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Diarmuid

 

 

 

A knock sounded on my door as I was getting ready to head to work.

I threw on a shirt and strode to the door, my nerves jangling because I thought—hoped—it might be Saoirse. She was the only one who knocked on my door these days.

It was not Saoirse.

Liam Byrne stood on my porch.

I tensed, immediately glancing around him for signs of more of his men. A black sedan with dark windows sat on the street. I couldn’t see who else was in the car.

“Mr Brennan,” Liam said, his voice every bit as slimy as his gelled-back hair.

I placed my forearm against the doorframe, blocking the entrance, making it clear that he was not welcome inside.

“Mr Byrne,” I mimicked his pretense of politeness. “How can I help you?”

His eyes slid up and down over me, studying me, probably assessing me for any weaknesses.

“I heard that you…took my daughter home after last Friday’s fight night.”

My blood turned cold.

Of all the reasons to stay away from Saoirse, Liam Byrne had been the last thing on my mind.

If Liam thought even for a second that there was anything going on between Saoirse and me…

He’d kill her.

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “She needed a ride. I was there on a date. She and I took Saoirse home.”

“Next time, you leave her to me.”

I bristled. “If I see Saoirse in trouble, I’m going to help.”

“And what? You want to gain her trust? Turn her against her old man? It won’t happen.”

“Mr Byrne—”

“I won’t tell you twice, Brennan.” He leaned right in, his sour breath making the bile rise up in the back of my throat. “Stay away from her or else.”

“Are you threatening an officer of the law, Mr Byrne?”

He smiled. “Of course not. I’m just a concerned father trying to protect his only daughter.”

He held my gaze for another tense moment, then strode towards his sedan and got into the back seat. I tensed, waiting for the windows to roll down and guns to appear. But they didn’t. The car drove off. I could feel eyes watching me.

Saoirse didn’t show up to our Friday evening appointment. Not that day, nor the following Friday. Or the one after that. Although I always made sure I was there at the gym, just in case. I found myself watching the door regardless of what I was doing, hoping to see her walk through it.

I wanted to call her. To go to her house. But I feared her father might be monitoring her movements.

Besides, there was too much between us.

Her age.

My job.

The kisses that burned through me like a fever at night as I twisted in my sheets.

Better to let things lie.

Months went by.

Her eighteenth birthday grew nearer.

Nearer.

Nearer.

Until it was only days away.

I couldn’t fucking take it anymore.

Despite everything telling me not to, I texted Saoirse as I sat in my truck outside the gym after another missed session.

 

Me: Hey stranger.

 

My phone pinged with a message almost straight away.

 

Saoirse: Hey…

 

Me: How are you? You alright?

 

Saoirse: Good. You?

 

I’m shit because you aren’t around to make me smile. I fucking miss you.

 

Me: Good, yeah.

 

Saoirse: What do you want?

 

She was pissed at me. Probably because it’d taken me months to contact her since we last kissed. She didn’t know I’d been staying away from her for her.

 

Me: Just wanted to check in on you. It’s been a while since I saw you.

 

Saoirse: Taken you long enough to notice I wasn’t coming to our JLO sessions.

 

Me: I noticed.

 

I’d felt every day without her around like it was scraping pieces out of my chest.

 

Saoirse: What are you telling your boss?

 

Me: About what?

 

Saoirse: About why we haven’t been meeting up every week as per the program?

 

Me: Oh.

 

Saoirse: Oh, what?

 

Me: … There’s something I have to confess.

 

Saoirse: …

 

Me: The program doesn’t require us to meet once a week.

 

There was a long pause before her next message came through.

 

Saoirse: You made that up?

 

Me: I exaggerated a little.

 

Saoirse: You made it up!

 

Me: Embellished.

 

Saoirse: I’m never trusting you again.

 

Me: *sad face*

 

Saoirse: Serves you right.

 

Me: Would it help if I said I only lied because I wanted to spend more time with you?

 

Saoirse: Diarmuid…

 

Me: You forgive me? :)

 

Saoirse: You can’t say things like that to me.

 

Me: Things like what?

 

Saoirse: You can’t say sweet things like that and kiss me the way you do then tell me we’re not meant to be together.

 

Me: I’m sorry. I don’t mean to hurt you.

 

Saoirse: I know you don’t. But it doesn’t stop it from hurting.

 

Me: I wish I could kiss away all your tears.

 

Saoirse: *cries* There you go again!

 

Me: *sighs* I’m sorry.

 

It seemed all that I did was hurt her.

 

Saoirse: I know. I wish things were different.

 

I sat in my truck outside the gym, gripping my phone, wanting her so badly it felt like a vice around my chest. I wasn’t a religious man but I prayed to God, begged him, to help me do the right thing and to walk away from her.

Despite my prayers, my fingers flew across the keys, the truth of my heart pouring out.

 

I miss you, selkie. I miss talking to you. I miss having you next to me in my truck. I miss you even though I shouldn’t miss you. I need to see you.

 

I flung my phone aside, disgusted at myself, the last message unsent.

I slammed my truck into gear and just drove. Selfish man. Why would you want to see her if it would only lead to destruction? Why do you still want her if it would only lead to her ruin?

When I got home later that evening, I got out of my truck, mind numb, mentally exhausted from running around and around in circles in my head.

I thought I saw movement through the frosted glass of my door. I frowned.

There it was again. My senses flicked back to life.

There was someone in my house.

Liam Byrne had seen my messages to Saoirse.

He’d come back to finish the job.

I grabbed a golf club out of the back of my car before approaching the front door, club raised behind me.

I neared the door and heard the sound of someone’s voice inside. A man’s voice. But it was too muffled to distinguish what he was saying. I heard another voice, also male.

There must be two of them.

Two of them I could take on.

I reached my front step. The door swung open and I prepared to swing.

There stood Danny and Declan.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I yelled, dropping the club by my side, “you two scared the shite out of me.”

“What’s the criac?” Danny asked. His six-foot-two frame was covered in his usual ripped black denim, dark hair wild like it’d been windswept, leather cuff around his wrist, grey shirt sticking out of the bottom of his black sweater giving his rock look a polished edge.

“Welcome home, asshole.” Declan grinned from behind Danny’s shoulder. He was the shortest of us at six foot but by far the stockiest, his muscles bulging out from his long-sleeved grey Everlast hoodie, designer sneakers on his feet that probably cost more than my weekly salary.

“How long were you two dicks sitting in the dark like creepers waiting for me?” I asked.

“Too long,” Danny said. “Get inside, you’re letting the cold in.”

They moved aside so I could get inside, flicking the lights on and leaning the golf club in the coat stand.

I shrugged my coat off and dropped my keys into the bowl near the door. “How the fuck did you two get in here?”

Declan pointed at Danny as he strode through my living room and disappeared into my kitchen. Danny tried for an innocent grin.

I shook my head. “You breaking and entering into places again?”

“No, officer.” Danny raised his hands up in the air, then smirked. “Only in case of emergencies.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the fucking emergency that you had to break into my house?”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious, bro?”

“He’s only got piss-weak pale ale here, that’s the fuckin’ emergency,” Declan called from my kitchen, undoubtedly from my fridge.

I threw my hands up. “If I’d have known you two freaks were coming I’d have bought something stronger. Or installed an alarm system.”

I glared at Danny then Declan, now strolling out of my kitchen with three bottles of a local IPA and a bottle opener in his other hand. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here?”

Declan snorted as he handed me an open beer. “Nice to see you too, asshole. Thanks for rearranging your fight tour so you could come see me, buttwipe.”

I was being such a shit. My shoulders sagged. “Sorry. I am being a grumpy fuck.”

“Even more of a grumpy fuck than I am,” Danny said, clinking his beer against mine. “And that’s saying something.”

“But we still love ya, Diar,” Dex said.

“Otherwise we wouldn’t be here,” Danny said.

“It’s a nice surprise,” I muttered, uneasy with sentimentality. “Thanks for coming. Although some notice would have been nice.”

Dex snorted. “You would have found some excuse not to have us here if we gave you any notice.”

Dex took the armchair in my living room, his huge frame taking up the whole seat, leaving Danny and me to flop down onto the two ends of the couch.

I fought the uneasy feeling. I downed half my beer bottle and smacked my lips. “Why are you here again?”

“We’re concerned about you,” Danny said.

“Yeah, concerned,” Dex echoed.

“This is an intervention of sorts.”

“We thought you needed a boy’s night to sort ye shit out.” Declan finished his beer and made a face. “We definitely need something stronger than that piss if we’re going to go all night.” He grinned, pulling out a bottle of aged whiskey from his side. “Good thing I brought this along with me.”

I rolled my eyes. “There’s nothing to be concerned about.”

Danny snorted. “Please, out of the three of us, I’m supposed to be the morose one. And lately you’ve out-morosed me.”

“Who’s broken your heart?” Dex asked, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. “Is it that Ava again? God,” he smacked his fist into his palm, “if she was a dude I’d go down there and break her balls.”

“It’s not Ava,” I said.

“Then who is it? What’s the problem, dude?” Dex said.

Danny caught my eye. He tilted his head towards Declan as if to say, go on. Tell him.

Declan noticed the look we exchanged. He pointed at Danny. “You fucking know.” Declan turned to me. “He fucking knows, doesn’t he? Motherfucker why am I the last to know about shit? Tell me. Right fucking now.”

I let out a groan and rubbed my face. “It’s nothing.”

“Fuck off, it’s nothing.”

“Go on, Diarmuid,” Danny said, “out of the three of us, he’s the person least to judge.”

“Yeah,” Declan said, nodding, “no Judge-y Mcjudge here.”

Danny let out a snort. “Because you’ve probably done worse.”

“Hey, I haven’t—” Declan grinned. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Danny rolled his eyes. Then threw a bottle cap at me. “Tell him, ye pussy.”

Alright, dammit. I could have gone without saying it out loud.

Just say it. Like a Band-Aid.

“There’s a…” girl, “woman…she just gets me. She sees me. And…she’s smart as hell, funny, sexy as sin…” I let out a groan as images of Saoirse slammed through my body.

“Damn,” Dex said, “give me her number.”

I growled, my hands flexing into fists.

Danny whacked me on my shoulder. “He’s joking, fool.”

I forced myself to relax, but the urge to smack one of my best friends in the face for even suggesting he’d hit on Saoirse still clung to me.

“Oh shit,” Dex said, his eyes widening at me. “You’re in love with her.”

Love.

God, I wasn’t ready for that word yet.

“I like her. A lot. Okay, it’s more than like,” I admitted.

“And…?” Declan asked. “She doesn’t like you?”

“No. She does.” Fuck me, she does. “That’s the problem.”

Declan blinked at me. “I don’t get it. You like her. She likes you. Wham, bam, babies.”

“She’s seventeen,” I blurted out.

Declan frowned. Then he raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got your knickers in a twist about that? Seventeen’s legal here, you dope.”

“She’s one of my JLO kids.”

Declan’s eyes popped open. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“Damn.” Declan shook his head. “You’re even more depraved than I am. I need to step up my game.”

Danny let out a laugh.

I let out a groan. “This isn’t funny.”

“It’s pretty funny. How the mighty moral Diarmuid has fallen. Taken down by a pretty little jailbait.”

“Come here and say that again, Mr World Title,” I growled. “I might not be able to win against you but I’d fucking make it hurt like hell on the way down.”

“Diar,” Danny said, looking like he was getting ready to jump in between the two of us, “Dex is only joking around. You know it’s the only way this unsophisticated fool can communicate.” He shot Declan a dirty look as if to say quit it, idiot.

“Honestly, Diarmuid,” Declan said, his palms raised in surrender, “you’re making a bigger deal out of this than it is.”

“I could lose my job.”

Declan tilted his head. “True. But would that really be the end of the world? I mean, you hate the bureaucracy of the place. And you’ve been saying for years you’ve been wanting to start your own gym. Maybe this is your chance?”

I rolled my eyes. “I could go to jail, fool.”

“Only if you get caught,” Declan pointed a finger at me and winked.

I groaned. “It’s not just about me. God, imagine what everyone would say about her. You know how conservative it is here. She’s already fighting enough prejudice without my ancient ass adding another one.”

“Fuck everyone,” Dex said. “People are fucking sheep. If she makes you happy, then fucking go for it.”

I glanced at Danny, wondering if this advice was soaking into him, too.

“Don’t,” Dex pointed a finger at me, “end your life with more regrets than chances taken.”

Danny raised his bottle. “Life advice from the Philosophy of Dex.”

Declan winked at Danny and he raised his own bottle.

“I don’t know…” I said.

“I do,” Declan said, turning to me. “I haven’t seen you talk about anyone like this before. Not even when you met Ava.” He leaned forward. “She could be The One, couldn’t she?”

I sank my face into my hands because I couldn’t stand to look at either of them. Then I nodded.

“Then fucking go for it.”

I rubbed my face, then sagged back into the couch.

Danny let out a whistle. “Who knew?”

“Who knew what?” I asked.

“That Dex-y was such a bleeding-heart romantic.”

“Fuck off,” Dex said, chucking a pillow at Danny and missing. “You are the fucking hopeless romantic, Mr Writer of Sad Love Songs.”

Danny snorted.

“Hey. Hey,” Dex said, bouncing in his chair. “What’s better than banging a seventeen year old?” He looked expectantly between Danny and me.

I let out a groan. “Please, don’t.”

“Give up?”

“I will give up on life if you finish that joke.”

“Party pooper.” Dex threw a pillow at me. “Danny?”

Danny scratched his chin. “Go on, then. What’s better than banging a seventeen year old?”

I smothered my own face with the pillow but it wasn’t enough to filter out Declan’s answer.

“Banging seven ten year olds!”

Danny made a face.

I shook my head at Dex. “You are truly disgusting.”

He grinned. “Why, thank you.”

Later that night, after I sent a roaring drunk Declan back to his hotel via cab, I set Danny up with blankets and pillows for a night on the couch. Danny settled onto the couch, the ends of his legs hanging off the end.

“Thanks for coming, Danny.”

“No bother. You’d do the same for me.”

“How is your thing going?” I asked. “With that girl?”

He just shook his head. I don’t want to talk about it, written all over his face.

I understood. Danny would talk about it when he was ready.

I lay in my bed, my head spinning from too many beers and later, shots of whiskey. I was still churning over Declan and Danny’s advice to get over myself and give it a go with Saoirse.

In a few days she would no longer underage.

But I was still married. She was still a decade younger than me. And it was forbidden for me to get involved with anyone from the JLO program.

My wants twisted with my morals, like Daniel fighting with the devil, long into my dreams.