____________

Saoirse

 

 

 

The way he was looking at me…

Like I was a woman, not a girl.

Like I was the most gorgeous creature he’d ever seen.

Like I was dessert and he was starving.

I’d waited years to have him look at me that way. Dreamed about it. Yearned for it.

His stare hit me right in my lower belly, tumbling and twisting into hot knots.

Damn him.

I was just getting over him. I was just learning not to care.

Yeah, right.

I shoved these feelings aside, locking my arms across my chest as if they were armour and could protect me.

Nothing had ever been able to protect me from him.

“Lead the way, oh venerable master,” I said. Yes, sarcasm would totally work as a defense.

Diarmuid cleared his throat and indicated for me to come with him.

I followed him as he strode towards the other side of the gym. My eyes couldn’t help wandering over his hard, fit body, dressed simply in a pair of light grey sweatpants and a tight black sleeveless shirt. His shoulder-length hair was tied back into a small bun at the nape of his thick neck. His muscular arms and rounded shoulders were on display, colourful ink across smooth skin like a piece of art.

He was a piece of art. This sight should be fucking illegal.

He stopped in front of a battered, faded red bag hanging from one of the beams. I stopped beside him.

“I’m, er, going to show you the basics today.” He sounded nervous. Unsure of himself, even. Why would he be nervous? He wouldn’t even meet my eyes. “Neutral stance should be feet hip-width apart, your left foot forward because you’re right-handed.”

I stood how he instructed. My body heating as he gazed over my exposed legs. Why the hell did I think wearing running shorts was a good idea?

“That’s good. Now make a fist.”

“Are you going to let me hit you?”

His eyes snapped to mine, a twitch pulling at his top lip. “Just do it.”

I held up my right hand in front of my face, gave him the finger, then made a fist.

He let out a snort. “Tuck your thumb in.”

I frowned at my hand. Then pushed my thumb, which was sticking out, under my fingers.

“Not like that… Here.”

He grabbed my hand in both of his. His hands were huge, dwarfing mine, rough and warm and calloused, just like I remembered. He gently pulled out my thumb and tucked it under so it was out of the way, totally unaware of how wobbly my knees had just gotten. Or how my heartbeat had quickened.

“Like this. Or you’ll break your thumb when you hit something.” His glanced up and his eyes locked with mine. His thumb brushing lightly across the back of my hand.

Damn him.

I yanked my hand out of his. I wanted to rub it against my clothing to get rid of the residue feeling ghosting the back of my hand.

He turned and faced the bag as if nothing had happened.

“You want to extend your right hand forward, leading with your hips as you go. Start slow.” He moved as he spoke, extending his arm, his muscles shifting underneath his smooth inked skin, his slim hips turning. He returned back to his neutral stance. “We want you to get your technique right before you start adding speed.”

He punched again, this time striking out so hard and fast that his arm was a blur, the bag smacking back as his fist impacted it. The bag never had a chance.

Holy shit.

He was fast. And strong as fuck. I snapped my mouth closed as he grabbed the bag to steady it, then turned towards me.

“Your turn.”

I let out a scoffing noise. “Watch and learn, Brennan.”

I had no idea what I was doing. But it was better than him realising just how impressed I was. I stepped up to the bag, wearing my false bravado around me like an oversized coat, and gave it what I thought was a decent punch.

My fist tapped the bag and it hardly moved. I made a face.

Diarmuid’s face hadn’t changed. “Try again.”

I glared at the bag, pretending it was Diarmuid’s balls. I lashed out.

Diarmuid let out a small sigh. “You have to lead with your hips, selkie.”

“Don’t call me that.” I hit again.

“Lead with your hips.”

I smashed the bag with my fist, frustration pouring out of my hand. “You keep fucking saying that but I have no idea what you mean by it.”

“Here.” He moved around me, coming to stand right behind me, the warmth of him soaking into my back. His right hand grabbed my right wrist and his left hand closed over my hip.

Oh, God.

I froze. “What are you doing?” I asked, my voice a mere squeak.

My body was betraying me. I wanted to lean back into him. To roll my ass against his hard body.

“Just relax.”

Relax? Relax? How the fuck was I supposed to relax when he was crowding me like this.

“Release your arm from your shoulder,” his voice rumbled into my ear as he extended our arms out. “And lead from your hips.”

At the same time his hand pulled at my left hip, twisting us, his warmth flooding into my body.

I might have whimpered. I’m not sure.

I realised we were just standing there, his arms round me, my fist against the bag. I swear I heard him inhale against my hair.

Shit. Fuck. I shoved his hands off me. It pained me to have his hands on me. It pained me to be without them.

I stumbled away from him. “Why are we doing this, anyway?”

“Self-defense. You need to know what to do just in case you ever need to defend yourself.”

I bristled. “You’re the only one I’ve ever had to defend myself from.”

His face crumpled. “That is not true.”

I knew we were both thinking of the last time we’d seen each other three years ago, of the reason he left me.

I shook my head, my insides warring. I wanted to hate him for leaving all those years ago. I did hate him.

And yet, I wanted nothing more than to fling myself into his arms and sob with relief that we’d found our way back to each other. I wanted to give him every hurt and fear I’d saved so he could fold them away, the way only he could. I wanted to make him laugh and laugh to make up for all the happiness we’d missed. The thought of letting him back in made the armour around my heart harden. It made the girl inside of me recoil and hiss with fear. Which led me back to anger.

My emotions tumbled so hard inside me I almost felt dizzy.

There was so much I wanted to let out.

But I couldn’t.

I couldn’t let him hurt me again.

I wouldn’t.

“Time’s up,” I said.

He opened his mouth as if to speak. I didn’t want to hear it. I was running out of energy to keep him at a safe distance. If I let him back in, it’d be the end of me.

I strode past him to the bench where I’d left my bag, giving him no chance to continue the conversation.

I pulled my sweats and hoodie back on. I almost jumped when I heard Diarmuid’s voice behind me.

“I’ll wait with you outside.”

Either he had the lightest footsteps in all of history or I was too worked up to be paying much attention to my surroundings.

“I don’t need you to wait with me. I’m not a child anymore.” I slung my duffle bag over one shoulder and strode towards the exit.

Damn him. He kept up with me easily, his long legs cutting across the polished wooden floors.

He raced ahead so he could open the door for me. I scowled as I stormed past, refusing to say thanks, then feeling like a bitch. I didn’t want him to be sweet to me. I wanted to hate him. It was easier to hate him.

Then he was beside me as I stopped on the sidewalk, watching me with concern on his face.

Screw him and his concern. Where was his concern for the last three years?

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Leave me alone.”

He frowned, his stance widening as if to make a point that he was not leaving my side.

“Saoirse, this is an industrial neighbourhood and it’s dusk. I wouldn’t let anyone wait out here by themselves.”

“Whatever.” I made a point to roll my eyes, trying to tamp down the little voice inside me that whispered that he still cared about me.

He stood too close to me. Too damn close, it made my hairs stand on end as if he were magnetized and I was metal.

I sidestepped away from him. Not discreetly enough, because I caught the side glance he gave me and the press of his lips.

The air was crisp and the sun was streaking like blood across the underside of clouds in the darkening sky. As much as I hated to admit it, Diarmuid was right. There was no one around at this time of the evening. The warehouse next door that had been open when I had arrived was now shut up.

We stood in silence for what felt like hours, the sky darkening, the temperature dropping, making me shove my hands in the front pocket of my hoodie.

I had to fight the urge to glance over. As my anger subsided, I was left with burning curiosity. What had he done in the last three years? Did he have a boy or a girl? Was he happy with his new family? Did he ever wish he was with me instead?

Diarmuid glanced at his watch, my eyes latching onto that movement. He pressed his full lips together.

“My da is coming to pick me up,” I said in defense of an accusation unspoken.

He said nothing. His eyes scanned the empty road as if to say, oh yeah? Where is he, then?

I couldn’t even hear any oncoming cars.

I worried my lip. Then looked at my own watch.

“He should be here…” I trailed off. My da was almost fifteen minutes late.

“Let me drive ye home.”

“He wouldn’t forget,” I snapped. I took out my phone and dialed my da’s number. He answered after five rings. “Da, yeah. Where are you?”

“Out at the farm, pet.”

“Oh…were you going to pick me up?”

“Oh shite, sorry, I got caught up with work, you know how it goes. I can be there in an hour.”

My face fell. I caught Diarmuid’s eye, concern clear on his face. I frowned and turned away, walking a few steps away from him.

“…Oh. Right. No bother, then. I can find my own way home. K…bye.” I tucked my phone in my pocket and let out a long huff. I’d have to call a cab or something.

“Let me drive you home.” Diarmuid’s voice came from behind.

“I’ll just catch a—”

“Saoirse.” I felt his firm hand on my shoulder. He turned me to face him. “I’m driving you home.”

I felt his hand all throughout my body.

He grabbed the rest of his things from inside the building and he closed up. I followed him wordlessly, watching his strong hands deftly move across the equipment as he put it away. He was as sure of his movements as always.

He locked up and I loitered at his side, wondering how it was that he had a key to this place. Did he work here part-time? Did he…own the place?

“I used to train here as a teenager,” he started to say, as if he’d heard the question in my head. “My two best friends and I learned to fight here. It kept us out of trouble as teens. Well…mostly,” he admitted.

I knew all about the trouble that he’d gotten into as a teen. The drugs, the alcohol. The street fights.

I kept a casual face on like I didn’t care. Even as every cell in my body was waiting to hear more.

As if he knew it would annoy me, he stopped talking.

Damn him. Well, I wasn’t about to ask him any questions. It wasn’t like I was desperately curious to know. Every. Little. Thing. About. Him.

Diarmuid locked the back door and led me to the tiny parking lot out back. There was a single old maroon truck parked near the door.

I frowned. Was that…? No way.

“Is that the same truck as you used to have?” I blurted out before I could remind myself that I didn’t care.

“The very one.” He strode ahead and opened the passenger door for me.

I scowled.

He smirked.

“You don’t have to help me up into the truck anymore, you know?” I grumbled as I got into the passenger’s seat, ignoring his outstretched hand, the hand that used to lift me up every time I fell.

He laughed as he leaned against the top of my open door. The sound plucked several memories inside of me, like a haunting melody, loaded with sweetness and layered with my sorrow.

I remembered the first time I’d ridden in this very truck with him, the first time I’d made him laugh. The pleasant, rich sound had seemed so foreign coming out of such a broody brute. But it only made it more beautiful. Because I came to learn that I was one of the few who could pluck laughter from him.

“Your legs are a lot longer than they used to be,” he said.

I’m sure he meant it to be casual, but his eyes flicked down for a moment before coming up to meet my gaze. That single movement drew a trace of wildfire across me.

“Some things change,” I said, my voice squeezing out of my throat, which had gone tight.

“Some things haven’t,” he said quietly, his eyes latching onto mine.

Damn him.

Damn him for not changing. Damn us for not changing.

Damn him for looking at me the way he did when I was a kid. Like I meant the world to him. Like he’d do anything to protect me.

He shut the door and walked round to his side.

I swallowed back the knot in my throat as I glanced around the cab. It still smelled like him, leather and Diarmuid’s woodsy cologne.

“I can’t believe you still have this truck,” I blurted out as he slid into the driver’s seat. So many memories, just him and me, inside this truck.

“She’s a classic, I told you.” He petted the dashboard. “She hasn’t let me down yet.”

He turned on the engine, the familiar rumble travelling through my body. The radio turned on automatically. The radio blared and it took a second for me to place the familiar tune.

The Dubliners.

I swallowed.

“Since when do you listen to The Dubliners?”

He shrugged. He pulled out of the parking lot into the street.

“I thought you said this music was shite,” I pushed.

The lower half of his face shifted as he worked his jaw around unspoken words. “I guess it grew on me. It reminds me of…you.”

“Oh,” I said, my voice almost a whisper.

Oh.

We were silent all the way home. I tried to relax in the truck, but I was too aware of him next to me. Too aware of every movement he made, of every breath he took, every sound he made.

We pulled up in front of my house. I shifted in my seat, knowing I should get out but stupidly not wanting to. My cheeks flamed when the silence had gone on too long.

“Well, thanks,” I blurted out and hopped out the truck.

“Saoirse,” Diarmuid called out before I could shut the door.

My heart skipped a beat when my eyes met his.

“Whatever happens between us, I want you to know you can always call me if you get stuck without a ride. No matter what time. Even if I’m not your JLO anymore.”

I nodded because I couldn’t speak, my heart having crawled up into my throat.