Grace

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I looked at the clock again, needing to double-check, triple-check, that it wasn’t going backward.

It wasn’t.

Yet each second was ticking by with excruciating slowness. I thought this night would never end, and I didn’t know how much more of this I could take.

Sean’s stray.

Every thirty seconds or so, I again heard those words, his voice as he spoke them.

Gravel with bits of silk threaded through. The balance pure perfection, enough to reawaken parts of myself that I tried so hard to forget.

That I was aware of that, so acutely, even after what he’d said was enough to sicken me.

How many times had I told myself that this ridiculous thing with Declan was asking for trouble?

I knew exactly what he thought of me, how little he thought of me.

Sean was my best friend. A weird thing to consider given that we couldn’t have been more different.

Patrick was distant, but pleasant, respectful, and I counted his wife among my friends as well.

Even Michael, the unpredictable and somewhat hotheaded Michael, was unfailingly polite.

But Declan…

Declan Murphy hated my guts.

And unfortunately for me, knowing that did absolutely nothing to slake my desire for him.

That desire, a need that bordered on obsession was pathetic, sickening, and a far too unwelcome reminder of everything I had promised myself I would never be again.

It was also one of the only real, true things I had in my life.

Yes, I had Sean’s friendship, something I would treasure forever. And I had my place at the pub, my baking, my new friends. I was grateful for all of it, but I couldn’t pretend I didn’t hurt too. Because as grateful as I was, the things in my life only reminded me of the things I didn’t have.

The man I couldn’t have.

Sean’s stray.

Again those words filled my brain, and that stab of hurt again rocked me.

I tried to use that to my advantage, tried to remind myself that his words were probably a good thing. Though I’d had no doubt how Declan felt about me, how little he wanted me to be around, he’d never said so. In fact, in the five years since that fateful day when I had first walked into the Boiler Room Irish Pub and Bakery, he may have said a hundred words to me.

More than enough for me to know what he thought of me, not nearly enough to kill that relentless attraction. His words tonight should have done it. Even now, anger burned through me as I remembered those words.

He had been here at the beginning, knew that I poured my blood and sweat and tears into this place. That alone should have been enough to elevate me to something more than Sean’s stray.

That it didn’t was an insult, and I’d told myself years ago that I was forever done with people who put me down.

And yet…

I risked glancing at him for a split second, my anger spiking because he looked so freaking perfect.

I didn’t know what to do about this, even more, knew there was nothing that I could do.

So, as I so often did, I swallowed my feelings, the anger, the nearly unrelenting desire to correct him, make him understand that I was more than that.

I wouldn’t dare say anything, and besides, what Declan thought of me didn’t matter. I told myself that again, the song in my head alternating between those words and Sean’s stray. And somehow, as that little song played on an endless loop, the night came to a merciful close.

After the last of the patrons left, I locked the door and then set about the evening’s tasks.

“You can go now,” I said a few minutes later when it became clear that Declan wasn’t moving.

I hated to speak the words, but I did want him gone. And it did my pride good to talk to him before he did me. Sure, being silent might have sent a message, but speaking did too. It hopefully told him that words had no effect on me, something I prayed he believed.

But, to my disappointment, but not to my surprise, Declan didn’t respond.

Instead he began to stack the chairs on the tables, lifting the heavy wooden seats as though they were nothing.

“Well,” I said, my impatience bleeding through in my voice.

Declan hadn’t even bothered to respond, and my patience was wearing thin.

“I told Sean I would look after the place.”

He said that like it was all that mattered, and I frowned, debating how to push the issue, questioning why I even wanted to.

I stayed quiet, deciding to let him finish with the chairs as I polished the glasses and thought.

I wanted to say something, yet I found myself second-guessing that impulse, hating myself for doing so. I’d fought so hard for my voice that giving it away, silencing myself for anyone, even Declan, was almost unbearable. I needed him to know that I was more than he thought I was, more than I might seem.

And yet, the urge to stay quiet was equally strong.

There was no upside to speaking.

I wouldn’t change his mind, and he would know I wanted to get rid of him, and thus know that his words had bothered me.

A mortifying thought, but so was just standing there. But in the end, I fell back on my default behavior and did nothing, hating myself for that but knowing it was the best choice.

I was so wound up, I knew there was no way I’d be able to sleep, even though it was three in the morning, but still I stayed silent and went about my evening closing activities like usual.

A half hour later I was almost done.

“I just have a few more small things to do. You can go now,” I said.

“I’ll ride home with you,” he said.

I recoiled, for once uncaring that Declan could clearly see my reaction. I was too taken aback by that statement. Being in the pub with Declan took every ounce of my energy and willpower. There was no way I could manage in the close confines of a car.

“No need. My car is upstairs,” I finally responded.

I thought I did a good job of sounding collected, like his words meant nothing and stirred no emotion in me. In reality, I was twisted inside.

Declan had always been something of a fixture in the place, and he’d been around even more since Sean had gotten married. But this was the first time he had stayed through closing.

I didn’t understand what he was doing, but he seemed to be implying that he’d come home with me.

And that was not going to happen.

“I have my car,” I repeated, feeling the need to say something to change his mind, certain I wouldn’t.

“And you’re driving home,” he said.

“What about you?” I asked. The words had come out before I had a chance to think about them, and I could have kicked myself for speaking them.

“I’ll walk back,” he said quickly.

“That’s really not necessary,” I said, finding some sternness from who knew where.

“This isn’t a debate, Grace. Just wrap up so we can go,” he said.

He wasn’t yelling, but his words were sharp, sharp enough to cut off the rest of the conversation.

Although, I guess calling it a conversation would be a bit of a stretch.

Still, though I didn’t press in that moment, that didn’t mean the matter was closed. Instead, I was warring with dueling impulses.

More than I could ever say, I hated, despised, the idea of anyone telling me what to do. I had been to that rodeo, still had the T-shirt, and had sworn to myself I would never wear it again.

But, on the other hand, I had practicality to consider.

As much as I hated it—and I hated it—I knew the Murphys, all of them, well enough to know that despite what I might have said, there was no way I could convince any of them to do anything once their minds were made up.

Even Sean, who was the easygoing one among them was more stubborn than any person I had ever encountered.

I didn’t doubt that the same was true of Patrick and Michael, and, of course, Declan.

I finished drying the glasses, practically enraged now but considering my predicament.

I could push the issue, which would involve far more conversation with Declan, a conversation that I was near certain to lose.

Or, I could comply.

The urge to do so felt right, was the overriding instinct in the moment.

I knew exactly why. I hated being pushed around, but with Declan, it didn’t feel that way. It was, but it didn’t feel like it. And that was the source of my problem. Everything he did, everything he said in those rare moments when he deigned to speak to me told me exactly what he thought, how little he thought of me.

I wanted him anyway.

That weakness sickened me, a feeling only made worse by knowing it was completely unreciprocated.

It was that feeling, that knowledge of lack of reciprocation that made me want to speak.

But then, the prospect of having a conversation that I couldn’t win, of being forced to talk to Declan more, and be reminded of exactly what he thought of me, was less appealing.

So I took the coward’s way and finished what I was doing.

I didn’t speak to him, and instead, after taking one final look around the pub and finding it exactly as I liked it, I flipped off the lights.

Then I headed up the stairs and out back to the employee parking lot.

Declan, Sean, Michael, Patrick, and I were the only people who had keys to the pub. I trusted he would lock the door and instead of waiting for him, I walked to my car.

I got in and put the key in the ignition, halfway considering driving off.

I ignored that childish impulse, mostly because I wasn’t entirely sure that Declan wouldn’t chase me down, and because he knew where I lived.

Still, I glared daggers at his impossibly broad back, quickly averted my eyes and dropped all expression from my face when he rounded the car and went to the passenger side.

It took everything inside of me not to laugh as he folded his body into my compact two-door.

“Sean doesn’t pay you enough to spring for the rest of the car?” he asked as he pulled the door closed.

“Seat belt,” I said quietly.

Though it was dark, the streetlight from half a block down the only illumination in the car, I could see he glared at me.

I said nothing, though, didn’t even look at him, but instead listened as he grudgingly pulled the seat belt over his body.

When I heard the click, I cranked up the car and then pulled out of my parking space and through the electric gate Sean had installed in the parking lot.

Sometimes, it was easy for me to forget exactly who Sean was, what his family was. But things like the gate, his insistence that some kind of security was always at the pub, little things that usually faded into the background but then, sometimes, didn’t, reminded me.

It could be hard to square sometimes, me, the me I had been, finding myself in the midst of a mob family.

Yet here I was.

And, except for the occasional annoyance sometimes caused by Declan, I was happy about it.

I tossed around that contradiction as I drove.

The neighborhood was about the same as it had been when I had first come here, but I still loved the place.

Despite my affection for it, Sean had insisted, in his friendly yet incredibly unrelenting way, that I not live in it. When he had found out several years ago that I was living in an apartment complex that rented on a weekly basis, he had been clear that could no longer stand.

So now I lived in a house he owned.

It was nice, quiet, a sweet little house that I loved but would have never been able to afford. But even after all these years, it still blew my mind how much things had changed.

I had started out with the intention that I would make my own way, an absolute unwillingness to do anything but.

And I sometimes felt bad about the house. I never wanted there to be any thought that I was taking advantage of Sean, but then I’d get a grip on reality and laugh at the very idea. My friend was kind, but he certainly wasn’t weak.

“You still at Sean’s?” Declan said into the semidarkness.

I didn’t honor that question with a response, nor did I allow myself to ponder how close he had been to what I was actually thinking, and instead pulled into the covered carport and parked.

“I’m home. Good night,” I said.

I pulled my key out of the ignition and then got out of the car, grabbed my bag off the backseat, closed the door, and then headed toward the house.

A few moments later, I paused, shocked as I listened to the sound of the passenger door opening and Declan getting out.

Then I waited longer, finally turned to look at him.

“Is there something else you need?” I asked in a calm voice.

The words were prim, proper, though I was feeling anything but.

As angry as I was about what he had said, as annoyed as I was about him forcing his way here, I could not deny, not even a little bit, how turned on his presence made me.

And so I waited, this moment becoming heightened in a way that I hadn’t missed, wondering what he might say.

“Go inside the house,” he said.

I didn’t hear any hint of inflection in his voice. No emotion at all. That calm pissed me off more, and gave me the will to go inside.

If nothing else, I could be as detached as him, something I was determined to do.

So I walked, careful to keep my steps unhurried, unwilling to let Declan have any hint as to how much he got to me.

I disarmed my house alarm, walked inside the door, but was unable to resist one final peek back.

So I turned, looked at him, unable to make out his expression in the shadow of the darkness.

The pull that I felt toward him was even stronger now, something I didn’t understand, didn’t want, and was unable to rid myself of.

But just as quickly I remembered those words.

Sean’s stray.

The memory of them reverberated through my brain and pulled me out of my stupor.

I was nothing to Declan Murphy but an interloper, an unwanted, barely tolerated presence.

I would be wise not to forget that.

A moment later, I closed the door.