Shane

“Welcome home,” Owen says over his shoulder when I walk into the sound room of our studio, where he’s currently recording his wife, Bree’s second album.

Bree waves to me on the other side of the glass, then takes off her headphones and starts toward the door, her dark hair falling in waves down her back. Sometimes, I still can’t believe she’s the same scrawny little kid who used to follow us around all those years ago.

“Well?” Owen asks, turning to me.

“Another waste of a trip.” I toss my carry-on bag on the floor and sit down in the chair beside him, spreading my long legs out in front of me. “The kid had a good set of lungs, but there was just no chemistry between the band.”

“Shit. I really thought they had something.” His brows furrow and his lips pull down.

Finding real talent for the label has been more difficult than either of us thought. Sure, there are more than a half dozen want-to-be startup bands in every town on both sides of the Atlantic, but it takes more than just a guy with a decent voice and a couple of guitar lessons to make a star.

The it factor isn’t something you can teach. You either have it or you don’t. And the group I’d gone to scout in New York, didn’t. Which meant more wasted time and money when we should just be making the fucking music ourselves.

I grind my back teeth and hold back the rant that’s been stirring inside of me for months. It’s giving me a goddamn ulcer trying to hold it in.

I’m about to let it all spill out, when the door opens.

Owen’s frown instantly turns into a goofy grin when Bree enters.

Jeezus, the hold these chicks have on my guys is practically tangible. Trouble is, I can’t even hate her for it because she’s not just Owen’s wife; she’s my cousin. And despite, or maybe in spite of, her shy awkwardness, she’s hard not to like.

Owen stands and pulls her into his arms. “That last take was good.”

Bree shrugs, never completely happy with any of her performances, despite how fucking talented the woman is.

“How was your trip?” she asks me, while leaning into Owen, her fingers threading with his, like the two of them have some kind of magnetic field that makes it impossible for them not to touch.

I sit down in one of the leather swivel chairs and rough my hands over my face.

“That good, huh?” She gives me a sympathetic look, one that tells me she gets my annoyance. And I know, in a way, she does. As talented as she is, an injury left her unable to play any instrument without it causing severe pain. She knows the frustration of not being able to play.

At least I can still pick up a guitar, or the sticks, and drum myself into a mindless oblivion whenever the need arises. My fingers tap out a rhythm on my thigh, needing the outlet even more after Makena’s rejection on the plane, since they didn’t get the chance to do the second-best thing they’re good at.

I haven’t been able to think about anything other than strumming that sweet, curvy body of hers, and making her sing my name as she comes on my mouth and then my cock. But I doubt I’ll be getting a call from her.

Despite the connection I know she felt, she wore her reservation like a giant, blinking billboard sign.

Her loss. Even as I think it, I know the truth. I want her. And whoever she finally does turn to for the release she so desperately needs, will be one lucky bastard.

“Have ye talked with the guys about starting another album?” I ask Owen, turning my thoughts to the one thing that does matter – the music. “Ye’ve written more than enough songs to get us started.”

“Until Delaney pops, Cillian isn’t leaving her side.” Owen releases Bree and turns back to the soundboards, turning them off.

“Then have him move her to Dublin while they’re waiting. If we don’t put some new material out soon, we’re going to be obsolete.”

Owen gives me one of his grins, like he’s dealing with a child who doesn’t know half the shit he does. “I think we have some time before that happens.”

“Tell that to the woman on the flight home,” I mutter, agitated, rubbing the back of my neck. “She didn’t have a clue who I was.”

Owen chuckles. “I’m sure she knew exactly who ye were by the time ye were done with her.”

Bree slaps his shoulder.

“What?” Owen asks, completely serious. “Am I wrong?”

I grunt, wishing he wasn’t.

“Oh shit,” Owen says, one eyebrow rising. “Did the infamous Shane Hayes actually strike out?”

“Screw off.” I stand, my frustration growing. Normally, I roll with whatever life offers, the good and the really shitty. The band has taken hits before. Fuck, just dealing with Cillian’s mood swings would be enough for most groups to pull the plug. But we made it through the tough times. Made it to the top. And then, they just decided to give it all up, without even a thought of what it would mean to me.

Sure, I know I sound like a selfish prick. And maybe I am. But this was my life, too.

“We didn’t work our asses off just to throw it away for...” I rake my fingers through my hair and blow out an uneven breath, knowing the lecture I’m going to get if I keep going.

“For what?” Owen asks, his voice low with warning.

I hold his gaze, not wanting to spew my thoughts while Bree is around, but unable to hold back the irritation that has been mounting for months.

“For playing house,” I spit out.

Owen snorts. “It beats the alternative.”

“Bullshit. A year ago, ye were living every man’s dream-”

“And I was miserable.” Owen’s nostrils flare. “We all were.”

“I wasn’t.” Tension boils between us, because I know he’s right. We were riding higher than the fucking sun, and both Cillian and Owen were spiraling out of control.

I know that’s how he sees me now. But he’s wrong. I don’t use chicks and alcohol to ease some darkness in my soul. I fuck and I drink for the pleasure of it.

It’s my goddamn life, and I’ll live it the best way I know how.

Unhindered.

Free.

Bree touches Owen’s shoulder. “I’m going to go.”

Owen nods, and Bree gives me a small, sad smile.

And I know exactly what’s coming.

Shit. I’m not in the mood for an Owen Gallagher life lesson. But as soon as the door shuts behind her, I know it’s exactly what I’m about to get.

“Save yer speech, man.” I shove my hands in my pockets and lean against the wall.

“I know ye’re not happy with the choices me and the guys have made to spend more time with our wives-”

“I don’t give a flying fuck how much time ye spend with them as long as ye do yer job.”

Owen sighs. “And what job is that? The tour is over. The royalties from our albums are enough for all of us to live comfortably. The music will be there when we’re ready.”

“And when the hell will that be? After Cillian’s kid is born? Or after ye knock up Bree? And don’t tell me Aiden and Emer are going to be happy with just one ankle-biter. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s pregnant again already. I’m just supposed to wait around, while ye all breed like fucking rabbits?”

“That’s life, man. Even the longest day has its end.”

“It’s yer life. I didn’t sign up for this shit. And my day isn’t even close to being over.”

“I’m not telling ye to settle down. Trust me, we all know that won’t happen any time soon-”

“Ever,” I add.

“But ye’re going to have to get used to the fact that this is our reality now.”

“Ye’re killing me.” I drag my fingers through my hair and let out a frustrated breath.

He inhales long and slow like he’s trying to figure out a way to appease me, then says cautiously, “Maybe ye need to find another outlet-” His words die in his throat when I glare at him.

“Ye want me to join another band?” I can’t help the hurt that edges my words.

“If what ye want is the stage, then maybe ye need to.”

“Bullshit.” I give a harsh shake of my head and turn to leave.

“Shane.”

“What?” I bark out, glancing over my shoulder at him.

Worry draws his brows down. When he places his hands on the back of the chair, his features tighten, and I get an uneasy feeling I’m not going to like the next words that come out of his mouth.

“If ye got something to say, just spit it out.”

“Emer called Bree yesterday, and she’s worried about yer mom.”

My chest tightens, because I know that Owen wouldn’t have said anything if there wasn’t cause for concern. The woman is constantly on me, pressuring me to settle down, to be the man my father was. She’s insanely stubborn, and constantly on my case about every little detail of my life, but I know it’s all done out of love.

I may not want any of the things she values, but it doesn’t mean I don’t know how fucking lucky I was to grow up with a woman who poured her heart and soul into her family, including the few strays, Owen included, that were always at our house.

“What happened?” I ask, my mood quickly switching from frustrated to concerned.

Owen rubs the back of his neck. “She had some chest pain. It wasn’t a heart attack, but-”

“Shit. Why the hell didn’t anyone call me?”

“Ye know yer mom. She didn’t want anyone making a big deal about it.”

“I’ll drive home tonight.” My mom won’t ask for help, ever. But if there’s even a possibility that she’s not well, she’ll have a fight on her hands to try and keep me away.

I grab my bag from the floor and toss it over my shoulder.

Owen watches me from across the room. I can see he wants to say something else, but he clamps his lips shut on whatever it is.

“I’ll call ye when I know more,” I say, knowing he’ll be just as worried as I am until he knows everything’s all right. Agnus Hayes has been as much a mother to him and his brother Cillian as she was to me and Emer. Not to mention that the man seems to have some fucked up idea that he’s somehow responsible for every single one of us, including her.

Owen gives a small nod, then says when I start to open the door, “Just try and stay out of trouble.”

I grin at him over my shoulder, repeating the line that’s been my motto since we were kids. “Ye and I both know that Trouble has always been my middle name.”

He gives a small shake of his head, worry still evident in his gray eyes. “One day, ye’re going to get yerself into a spot I won’t be able to get ye out of.”

The man has helped dig me out of more holes than I care to admit. And I have a bad feeling that I might have dug myself the Grand Canyon of holes recently if any of the anonymous letters I’ve been receiving have any truth to them.

“What?” Owen asks, his gaze narrowing like he can read my thoughts.

I wince, part of me wanting to tell him. But, I’m a grown fucking man, and I don’t need an Owen-sized babysitter taking care of me.

“If ye’re worried about me, then do me a favor and start writing some bloody music.”

I hear his grunt as I let the door shut behind me.

Maybe I’m acting like a selfish bastard. Hell, I know I am. But it doesn’t stop me from scowling at Bree when she starts down the hall toward me.

“He’s all yers.” It’s hard not to miss the sarcasm that drips from the words, the edge of frustration, even though I hadn’t intentionally meant it that way.

When I see her flinch, I curse myself under my breath. She’s more sensitive than the other women in my life, and I’m usually a hell of a lot easier on her than I’ve been today. Normally, I’d stop, make some kind of joke to ease the tension between us, but I keep walking, needing to get away before I say something else I’ll regret.

What I need is the trouble Owen just warned me to stay out of.

And hell if I don’t want to go looking for it right now.

Instead, I walk around to the back lot and toss my bag in the passenger seat of my Ferrari 812, knowing Owen would have me trading it in for a Dodge Caravan in his perfect world. Who the hell chooses that kind of life over this?

Squealing my tires, I make a sharp left onto the M50, not bothering to stop at my Dublin apartment, and head west towards Sligo county.

And even though I try to get Owen’s voice out of my head, his damn words ring in a continuous cycle in my head.

Even the longest day has its end.

I know it’s the truth, in more ways than he meant. I’d watched my own father’s life cut short, and for no other reason than bad luck and faulty genes. My grandfather and dad died in their early-forties, both from massive heart attacks. And don’t think it doesn’t scare the shit out of me, knowing if I’m lucky, I have another ten to fifteen good years left before the damn Hayes curse takes me, too.

So, yeah, I’m going to enjoy every second I have left on this earth. Forever the bachelor. Because the only thing worse than not enjoying life to the max, is leaving behind a grieving family who have no idea how to survive in this world without you.