?” I muttered under my breath. Louder I said, “That’s the difference between you and me. I don’t need to get laid.”

“Bull-fucking-shit. You’re a grumpy fucking shite ’cause you’re not getting laid. It’s practically a medical condition what you’ve got.”

Trust Declan to view sex as a pill he had to take daily. Or hourly…if the rumours in all the papers were true.

“Come on, mate,” he said. “I have a fight here in a few weeks, I’ll get ye a ticket, introduce you to a few fine gals.”

I rolled my eyes. “Thought you were happily married, brother.”

He grinned and held up his left hand where the huge platinum ring glinted off his ring finger. He’d recently gotten hitched to an American model in Las Vegas, of all places. How very cliché of him.

“Still am. That’s why I need to throw the groupies your way. That’s the kind of friend I am.”

“No, thanks. I don’t need your scraps.”

That’s what I’d been accepting for those years that I’d been with Ava. Scraps. Scraps of her love. Scraps of her attention. I was done playing second best. If I was ever going to get married again, it’d be for the right reasons. With a woman who made me feel like a lifetime wouldn’t be enough. With a woman who looked at me like I was the centre of her world. And she would be mine.

Declan shook his head. “Brennan, you’ve been with the same damn woman for the last six fucking years. Don’t you think it’s time you got out there and had a bit of fun? Let a few more women get a ride on the Diarmuid train before you shackle yourself up to a station again.”

I snorted. “I am not a train.”

Declan shook his head. “That bitch has fucked with your head. Made you feel unworthy. Dude, you know I’d do ye, if I were a chick.”

“Dex!”

“What?” he gulped down the rest of his beer. “I am comfortable with my masculinity. I can say shit like that and not feel like my manhood is threatened.”

Declan had very different ideas about fidelity and sex. I knew that his new wife and he have invited other parties into their bedroom, including other men. Not my cup of tea, but whatever floated his boat.

I shook my head. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

A phone buzzed with a message and this time it was Declan’s. He looked at it and grinned. “I gotta run. The missus calls.”

“Go. You’ve worn out your welcome anyways.”

He laughed. “Good to see you too, asshole.”

We both stood and hugged, slapping each other’s backs.

He sent a soft punch to my shoulder. “You’re coming to my fight. I’m not taking no for an answer. You couldn’t come for years ’cause that bitch wouldn’t let ye. Now you’re not with her, you’ve got no bloody excuse.”

He was right. I needed to be a supportive friend. Declan had done so well for himself in the last few years. He’d reached his potential. Unlike me.

I nodded, forcing a smile. “Alright. I’ll come, then.”

He grinned as if he’d won. “I’ll send ye two tickets. Bring a date. A woman, Diarmuid. One you’d like to fuck.”

For some reason Saoirse popped into my head. I shoved that inappropriate thought away and wouldn’t allow myself to dwell on it.