Owen

The Crow’s Head is packed when I lead Bree into the dimly lit pub. I would have much rather spent our last night before going back to Dublin in bed, but I have business to deal with here.

I hate that we have to go back. And I wouldn’t, if it wasn’t for Emer and Aiden’s reproduced wedding. I wouldn’t go anywhere for a long time if it meant having Bree in my bed every night, and waking up to her every morning.

“We won’t stay long,” I say, leaning down and placing a hand possessively on her waist when I see curious gazes turn our way.

“It’s fine. This place is amazing.” She smiles up at me, and my heart twists in my chest, because I wasn’t kidding when I told her yesterday that I see her. I do. Every beautiful, broken piece of her. And I don’t want to let her go.

“Jeezus, Mary, and Joseph,” a deep brogue yells from across the bar. “If it isn’t Owen fecking Gallagher. Thought ye arseholes were still on tour.”

Patrick Murphy half hugs me and slaps my back when he approaches.

“Patrick,” I growl out, bringing my palm down on his own back with equal force, making him laugh.

I don’t believe for a second that he doesn’t know our tour is over. There’s always been a healthy dose of competition between Wild Irish and his band, O’Mulligan. I know he follows us, just like I follow him. That, and the fact that we’d sold out the entire Aviva Stadium.

All of Ireland knows we’re home.

“Tour finished in Dublin last week.” I tilt my chin at him, a smirk pulling at my lips.

“Ah, right.” He winks, confirming what I already knew. “I may have heard something about it.” Not one to miss a pretty face, his gaze dances over Bree, and he raises an eyebrow. “And who do we have here?”

I place my palm on her hip and pull her towards me. “Bree Walsh, this is Patrick Murphy, lead singer of O’Mulligan.”

“Hi,” she says shyly, a touch of awe creeping into her voice, which irks me. “I love O’Mulligan. Have all your albums.”

“Really?” Patrick pushes his way between us and wraps an arm around her shoulder, then starts to lead her to a table in front of the stage. “You’re in luck. Because we’re playing tonight.”

Ignoring the knot of jealousy that forms in my throat as I watch him touch her, I grunt, “That’s actually why I came here.”

Patrick raises a brow at me, while pulling out a chair for Bree to sit down.

“Now that Wild Irish is done touring, Shane and I have been mulling over the idea of starting our own label.”

“Ambitious,” Patrick says, sitting beside Bree and motioning the bartender to bring drinks.

“With O’Mulligan and Wild Irish together, it could really be something.”

Patrick leans back in his chair, one arm resting behind it. “Have ye got any other talent signed up?”

A grin tugs at my lips, and I glance over at Bree. “Haven’t signed her yet, but I’m working on it.”

Bree stares at me for a moment as if she doesn’t realize I’m talking about her, then her eyes widen and her mouth parts. “I…”

“Ye must be pretty special to have caught this arsehole’s eye,” Patrick leans towards Bree, one brow cocked, interest and curiosity flashing in his eyes.

Bree’s cheeks turn a shade of red. “I…I’m not…”

“Ye sing?” Patrick asks.

She nods. “A little.”

“She’s being modest,” I say, which earns me a frazzled look from Bree. “She can write, too.”

“Now ye really have me intrigued.” Patrick pushes his chair back and takes her hand, pulling her up. “Let’s hear ye.”

“What? No. I can’t.” Bree looks to me, horror in her eyes, but Patrick has her up on the stage, before she can protest more.

He picks up his guitar, then says something in her ear, which makes her give a tentative nod, before taking the mic he hands her.

“How are ye all doing tonight?” Patrick says into his stand-up mic. “We’ve got something special for ye. This pretty lady here has agreed to sing for us. Please give her a warm Irish welcome.”

The room erupts in cheers, and Bree pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and sucks in a visible breath as Patrick starts to strum out the first few chords of an old Irish ballad.

I can feel the tension rolling off her as she starts to sing, and I hear the nerves in her voice, but even so, she enraptures the room with a soft rasp during the first verse. By the time she hits the chorus, there isn’t a soul in the pub whose gaze isn’t locked on her in awe, Patrick being one of them. I see the appreciation in his gaze, and I know I wasn’t wrong about her. She has something special.

Just one more reason I don’t want to let her go.

My cell vibrates, and when I pull it out of my pocket, my manager’s number pops up on the screen.

Standing, I move towards the back of the pub and answer the call.

“I have the information you asked for,” Kevin says.

“And?” I glance back at the stage. Bree is smiling now, clearly enjoying herself as Patrick joins her for the last chorus.

“Want to tell me why you’re interested?” Concern rolls through the phone.

“Not really.”

He sighs. “All right. Well, your girl is pretty clean.”

My girl. I swallow past the knot in my throat.

“No debt. But she doesn’t have a penny to her name. If you’re worried she’s after your money-”

“Don’t care about that.”

Another sigh. “She’s moved around a bit. Held a bunch of waitressing jobs. Couldn’t find much in terms of relationships. Seems to be a bit of a loner. No criminal records. Not even a speeding ticket…”

I hear the but in his voice.

“Tell me.”

“Doesn’t look like you’re the only one looking into her. There’s a law firm in Michigan that’s been trying to track her down for months.”

“Do ye know what they want?”

“No.”

“Find out.”

“Is the girl going to be trouble for you?”

I glance back at the stage.

“Yeah. But not the way I initially thought.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, I want ye to do everything in yer power to make sure whoever is looking into her isn’t going to be a problem.”

I end the call and make my way back to the table, just as Patrick is helping Bree from the stage.

“That was fun. Thank you,” Bree says, her face flushed.

“Ye weren’t kidding,” Patrick says. “Yer girl has serious talent.”

My girl. There it is again. Is she mine? Hell, every fiber in my being wants her to be.

I nod. “She does.”

“Ye better sign her fast before someone else comes along.” I hear the hidden meaning in his words, and I know he’s not just talking about her music career.

“I plan on it.”