Killian
With a flick of the wrist, I tip the amber colored liquid down my throat.
For a brief second, I close my eyes and revel in the balanced mix of smoky, nutty, and slightly oaky flavors dancing across my tongue and down my throat before those flavors are replaced by a raging fire.
After the initial burning sensation fades, I’m left with an after taste of melancholy.
It’s always the same. I guess every high is followed by a low.
After a high tide comes the low tide and so on. I get it.
But I want more.
Those highs should…
My thoughts trail off. Some idiot has put money into the pubs old-fashioned jukebox, and now, I’ve got to listen to that blasted song Galway Girl and feel my heart rip open all over again.
Why oh why does this pub still own one of those antique machines, and why has it got such a modern fucking song?
“Another one, make this one neat,” I growl at the barman, staring at the few ice cubes left in the glass.
Fucking drink—it messes with my head, and yet I can’t be without it. Like a woman, it possesses a man and makes demands of him.
Of course, that’s exactly why I haven’t got a woman in my life.
I don’t need the trouble or the nagging. I’m not even talking about women in particular. I’m talking about committing to someone, committing your life to some relationship that’s sure to be full of unhappiness and strife for all fucking parties involved before just fucking ending, leaving nothing but sadness it its wake.
It’s bad enough having Ida around. Now, there’s a strong-headed female if ever I’ve known one, able to lecture without uttering a word. With her, it’s all in the eyes.
Her big, brown sorrowful eyes—boy, can they look at me accusingly.
I pick up my second whiskey and stare at it. My hand twirls the glass, and I watch the tawny, tinted liquid swish to the top and come down again.
Lost in my own thoughts, I barely notice the rain pelting down against the window. Someone making some comment about the fierce storm inspired me to glance towards the window briefly, but I give up before bothering to really look outside.
There’s some dim awareness that I should be concerned about the rain, but by now, my mind’s a bit hazy, and I’m struggling to string a proper thought together. At least, one that makes sense.
But the nagging feeling of the rain being a problem won’t go away.
I continue to stare at the grey world outside and watch the puddles grow quickly. It’ll be a wet ride home if the rain doesn’t ease off.
Home. Ride.
Bingo.
Fuck. How could I have been so fucking stupid?
Poor Ida is tied up around the back. She won’t be impressed. She hates being left out in the rain. At home, she’s got her own stable.
Just as I’m about to jump off my stool to see to my horse, my eyes get glued to something else.
No. No. No.
Now my brain’s screaming at me.
It can’t be. Not again. Doesn’t that girl ever stay out of trouble?
Outside the pub in the pouring rain, one Rebecca Doyle cycles past. Only, she’s not cycling past the pub.
Horrified, I watch the drama unfold in slow motion. At first, her front wheel starts to wobble. Next, her legs increase their pedaling, and her arms seem to struggle to steady the handlebars.
But all of her efforts are in vain.
In slow motion, she leaves the seat of the bike and flies through the air, over the handlebars and lands face first on the ground. The bike simply collapses onto its side behind her.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Killian,” someone calls, stopping me when I’m already on my feet and halfway out the door.
“Hey, Killian,” I turn around, trying to locate the anonymous voice amongst the usual din of the local.
“Your horse is in the stable.”
Hallelujah and thank you to whoever was kind enough to look after my animal today.
“Thank you,” I call to the kind stranger.
I fly down the stairs, two at a time. They’re slippery, and a couple of times, I feel as if I myself might lose my footing. But I reach the bottom of the steps in one piece.
It takes me less than five strides to reach Rebecca.
The rain assaults me, and instantly I sober up.
As I get closer, I see Rebecca pick herself up off the ground and look around. Our eyes meet, and I can see her grimace.
Okay, so I’m not her knight in shining armor, but I’m here to help.
“You okay?”
I’m barely able to get those words out since I’m breathing so hard now. I haven’t done this much fucking exercise in years. What’s more is the alcohol’s been pumped around my blood twice as fast as normal, and I’m feeling a little giddy.
Actually, truth be told, I think I might spew any tick of the clock.
“Fine, thank you,” Rebecca replies and tucks her wet hair behind her ears.
“Erhm…”
I’m suddenly scared to keep talking. Her eyes are spewing forth angry flames, and I’m not ashamed to admit I’m quaking in my boots.
“What do you want?” she says, turning and limping back toward her bike before I can answer. I watch her pick it up and examine it for any damage. From what I can tell, it’s still rideable.
“I thought you might want a lift home.”
Rebecca furrows her brow and wrinkles her nose. It looks fucking gorgeous, and I resist the temptation to lean in and kiss those wrinkles away.
In fact, I want to just take her in my arms and hold her and tell her everything will be alright. But she’s not exactly giving off any friendly vibes.
“Get a lift with you. In a car. After you’ve been drinking?”
The way she put that doesn’t thrill me.
“Not exactly,” I stutter, shoving my hands into my pockets.
“Really? Not exactly? So, what else did you have in mind? You’re going to piggy back me on my bike?”
“Nothing of the sort. I was going to offer you a ride home on my horse.”
Rebecca bursts out laughing. It’s one of those wholehearted belly laughs, one that eventually has you doubling over or peeing your pants or all of the above.
“What’s so funny?”
She wipes what might be tears from her eyes, or what might just be rain; it’s hard to tell. “Like I believe you’ve got a horse.”
Now I’ve had a gut full.
“You wait here, and I get Ida.”
Without another word, I walk to the back of the pub and retrieve my horse. The minute I grab her reins, she nudges me, and I can tell what she’s trying to say.
You’ve been hitting the sauce again, haven’t you? Haven’t I warned you about the drink?
I roll my eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, I might’ve had one or two drinks.”
As I lead her out of her stable, I can hear her snort. And I know exactly what it means.
I’m not stupid. I know you’ve had more than one or two drinks. More like you’ve had fifty drinks.
“No need to get smart with me, Missy,” I hiss at the horse. “If you keep this up, I might end up selling you to the knackery.”
Two snorts. As if.
We come around the back of the pub and walk out onto the road. Rebecca is exactly where I’ve left her. As she sees me and Ida, her eyes widen in disbelief.
“Wow” is all she says until she collects herself. “You really do have a horse. What’s her name?”
“Ida,” I grumble.
I don’t like the way Ida is looking at Rebecca. I know that look. It’s a look that says I like this person—maybe better than I like you, ya lush.
“So, you’re going to get on?” I ask and fold my arms.
Rebecca smiles. “Is the Pope catholic? Of course I’m going to get on. I mean, a horseback ride in the fucking rain? If I were to turn down that opportunity, I shouldn’t have bothered coming to Ireland in the first place.”
With Rebecca safe in the saddle, I get on behind her. Since Rebecca is smaller, it’s safer to have her in front of me.
“Sorry,” I mumble as I wrap one arm around her and take the reins with the other.
She says nothing.
“Let’s go, girl,” I say to Ida and give her side a gentle nudge with my foot.
Obediently, she starts walking.
Rebecca’s quiet as a mouse as Ida carries us toward our homes. I can’t look into her eyes to gauge her mood, but her silence tells me there’s something bothering her.
“Penny for your thoughts?” I venture after a while and wait for what may be a less than charmed or patient response.
But it doesn’t come.
She says nothing, and I’m wondering if she actually heard me. I’m about to repeat my question when she replies.
“Thinking about the big D,” she starts, and my brain is working overtime.
What the fuck is the big D?
Is it death? Did someone die? Who was it?
“Hmmm.”
I leave it at that—I don’t want to ask what the big D is and make complete dick of myself.
“I’m just going through a divorce. It’s fucking awful.”
Holy shit. I had no fucking idea.
Instead of replying verbally, I just press my body closer into hers.