Unfixable (11 page)

“No,” I lie again. It’s a slippery slope. “How was it?”

“Lovely.”

Chapter Thirteen

Kitty and I finally reach the Claymore Inn after she has counted each of her footsteps between the bus stop and the front door. Out loud. It’s still only ten o’clock, so the bar hasn’t opened, but I find it odd when Kitty has to knock to be let inside. The fact that one needs keys at all to be let inside during nonbusiness hours confirms my suspicious that I’m the only guest staying at the inn. It’s a good thing I never pulled an all-nighter, or I would have been stuck outside in the rain, shit out of luck.

Still, Kitty lives here year-round. “Why don’t you have keys?”

She starts to answer but Shane yanks open the door, cutting her off and making me jump. His hair is a disaster, pointing a hundred different directions. There is a wrinkle between his eyebrows that isn’t normally there. He looks between me and Kitty like he can’t quite believe we’re standing there. Faith rushes up behind him and gives us the same look, before covering her mouth, barely smothering a delighted laugh. I glance over at Kitty to ask her what’s going on with her offspring, but when I notice the tears pouring down her cheeks, I’m silenced.

“I did it.” She claps her hands together, then throws herself into Shane’s arms. Laughing through her tears, Faith tries to wrap them both in an embrace, but she ends up simply burying her face between their shoulders. “I
bloody
did it.”

For a moment, Shane still appears stunned, but his body finally relaxes and he begins patting Kitty’s back. “Well done, Kitty.”

She pulls back suddenly, nearly toppling them all to the ground. In her hand, she holds up the bag of apples like a fisherman holds up a giant sea bass. “I got apples. I reckon I’ll bake a pie. I don’t know yet, since I’ve only started thinking about it.”

Faith is still wiping tears from her cheeks. “I’ll help you.”

“Grand.” She giggles like a girl half her age. “That’s grand.”

I’ve been watching this scene play out with a mixture of awe and confusion. The magnitude of what is taking place and why might be lost on me, but the impact of their unexpected happiness is not. Faith’s eyes are luminous, cheeks flushed with excitement. Shane looks astonished, with a touch of pride struggling to get out. And Kitty, well…she looks like George Clooney just walked in and proposed. It’s a moment I wouldn’t even feel comfortable photographing, because it should just exist in this sliver of time, for this family, never to be shared by anyone. Including me. Beginning to feel like a major interloper, I put my head down and bypass them into the pub.

I’m halfway up the staircase when I hear footsteps behind me. “Willa.”

God, Shane never lets me have my damn exit. That should irritate me way more than it does. I don’t pause in my journey up the stairs. “I really have to do laundry.”

“Your laundry is almost done.”

“What?” I whirl around on the top step. “Tell me you didn’t do my laundry.”

“I don’t have a death wish,” he says. “Faith did it. We have machines in the cellar. You can use those next time, instead of finding a launderette.”

“Oh.” This is my chance to redraw the battle lines. I’m surprised to find how reluctant I am to do it, but I don’t have a choice. He’s taking up too much space in my head. “Thank you, but there won’t be a next time. I have enough clothes to last the next week and a half.”

At the blunt reminder that I’m leaving, something flickers in his expression before it disappears. “The offer is there nonetheless.”

I nod, then turn to keep walking. When my fingers close around my doorknob, his hand fits over mine to keep it from turning. I didn’t even hear him move. His silent speed paired with the simple touch of our hands sends a wave of anticipation rolling in my belly. Determinedly, I fight it. I feel like a battle is being waged inside me, between my attraction to Shane and the scarier, unwanted feelings creeping in. It’s no mystery that I will lose the physical battle, but I’m trying to win the overall war. Holding out as long as possible is my only hope. I’m afraid I won’t be able to separate the two, so I’m hoping to limit the fallout. Damage control in reverse.

“Thank you. What you did for Kitty…”

Taking a deep breath, I school my features and turn to face him. God, he really is severely beautiful. Having all that quiet intensity up close and focused on me is daunting, but I’m also beginning to crave it. Trapped in his line of sight is quickly becoming my favorite place. Not good. “You got me in touch with my sister in the hospital. Consider us even.”

“You didn’t do it to repay a favor.”

He says it with such certainty, I know protesting won’t change his mind. “You think you know me so well?”

“I’m beginning to.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Willa, Kitty hasn’t left the inn since my father passed away. This morning was her first time outside in six months.”

For a moment, all I can do is stare. “Six months?”

Shane nods. “Even when my father was alive, he didn’t like her going out much. Didn’t give her the chance.” His gaze holds mine. “I know you well enough to see you’re about to make light of it, being the one to bring her out. I won’t let you.”

“I wasn’t.” I totally was. “She was very brave. That’s what I was going to say.”

He tilts his head. “No incidents along the way?”

I shrug. “She may have tried to pay the bus driver in apples.”

“It might have been an accepted form of payment the last time she rode the bus.”

We share a quiet laugh. Oh sweet Jesus, he’s funny, too? Up until now, any humor directed at me has been sarcastic or insulting. His laugh is rich and deep, reminding me of the coffee I’d drank that morning at Beshoffs and where my orgasmic coffee thoughts had led. Shane’s shoulders flexing against the backs of my knees, his stubble scraping my thighs. I feel my cheeks burning, my eyelids getting heavy. Shane notices and interprets what I can’t see, can only feel. I know this by the barely audible groan in his throat.

He takes a step forward. With a massive case of reluctance, I back up against my door so hard, it shakes on its hinges. A single one of his eyebrows raises, but he doesn’t stop moving closer. One of his warm hands rises to cup my cheek. “We’re back to that, are we?”

I don’t have an explanation. What can I possibly say?
I think I’m starting to feel more than healthy lust when I’m around you. It’s too soon after Evan. We’re both leaving. Stop making me laugh, you dick.
These are the scattershot thoughts pinging around in my brain, but I’m mostly thinking them to distract myself from Shane’s descending lips. To remind myself why we’re not about stolen kisses in the hallway and quiet laughs.

“Kitty told me about what happened with your father.”

Shane goes eerily still. I watch as every ounce of heat evaporates from his blue gaze. The hand on my cheek drops to his side and I miss having it there immediately. Self-hatred is a living thing clawing at my throat. I wish I could take back the words. My self-preservation wasn’t worth the haunted look I’ve put in his eyes. “What exactly did she tell you?”

“Nothing.”

“Willa,” he growls.

My heart is pounding so loud I’m surprised he can’t hear it. “He kicked you out.”

His attention is fixed on a spot above my head. “That’s all?”

“There’s more?”

He laughs and the dark quality of it is so different from his earlier one, I wince. The Shane that followed me up the stairs to say thank you is gone. And I banished him. “Here’s what I’d like to know. What was your intention in bringing it up that way?”

I do my best not to betray anything on my face, but I see a glimmer of recognition on Shane’s nonetheless.

“If that’s what you do when someone gets too close, I can see why things didn’t work out with your ex-boyfriend.”

The oxygen is sucked from my lungs. I think I actually gasp for air, but I can’t hear over the rushing in my ears. He’s 100 percent right, of course. That’s why it hurts so bad. The nature of my doomed relationship with Evan is vastly different from what’s going on between me and Shane, but the principal is the same. I can’t let anyone in. I’m broken. So I do what any self-hating coward does when they’re on the ground getting kicked. I lash out.

My face is inches away from his. Neither one of us looks capable of backing down. “What are you more upset about? Me bringing up a touchy subject, or the fact that I’m not already on my knees returning the favor from last night? Is that what you were expecting?” I fling my arms out wide. “Sorry to disappoint.”

His jaw tightens. “I bet that works with everyone else. Spouting a bunch of bullshit to change the subject.” He grips my upper arms. “It won’t work with me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“We both know that’s a fucking lie.” He drags me up against him. “Last night you wanted me so bad you were shaking. What.
Changed
?”

“
You
.” The word explodes from my mouth. “I liked it better when you wanted me gone. At least I knew what to expect. At least I knew it wouldn’t matter when I left.”

“It matters now.” His voice is whip sharp, but the punishing grip on my arms is loosening. He’s searching my face for something and I have no idea what. “Is that what you’re saying to me?”

“No,” I whisper the lie, knowing full well what I’d just revealed. That I’m scared of getting too close when there’s an expiration date. That I’ve developed feelings for him. He’s too astute to have missed the significance. “It wouldn’t matter, anyway. I’m the girl who hurts people to keep them away. Congratulations, you just saw it live and in color.”

“You didn’t like bringing up my father. I could see that.” His thumb starts moving in soothing circles against my arm. “Same way I didn’t like bringing up your ex-boyfriend.”

I want nothing more than to lay my head down on Shane’s shoulder and let him tell me I’m not a world-class fuckup. He actually seems to believe what he’s saying. Too bad I don’t.

“You can’t fix me with a few magic words.”

“Willa.” He shakes his head. “There’s nothing to fix.”

When all I can do is stare, he plants a soft kiss on my forehead. Then he lets go of me and returns downstairs, leaving me watching him from the top of the landing.

Chapter Fourteen

The following day I avoid the Claymore Inn like the black plague. I’m dressed in my freshly laundered jeans and out the front door before Kitty even knocks on my door to serve tea. Yesterday, I’d inadvertently let Shane know that this thing between us isn’t quite as cut-and-dried as I’d planned. He’d hit me in my weak spot, bringing up Evan, and I’d been vulnerable afterward, or I never would have revealed such a weakness. Since I had, I wanted to put off any contact with Shane. Otherwise, I would see one of two expressions on his face.

Pity being the first one. It’s likely that Shane has zero problem having a purely physical relationship with me. I’m actually kind of a
jackpot
for him. I’m geographically convenient, since we’re currently living under the same roof. Plus, my imminent departure guarantees that he won’t have to suffer through a where-is-this-relationship-headed talk.
Cha-ching.
I’d rather walk around Dublin in a chicken costume than have
that
talk, too, but after what I said yesterday, he knows my detachment is an act. His, however, is not. If I see an ounce of pity on his face because of that, I swear I’ll expire of mortification.

The second option is far less likely. Shane might not pity me. He might feel the same way. This reaction is far more dangerous than option one, because I wouldn’t be able to stay away. He would suck me in like a vacuum cleaner, and I wouldn’t come up for oxygen until I have to pack for Chicago. A mere nine days from now. It would be emotional suicide.

Honestly, I’m not even sure these feelings are genuine, or just an illusion I’ve created to get over Evan. It’s possible I’m just fragile after our breakup and my fascination with Shane is a coping mechanism. I never thought I’d be the type of girl who could develop feelings for another guy so quickly. It’s fickle. A trait I’ve never equated with myself.

With a heaved sigh, I lean against a wooden piling at the end of the pier I’m standing on. Since I didn’t get much of a chance to take photographs yesterday while I was with Kitty, I’d come back to Howth this afternoon to remedy that.

Sitting on the north side of Dublin Bay, Howth overlooks a busy harbor, fishing and tourism boats passing each other through the narrow inlet. Students and families carry bags from Beshoffs full of fish and chips, plunking down on the pier to eat their late lunch. It’s another unusually warm day, and I’ve been told by several store owners that I should count myself lucky to witness such a long stretch without rain. I lift my face up to the sun, enjoying the weight of my camera in my hand, trying to think of nothing else.

Instead, I see Shane, as if his image has been stitched on the back of my eyelids. His relief at seeing his mother yesterday, the sound of his laugh, the feel of his hands. This can’t be a coping mechanism, because it’s doing nothing to help me. I might be thinking of Evan less, but those gaps are being filled by Shane in an altogether different way. When I think of Evan, I think of purple flowers. Irises. He was the first boy to ever present me with flowers, and that moment is imprinted on my subconscious. I think of hand-holding and lying on a flannel blanket in the Millennium Park. Playing Frisbee. Eating Italian ices.

I think of trying too hard, of forcing a smile onto my face. I think of failure. Regret.

Pushing aside those troubling thoughts, I let myself think of Shane. On cue, my pulse trips over itself, then grows loud enough to hear over the waves lapping against the side of the pier. I try to picture him on a blanket in Millennium Park, except instead of playing Sudoku like Evan used to do, his hand is tracing lazy circles around my belly button. He’s letting the Italian ice drip a little onto my skin, then licking it off slowly. He’s looking at me like he knows exactly what I’m thinking, instead of giving me that look I used to dread. The one that’s trying to puzzle me out.

Quickly, I raise my camera and discreetly snap an elderly couple watching their granddaughter toddling along the pier, holding her father’s hand. They look fierce in their pride, as if they share a heart and mind. Turning before they can catch me watching them, I snap two fisherman that sound like they’re arguing over a soccer match. At the end of their argument, however, they slap one another on the back and part ways with an, “I’ll see ya ’round, mate.”

Laughing softly, I sit down on the edge of the pier and let my feet dangle. It’s dark before I know it, all the boats returning to the harbor for the night. Yet I’m no closer to a solution for my Shane problem, I’m out of film, and I’m starving. I stand and dust off the back of my jeans, wondering where I can go next to avoid the Claymore.

My cowardice floods me with self-disgust. Why am I avoiding the inn at all? Taking a deep breath, I think of how Ginger would handle this situation. She would saunter in there, Southern attitude in every single step, and wink at the guy giving her trouble. Then she’d continue on right up the stairs without a backward glance, secure in the knowledge that he’d be staring after her.

I store my camera inside my messenger bag and walk back toward the bus stop, with twice as much determination as when I’d disembarked in Howth.

…

When I walk in the Claymore, it’s eerily silent. Shane isn’t standing behind the bar, where he would typically be at this hour. Orla is tapping a pen against a pint glass, staring nervously at the back hallway door. The few customers scattered around the bar appear subdued, watching the televisions but not really seeing them. My first thought is, oh no, something happened to Kitty. It feels like someone is stepping on my throat at the possibility, but I manage to walk to the bar and casually ask Orla what’s going on. I’ve never actually spoken to the perpetually late redhead, apart from an odd hello once in a while, but she answers me now without hesitation.

“Shane is in the office, talking to a man who walked straight in off the bleedin’ street. Brought his solicitor and everything.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “They come to talk about buying the inn. They didn’t even have an appointment. It’s cheeky, if you ask me.”

“Cheeky,” I repeat softly. When I first walked into the Claymore with my suitcase, the thought of selling it was repellant. Now, it feels like a sacrilege. This is a home. A place to be proud of. It has character and memories. Good and bad, yes, but
their
memories. How could you walk away from something like this? On top of these rapid-fire thoughts, I’m keenly aware that this puts Shane one step closer to leaving Dublin. Back to racing and traveling around the world.

This is good. Knowing his time here has a specific deadline is good. It’ll make it easier to get on the plane, knowing he’s not standing behind the bar in the same place I left him, while I move farther and farther away.

Jesus, I’m turning into a really good liar.

“From New York, the bloke is. Not even Irish.” She lays a hand on my arm. “Nothing against your lot, it’s just that an American will ruin it straightaway. Put up a bunch of flat-screens on the walls and show American football on them. They’ll definitely want someone behind the bar with decent tits.” She pokes the side of her right boob. “These sad, old danglers won’t stand a chance.”

“You…they’re fine,” I stammer. Honestly, this is our first conversation and we’re already discussing her rack. “My bra is padded enough to double as a flotation device.”

Orla’s face clears of worry as she laughs. “Ah, I get it now. Why our Shane has the wee eye for ya.”

“The wee what?”

“He’s been jumpier than a bag of cats since you arrived. I doubt it’s a coincidence.”

“Maybe I give him indigestion?”

Orla leans forward on the bar, as if imparting a great secret. “Irish men are a complicated sort. That one more than most. Don’t judge by what you see on the surface, or they’ll knock you on your arse when you’re not looking.”

I stow that insight away for later examination. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Why doesn’t he fire you? You’re never on time.” When she bursts out laughing, I can’t contain my own smile. “I know from experience he doesn’t take anyone’s shit, so why—”

“Does he continue to employ me?” Orla sighs. “My husband lost the use of his legs in a factory accident last year. It’s been a difficult adjustment. When I’m late to work, it’s normally because I’m hauling him to physical therapy and back.” She shrugs. “Or we’ve simply had a bad morning.”

I’m staggered by this. Not only Shane’s generosity toward Orla, which he’s never uttered a word about, but it proves he cares about this pub and the people who work in it. He’s not as indifferent about the Claymore Inn as he presents to the world.

Orla is watching me process this, I realize. A customer walks into the bar, drawing Orla away, but before she goes to serve him, she taps a finger to her temple. “Irish men.”

Her words ringing in my head, I turn to leave, intending to take a hot shower and attempt sleep. Before I reach the door, Shane walks out with two men in suits. His blue eyes lock on me immediately, the somberness in them tugging at my heart. He opens his mouth to say something, to me, I think, when the kitchen door bursts open and Faith walks out. She’s holding a giant, silver ladle in her hand, her hair pulled back in a messy bun.

“Have you sold it, then?”

Behind me, the pub goes silent. It even sounds like the volume of the music has been turned down. Several chairs scrape back and without turning around, I know the regulars at the bar are watching with avid interest. Shane nods to a young, blond man holding a suitcase. “Faith, this is Joseph DeMatteo and his—”

“An
Italian
,” Orla shouts from the bar. “Running an Irish pub? Has the entire world gone mad?”

Shane pinches the bridge of his nose. “We’ve a week to decide if we want to accept the offer, Faith. We’ll discuss it later.”

“What’s to discuss? We all know what your decision is going to be.” She throws the ladle down on the ground with a clatter, remnants of soup splattering her shoes. “You hate it here. You always have. We might as well start packing, Ma and I.”

“Faith, this isn’t the place.”

“What is the place, if not here?” She swipes a hand over her eyes. “This is the only place I
know
.”

Both suited men shift in their loafers, clearly uncomfortable with the family drama playing out around them, although I sense a hint of satisfaction over Faith’s words. They obviously hadn’t been sure up until this point of Shane’s decision, something I find odd. I’d been so sure that the second an offer was made on the inn, he would be laughing his way out the front door.

Shane makes eye contact with me, and I know what he’s asking. He doesn’t even have to say it out loud. I give him a subtle nod, then walk over to Faith, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Why don’t we go upstairs? I’ll show you the pictures I took today.”

“Oh, that’s grand. You two are working together now.” She yanks herself away from me. “I’m not Kitty. I don’t need a babysitter. Piss off.”

Okay, after talking to her like a petulant child, I guess I deserve that. It was a move worthy of an inept boyfriend, the equivalent of telling a woman to, “Calm down.” Since I have only a passing knowledge of how to comfort someone, though, I cut myself a tiny bit of slack. I change tactics, hoping to appeal to the pride she takes in good service, the running of the pub. All the while, I’m battling the painful squeeze in my stomach over the tears brimming in her eyes. “You making a scene isn’t going to change anything, Faith,” I whisper. “It’s only going to give people something to talk about.”

She seems to snap back to herself, then, attention landing on what I suspect are rapt customers, observing the scene with interest. With a frustrated sob, she pushes off me and runs through the hallway door. Shane starts to follow her, but I put a hand on his arm.

“I’ll go.”

His eyes are on Faith’s retreating back. “Thank you.”

I’ve never been inside Faith’s room, nor do I know which one it is, but I see a door slam just beyond the base of the stairs. I pause outside for a moment, take a deep breath, then push inside. Faith is lying facedown on the bed, face buried in a pillow. Surprisingly, she’s not crying. Her body is completely still. From a tightening in her shoulders, though, I know she’s aware that I’ve entered. It takes her a moment to sit up and face me.

“I hate him.”

My first inclination is to say, “No, you don’t,” but I stay silent. Faith doesn’t have the capacity to hate anyone, especially her brother. I know that, but telling a female how she feels, right on the heels of asking her to calm down, might get me stabbed with the letter opener I see on her bedside table.

“This place, it represents our da to him. That’s why he can’t stand it here. Can’t stand to remember what it was like.” She swipes a hand under her nose. “They couldn’t even be in the same room, the two of them. Then what happened six months ago—”

Quickly, I cut her off. “What was it like? With the two of them here?” It’s not that I don’t want to know what happened six months ago. I do. It’s that I sense it’s the piece of the puzzle I’ve been missing and I want Shane to be the one to tell me. What sense does that make?

Faith yanks the rubber band from her hair, letting her dark mane fall around her shoulders, a kink in the middle where the rubber band held it together all afternoon in the kitchen. I notice the slump of her shoulders, the dark circles around her eyes and I’m slammed with guilt. All day I’ve been feeling sorry for myself when Faith is about to lose everything she has ever known. I’m a horrible friend. I don’t even know how to be a friend.

“We couldn’t do anything right. None of us.” She blows out a breath. “But Shane got it worst of all, being the son. If I ever did something right, it came as a shock to my father. Shane’s mistakes were unacceptable. When he was younger, he tried harder. Wanted to do better. He worked himself to the bone. It was never good enough. Nothing was
ever
good enough.” A sob works its way free of her mouth. “I take it back. I don’t hate my brother.”