Love And The Real Boy - Coming About, Book 2 (17 page)

Seeing how genuinely nervous the guy was, Patrick was starting to feel a tad bit guilty for pushing him into this thing with his family. But he’d be okay, Patrick was sure of it.

Placing his hand on Rich’s shoulder, Patrick gave him what he hoped was a comforting squeeze. “You don’t need a cigarette. It’s going to be fine. You might even have fun.”

Rich puffed out a quick breath of air through his teeth. “I’d settle for not throwing up in front of them.”

“Fair enough,” Patrick laughed. “I should warn you that one of my brothers is still a little hinky about the whole gay thing. Hold on…” he said, holding out his hands when Rich narrowed his eyes and started to speak. “He’s not going to bother you. He doesn’t have a problem with you, or homosexuality in general…he’s just had some trouble dealing with his image of his little brother changing. It sort of shook his worldview back when I came out, and he hasn’t quite gotten over it yet. I promise, if he says anything, it has nothing to do with you. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good. You ready?”

With another shaky sigh, Rich nodded. Patrick opened the door to a gust of warm air scented with a woodsy perfume and the aromas of cooking. An older woman with flaming hair shot through with white was framed in the doorway of the kitchen. Her face was flushed, probably from the warmth of the stove, and she was wiping her hands on a quilted apron that covered her floral print dress. His mother looked the same as ever—like home.

“Hello, boys!” she said, stepping up to them. Her cheerful voice was colored with a much thicker version of Patrick’s own brogue.

“Evenin’, Mam,” Patrick said, and even to his own ears his accent became immediately more pronounced in the presence of his kin. “You’re lookin’ lovely as ever.”

“Liar,” she deadpanned, but Patrick could see the love shining in her eyes as she patted him on the cheek more firmly than was strictly necessary. “You don’t call, you don’t write…”

“Christ, Mam, you know I’ve been busy with the Valentine restoration. You were the one who insisted I take the job, weren’t you then?”

“Mmm, aye, busy with the boat, are you?” she said, eying Rich with that enigmatic smile she got when she did her telepathic-psychic-Irish-mother trick and read his mind. And then she smacked him in the back of the head. Hard.

“And what did I bloody tell you about takin’ the Lord’s name in vain in this house?”

“Sorry, Mam,” he said, hanging his head because,
fuck
, who wanted to get scolded by their mother in front of their…lover.

“Who’s your friend, then?”

“This is Rich. My…boyfriend,” he said with a discreet wink at Rich, assuring him that they were still playing pretend—for now, until the man could handle otherwise. “He’s a good friend of Mrs. Donovan’s son. Rich, meet my mother, Shannon O’Dowd.”

“Um, hi,” he said as he absently shook her hand. “You know Rory’s mom?”

“Of course she does,” Patrick said. “It was Mrs. Donovan who asked us to work on Nic’s boat. The company usually doesn’t take on such small jobs—unless it’s someone willing to pay an arm and a leg. The siblings and I used to play with Rory when we were small. Mira Donovan and Mam go to Bible study together, and she asked if we’d help out. You knew that.” Although, looking at the confusion on Rich’s face, Patrick wasn’t so sure he did.

“Did I?”

“Rory didn’t tell you?”

Rich’s face fell, and his eyes lowered to somewhere in the vicinity of his feet. “No, he didn’t.”

The hurt in his voice cut right through Patrick. Rich was still so upset by the rift between him and Rory that Patrick decided right then that he was going to figure out a way to help them mend fences. Anything that put that look on his man’s face had to be dealt with. But now was not the time or the place.

Rubbing Rich’s back gently to convey that he understood, Patrick ushered him into the house. “He probably just forgot,” Patrick murmured.

“Yeah, sure,” Rich said, though Patrick was sure neither of them believed it.

Shannon flitted about, taking their raincoats and giving them each a hug, which seemed to fluster Rich greatly. She stepped back to look at them. “I’m glad you’re both here,” she said. “You two make yourself at home. Paddy, don’t forget your manners, make sure Rich is comfortable—don’t want him to think you were raised by wolves.”

“Jesus, Mam!
Please
don’t call me Paddy.” This time he managed to duck the swat that came flying at his head, and then shamelessly hid behind Rich.

“What’d I say, boy?”

“Sorry,” he muttered, though it was worth it to hear Rich’s only slightly nervous laugh.

“You can say sorry to the good Lord when the time comes. For now, get your young man settled. I have to get back to the cookin’.”

With a flourish that Patrick had only seen an Irish mother manage to make look authentic, she disappeared into the kitchen. His human shield stepped away and turned to look at him.

“She’s quite a lady,” Rich said with quiet amusement.

“That she is, and then some.” It occurred to Patrick that Rich probably didn’t have much experience with real mothers either—Irish or otherwise. “She takes some getting used to.”

“I like her. She doesn’t take your shit.” Rich grinned, then winced, flicking a nervous glance toward the kitchen. “Am I going to get smacked?”

“Lord, no. Profanity is allowed and expected. Blasphemy, not so much.”

“I’ll try to remember that.”

“You’d do well to,” Patrick said, winking at him.

He hooked his arm in the crook of Rich’s elbow and led him out of the foyer and into the large combination living room-game room. The house was warm; in fact, the temperature was just this side of uncomfortable, probably from the herd of O’Dowds milling about and throwing off body heat.

They didn’t exactly freeze when Patrick and Rich entered, but all of the boisterous activity and animated chattering slowly tapered off. Patrick couldn’t for the life of him figure out why they seemed so surprised to see him. He hadn’t made it to Sunday dinner in a few weeks, but it wasn’t as if he’d gone years, or even months, without coming over.

Feeling a bit nervous himself now, Patrick cleared his throat. “Oi, everybody. This is Rich. He’s a friend of Rory Donovan; he’s helping me on the little ketch.”

There was a rumble of ‘hello’s’ and ‘what’s up’s’, but no one really made a point to introduce themselves. Patrick was irritated. He didn’t understand the general mood that had settled over the family. It wasn’t exactly hostile or disapproving; it almost seemed…stunned. Disbelieving.

“Whatever. I’m not going to go around and introduce him to every one of you lot. Just try and be sociable.”

He turned to Rich and nodded his head toward the group that was spread out across the various couches and congregated around the pool table. “Right then, over here it’s our youngest and only girl—therefore the queen of the universe—Maran, and her fiancé Shawn Connelly. Next to Shawn are the twins, the recently single Douglas and Donal.”

He gestured to the sofa against the opposite wall. “There’s my brother Sheppard, and that’s his wife Bridget. Shep’s the next youngest after me, then the twins. Over there playing pool you have Aiden and Flynn, the two oldest. Their wives are in the kitchen with Mam, I’m assuming. Where’s Da?” he asked, addressing Maran.

“Outside with the kids,” she said, standing up to greet Rich. “It’s good to meet you, Rich. Would you like anything to drink?”

Patrick suppressed a laugh as Rich’s head bobbed nervously.

“I’d really love a beer.”

Maran chuckled, her presence soothing in a way that no one else’s could be.
Thank God for her
, Patrick thought as he felt Rich’s tense posture relax a fraction.

“I understand, love. The brood can be overwhelming at first glance…and second, and third,” she said, rubbing a gentle hand down Rich’s arm. “Will a Guinness do ya?”

“Sure, anything’s fine,” Rich answered, and his eyes followed her like he was drowning and she was his life raft floating away.

“It’ll be fine,” Patrick repeated and led Rich over to an empty spot on one of the couches. “Let’s sit a spell. We’re going to want to be out of the way once the babbies come charging back in.”

“Oh, God,” Rich groaned. “I didn’t know there’d be kids.”

“Might as well get some practice for when you meet Josiah,” Patrick answered in hushed tones. He wasn’t sure if Rich would appreciate virtual strangers hearing about his personal business.

Rich nodded absently, but Patrick could feel a slight tremble of his muscles where their bodies were pressed together in the tight spot in which they sat.

“So how many, um…babbies are there?” Rich asked, one corner of his mouth tipping up in a hesitant smile.

“Oh, let’s see now,” Patrick began ticking off fingers as he named his nieces and nephews. “Shep an’ Bridget have two of the ankle-biters, boy and girl, Ashley and Avery. Right, then there’s Flynn’s gits, Alex, Ryan, an’ Whit. I mean no offense to Shelby, but those boys came out just like Flynn, which means they’re a gaggle of divils.”

Flynn laughed and tossed a throw pillow in Patrick’s general direction, from his spot on the opposite couch. “Feck you, you little shite! Any offspring off you would be useless as tits on a bull, so you’re one to talk.”

“Flynn Alexander O’Dowd!” Shannon’s angry voice bellowed from the kitchen.

Patrick sniggered under his breath. “Mam’s used to all our effin’ and blindin’, but if there’s two things she can’t stand, it’s blaspheming the Lord and disrespecting the lady business,” he explained quietly to Rich.

“
Damn
her Vulcan hearing,” Flynn said, managing to reference two of Patrick’s favorite TV shows in one shot.

Rich actually managed a full-on laugh, and his shoulders eased away from his ears a bit. And then bloody Donal had to open his cake-hole.

“So what’s with the Dickey Dazzler over here, eh?” Donal asked with his mouth full of popcorn, and gestured at Rich.

“I don’t know what that means,” Rich answered, giving Patrick a quizzical look, eyes silently begging for help with his sorry-ass brother.

It was the least appropriate time for Douglas to chime in, so of course he did. “He means who the feck are you and what’s with the suit, mate?”

Patrick reached behind Douglas to smack Donal in the head, and then elbowed Douglas in the ribs. “Could you two apes at least try to act marginally human?”

“It’s okay,” Rich assured him, although the tightness had crept back into his body and the laugh was gone. He looked past Patrick to address the twins. “Uh, the suit…well, I’m an advertising executive, so I’m used to wearing suits and I have a lot of them. I didn’t know what to expect here, so I figured I’d rather be overdressed than under.”

It was sort of the truth, Patrick thought. It wasn’t as if he expected Rich to go into detail about how he liked to enjoy the finer things in life because he used to be homeless. That was none of his brothers’ goddamn business anyway.

“As far as who I am…like Patrick said, I’m a friend of Rory Donovan’s, and I’m Patrick’s…” Rich faltered and cut a nervous glance over to Patrick.

Patrick planned on going on with the ruse, since Rich hadn’t told him any different. “Boyfriend. He’s my boyfriend. If any of you lot have a problem with it, you can kiss my arse.”

A yelp from across the room cut off whatever Donal had been about to say. Aiden had executed a wild jump shot that ended with the nine ball crashing into Shep, barely missing his nuts.

“What the feck, man?!” Shep shouted, crossing his hands in front of his crotch to protect his delicate sensibilities.

Aiden was jacked, his posture was aggressive, his shoulders heaving from his rapid breathing. He glared at Shep, then aimed an even more hostile look in Patrick and Rich’s general direction. Blindly, he tossed his cue on the pool table, and it landed with a bounce and a roll.

“I forfeit. I gotta get some air,” he growled.

Rich’s eyes practically bugged out of his head when he witnessed Aidan’s antagonistic behavior. Aidan was the one family member who seemed to really struggle with Patrick’s sexuality, and things had never been the same between them since he came out. But he
so
was not having this today of all days.

Patrick turned to Rich just as Maran was returning with their drinks. “I need to go talk to my brother. Sorry,” he said when Rich paled, probably from the thought of being left alone in the lion’s den. “Just sit here with Maran, and I’ll be right back.”

Patrick stood and took one of the bottles from Maran, and then gestured for her to take his seat. “Take care of him,” he murmured to her as she passed him.

She sat down and handed Rich the other beer, putting her arm around his tense shoulders. “Go on then, I got this. I’m going to tell him
loads
of embarrassing stories about you.”

Patrick just rolled his eyes, gave Rich one last sympathetic look, squared his shoulders, and followed Aidan outside.

Chapter Fifteen

“You’re totally overwhelmed, aren’t you?”

Rich looked up, startled out of his frozen state of a mix of discomfort, irritation at being fed to the wolves—or in this case, the O’Dowds—and pure exhaustion. Maran was looking at him, her smooth, pale face open and friendly.