Stay the Night (22 page)

“What about the handsome lad who fancies you?” Bennett asked.

She didn’t pretend not to know who he meant. “He’s buying the Red Witch on his own.”

“What?” Bennett’s face clouded over. “Why isn’t he taking you as a partner?”

“He thinks I should be playing music instead.” For some reason she didn’t want the old boys to think badly of Robert, so she mumbled, “He got me an audition at the Blue Note.”

“The Blue Note,” all three of them said in a reverent echo.

“Any musician worth his salt would be thrilled to work at the Blue Note.” Clancy turned to Sean. “Remember Cork Dillon? He played at the Blue Note in his eighties.”

Sean nodded. “Cork could play the piano like a maestro.”

Bennett frowned. “This is a wonderful chance for you, Niamh, but you don’t seem happy about it.”

“I’m not going to the audition.” She crossed her arms, not caring if she looked like she was pouting.

“Are you daft?” Bennett exclaimed. “This is the perfect opportunity for you. A symphony would have been terrible, but the Blue Note!”

Clancy nodded. “Every fiddle player dreams of playing there.”

“The lad seems to know you,” Sean said softly.

She faced him. “What?”

The old man shrugged. “If he went to the trouble to get you an audition at the Blue Note, he seems to know something. It was an awfully nice gesture, wasn’t it?”

“It was highhanded and controlling,” she corrected.

Bennett shook his head. “It was from the heart. You can’t deny music is in your soul.”

She opened her mouth to do just that, but she couldn’t. It was true. She did love music. “But—”

“Would it harm you to do the audition and get the job?” Bennett asked. “You can turn it down if you decide it’s not for you.”

She shrugged again. “I’ll think about it.”

“When is the audition?”

“Tomorrow night.” She could feel the card burning a hole in her pocket.

“Then you better think fast,” Bennett said.

Clancy winked at her. “Just don’t get too big for your britches, lass. You still have to come play with us even after you’re a big, fancy star.”

“I’ll try not to,” she said, the tears threatening again. She reached up on her toes to kiss his cheek, and then Bennett and Sean’s. “Thank you.”

Bennett gave her a straight-shooting look. “It’s not us you should thank.”

She knew he meant Robert. The only thing was she wasn’t sure he’d done her a favor or an awful disservice.

Chapter Twenty-three

Ian sat on the couch, his legs up, an ice pack propped on his bum knee. Practice was brutal today, even more so than the day before, and that was saying something. He stared at the pages of his book. He’d started a new one, about a spunky blonde with a smart mouth who pretended to be something she wasn’t.

Story of his life.

The front door slammed, followed by stomping headed his way.

Ian kept his head down, pretending to read.

Rowdy came to stand in front of him. Ian didn’t look up, but based on the way his friend had his legs braced it was going to be a battle.

“What did you do?”

Okay—that did it. Scowling, he looked up. “Why does it have to be me? Did she say it was me?”

“No, Goldie said she screwed up, but I don’t believe her.” Rowdy crossed his arms, his muscles bulging as if they were filled with anger. “What did you do, Mac?”

“I’m the wronged party here.” He sat up, pointing. “Your precious Goldie took pictures of me to publish without my consent.”

“And?”

Ian shook his head. “And what? That’s it. She betrayed me.”

Rowdy put a finger on his chin, like he was thinking. “Did she publish the pictures?”

“No. I took them.”

“So she didn’t actually publish the pictures.” Rowdy nodded as if pondering it all. “But she said they were on their way to the newspaper?”

He crossed his arms, glaring. “I didn’t ask.”

Rowdy nodded again. “You didn’t ask, but all the pictures she took, right before you caught them, were going to be given to the media?”

The photos hadn’t been taken in one day. They’d been taken over a period of time; he could tell from the content. But just because she hadn’t rushed out to sell them didn’t mean she wasn’t planning on it.

“You know why she was taking those pictures, right?” Rowdy continued. “Or do you have your head too far up your ass to know what’s going on with her?”

He shook his head. “If you’re trying to make me feel bad, it’s not going to work. I’m the injured party here.”

“So you know that the guy she went out with before is holding her career hostage and that the only way she can get respect back is by turning in those photos of you.” Rowdy glared at him.

He sat up straight. “What?”

“Yeah.” His friend was too worked up to be smug. “Some tool is harassing her to get her to go out with him. And here you are, not helping her out. You’re an ass, dude.”

He stood, toe-to-toe with a ready-to-rumble rugby player. “Just tell me what happened.”

“Some guy she didn’t want to see is blackmailing her. Her way out was doing this photo essay on you, but you kept refusing. What was she supposed to do?”

He crossed his arms, furious but not sure whether to blame Titania, Rowdy, or the bastard who wanted Titania. “Maybe she could have told me about this.”

“Would you have listened?” Rowdy shook his head. “Her career is all she knows. It’s all she’s ever wanted to do. You of all people should understand that.”

He hadn’t known
.

He wanted to protest, only why
hadn’t
he known? She’d been around for weeks. They’d had countless conversations. It was something he should have found out.

Only most of the time, their conversation centered on him and his knee. He flexed it, annoyed at it
and
himself. He didn’t need Rowdy to blatantly say that he’d been selfish—he got that.

“You know”—Rowdy turned around—“the championship title is important, but then what? Your knee may hold for years to come, but how long do you have? Ten, twelve years at the most? Someday soon you’re going to have to retire, and then what’ll you have? Maybe you should think about your future.”

“I—”

“Just in case your have such a thick head that you don’t get it, Goldie is your future.” Rowdy pointed at him. “You have things to think about, because aside from Goldie there’s also that boy. He’s outside right now, wanting to talk to you.”

Great—just what he needed. “I—”

“You’re an idiot.” Rowdy shook his head as though disgusted with him. “You have the opportunity to change a boy’s life, and you’re too wrapped up in your own shit. When did you become such an ass, Mac? The Ian MacNiven I knew back in the day was a stand-up guy.”

Ian watched Rowdy storm out and head toward his room.

He wouldn’t leave, would he?

The thought disturbed him. He didn’t have Titania around; he couldn’t have Rowdy leave, too.

His mobile rang. Taking it out of his pocket, he looked at the screen. It was amazing how disappointed he was to see that it was his father and not Titania. “Hello, Da.”

“What’s the matter with you?”

He frowned. “Did Rowdy call you?”

“Nah. I have a twinge in my spleen. Something’s wrong, and you haven’t called to tell me.”

He shook his head. “Since when do you have spleen sense?”

“Always have had it when it came to you.” There was a pause. “So? You going to tell me?”

He sighed. “There’s a woman.”

“Love,” his father said, sighing. “Ah, it’s grand.”

“It’s awful,” Ian corrected. “Why would anyone do this willingly?”

“What’s she like, lad?”

“She’s—” He thought of her crooked smile and the brightness that lit her eyes when she was impassioned. He pictured her jeans and tattered shoes, the casual way she pulled her hair back. In his mind’s eye, he saw her walking next to him with that bounce in her step, and knew that more than anything he wanted her to walk next to him forever. “She’s divine, Da.”

“Like I said. Love.” His father yelled, “
Marie!
The boy’s in love!”

Great. Ian ran a hand over his head. He tried to listen but couldn’t catch much of the fervored conversation.

Donald came back on. “Your mother says you should bring the girl home to meet us.”

“That may be a problem since she doesn’t even want to talk to me.”

“Figure it out, son. You worked a miracle with your leg, didn’t you? This should be as simple. Give her a bit of my whiskey,” he added quickly. “That always gets your ma in the mood, if you know what I mean.”

He winced. “Da, not an image I needed.”

His father chuckled. Then he said, “See you next weekend. Fix things with your girl by then so we can meet her, too.”

Ian frowned. “What do you mean, see me next weekend?”

“For the FA Cup. Have you gone daft? Your mother and I are coming in to watch you play, of course. Rowdy arranged for tickets and a hotel.”

“Of course he did.” He didn’t know whether to strangle or hug his friend. Maybe both.

“I’m proud of you, son,” his father said softly. “You’ve worked hard to come back, and that’s an admirable thing.”

He didn’t feel admirable. In fact, he felt like a right bastard, since Rowdy pointed out to him the way he’d been acting.

“See you this weekend, Ian. Your ma sends her love.”

He murmured his goodbyes and hung up. He stood in the middle of his impersonal apartment and tried to find something admirable about his existence.

There wasn’t much quite frankly.

He went to his bedroom, where his laptop was with Titania’s memory card still in it. Opening it, he scanned through the pictures for the hundredth time, looking for weaknesses.

But even to his biased eyes, he only looked determined. This was the portrait of a man striving to come back at all costs. Titania had seen that and captured it in the most stark honest way possible. There was no doubt she was good. He didn’t know much about photography, but he’d wager to say that she was even brilliant.

And he took that away from her.

He shook his head. If only he’d paid attention.

“Those are nice,” Rowdy said.

He turned to find his friend leaning in the doorway, his arms and ankles crossed.

“They’re better than nice,” Ian said, studying at the image on the screen again. It was one where he was running on the treadmill. His feet were a blur, but the scars on his knee were vivid. The ropey muscles around his knee bulged, making him seem strong if damaged.

“She portrayed you as a warrior,” Rowdy said. “You know what you need to do, right?”

Not at all. “I think so, but why don’t you tell me what you think.”

“Make everything right. With Titania, with the boy who has two names, and with yourself.”

He faced Rowdy. “Me?”

His friend nodded. “You need to come to terms with your future. What if this is the last game you play?”

Ian blinked, picturing it. Before, he’d start to panic, a feeling of suffocating in his chest. But before he hadn’t imagined Titania holding his hand, telling him to stop being a baby.

He shook his head. “I’ve been so daft.”

Rowdy threw his hands in the air. “Ya think? About damn time you came to that conclusion.”

“I think I know what I’m going to do,” he said slowly. He had a couple phone calls to make and a letter to read.

“About frickin’ time, dude.” Rowdy crossed his arms, looking smug. “Let me know if you need my help. I may want to smack you upside the head, but I’ve still got your back, brother.”

“Are you available later today?”

“Sure.” Rowdy eyed him suspiciously. “Why?”

“I wanted to pay Titania’s blackmailing friend a visit.”

Rowdy’s mouth curved in an evil grin. “Now there’s the Ian MacNiven I know and love.”

He glanced at his computer screen. Anyone who stopped someone from sharing talent like this needed to be pounded. “You think you can get his name from her?”

“Consider it done.” His friend waved over his shoulder on his way out.

He made his first call, taking care of all the necessary arrangements to make things right with Titania.

Then he called his da again.

“What’s wrong?” Donald asked the moment he answered. “We just talked. Why are you calling again?”

“I have a question.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about you and your whiskey.”

“You’re a MacNiven. Of course you’ve been thinking about whiskey.”

He smiled faintly. “No, I mean I’ve been thinking about it as a business. What would you say if we became partners? You create the product, I have it distributed. A partnership.”

The silence on the line was deafening. Then Donald said, “Are you giving up football?”

“No.” He’d never give up football, in one form or another. He loved it too much. “But I might like to do this, too.”

His father grunted.

“What does that mean?” Ian asked.

“That means, about time, son. About time.”

They chatted a little bit more, agreeing to speak more when Donald and Marie arrived in London. Ian hung up actually feeling hopeful for the future.

The only thing left was the kid and his letter.

Turning, he stared at his underwear drawer. He couldn’t put it off any longer.

Opening his dresser, he fished in the back until he found the letter. He held it in his hand, glad no one was there to see it shake.

What could the kid possibly say to absolve him of the accident?

That was the thing, the kid couldn’t say anything. Ian had to decide to absolve him, for the kid’s sake and for his own.

It was time to move on. It was time to face the future.

The future looked hopeful, actually, especially if he could convince Titania to come back to him.

Taking a deep breath, he tore the envelope open and began to read.

Chapter Twenty-four

On her way down to dinner, Titania’s phone rang. She stopped on the staircase and pulled her mobile out of her pocket.

Hopper. The championship match was in a couple days, and she hadn’t produced the photo essay on MacNiven. Was he calling her to tell her she was too late?