Unfixable (6 page)

Chapter Six

One day, a little over a year ago, Ginger locked her keys in her car. It was just about sunset on an unusually gorgeous day in Chicago and instead of calling Derek to come pick her up, she decided to walk home. Unfortunately, with fucked-up luck running in the family, her cell-phone battery died and she got lost. When she finally gave up on finding her way and called Derek from a payphone, he’d been ready to call in the National Guard. Seriously, I was there. He actually picked up the phone to make that call.

We’d immediately rushed out of the apartment to go pick Ginger up in a less-than-savory section of town, finding her in a Laundromat located beside an abandoned lot. The strained silence that reined in the car during the ride home was thick and impenetrable.

Exactly like the silence I’m experiencing now in the passenger’s seat of Shane’s car as Faith fumes in the backseat.

She didn’t make a scene in front of Brian and Patrick, but as soon as she’d seen Shane’s car idling at the curb, she became the poster child for angst. A glance in the rearview mirror tells me the back of Shane’s head is still the recipient of her ferocious glare. If his rigid posture is any indication, he feels that look like an ice pick lodged in his skull.

I grab onto the dashboard as Shane snakes between two delivery trucks and takes a quick right turn. He only has one hand draped casually over the steering wheel and yet, he somehow handles this car with practiced ease. It’s there in his eyes, the love of driving. I’ve seen him angry, and I’ve seen him turned on. This is a combination of those two emotions. Intensity snaps in the air around him, the rev of the engine corresponding to his body movements, as if he’s one with the car. It’s clear this is what he’s passionate about. What he was meant to do with his life. I glance away, back out the window.

Finally, we pull up in front of the Claymore Inn. Shane puts the car in park and for a second, no one moves. I unfasten my seat belt, intending to be the first one out, to give them time to hash out their private family issues. I don’t want to be involved, even if a small part of me wants to stick around and defend Faith, but she beats me to it.

“I’m sick to death of being treated like a child.” She snatches up her purse and throws open the back door. “You just
had
to come collect me like some sort of…unruly
teenager
.”

Thankfully, Shane doesn’t point out the irony of that statement. If he had, I’m pretty sure twin laser beams would have shot from Faith’s eyeballs to slice him in half. “Faith, if you wanted to go out, you could have talked to me. That part of town isn’t suitable—”

“Jesus, do you hear yourself? You sound like Da.”

Faith’s sobbed statement shuts Shane down cold. His hands drop from the steering wheel to lay in his lap. His sister isn’t finished, though. As I sit frozen in my seat, I listen to what I suspect is years of frustration pour out of her. It’s stilted and unnatural coming from the normally happy-go-lucky Faith, but it’s like she can’t control it. While I understand what she’s going through, I feel so horribly out of place sitting there, listening like an interloper. Once again I start to exit the car, just as Faith delivers the final blow.

“You left, Shane. You left because you couldn’t live under his thumb. Well, take a good, long look in the mirror, because you’re exactly like him. You
are
him.”

She slams the door and runs into the inn. My hand drops from my door, and I slump back in my seat. Tension hums in the car, and I know where it’s coming from. Shane is probably blaming this debacle on me. I’m woman enough to admit he might be half right. While this little scene was inevitable in my estimation, I urged it along by taking Faith out tonight.

There is also a shred of decency left inside me, apparently, because I feel bad on Shane’s behalf. Just a little. Like Shane, my sister had the unfortunate luck to be born first, giving her a sense of responsibility for me. The same kind Shane feels for Faith. It’s not something either one of them can turn off. Some people are built to care about others more than themselves. I’m not declaring him right or making excuses for him, but in that moment, I can see he didn’t just swoop into O’Kelly’s tonight like an overprotective father purely to be an asshole. There’s something more complicated simmering under the surface.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

I jerk my attention away from him to look out the windshield once more, wondering what he’s imagined on my face since he’s not even looking directly at me. Of course, it’s starting to rain
again
and droplets are obscuring my view of the street. On the spot, it turns the car into a closed-off void of which myself and Shane are the only residents. The feeling is only compounded by the darkness and lack of pedestrians on the usually busy street. There is no other sound apart from rain pattering on the roof, but both of our minds are clicking away. I can almost make it out over the steady downpour. “She didn’t mean it.”

He laughs without humor. “And what would you know about it, Willa? You don’t know a damn thing about us.” He’s silent a moment. “No. She meant every word of it.”

“I’m not getting involved,” I mean to say inside my head, but it slips out. Why do these lapses in my verbal skills keep happening around him?

“People like you can’t help getting involved.”

I peer through the near darkness at him, genuinely curious. “People like me?”

Finally, he looks over at me, but his eyes have gone blank. “You think everything can be solved with your unique logic or a snappy comeback. This isn’t one of your sappy Hollywood movies. Real life is more complicated than that.”

“Real life.”

“Are you just planning on repeating everything I say?”

Annoyed, I grab my purse and begin to dig through it, looking for my room key. I’m not going to sit here much longer in his über-pissed-off presence. Besides, despite my declaration that I don’t want to get involved, I have the urge to check on Faith. “God, Shane, what are you so fucking angry about?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

The rain starts to fall harder, pelting the roof, making me hesitant to leave the car and get soaked. “Answer it for yourself, since you seem to have me figured out.”

He sighs, but there’s anticipation in it. As if he’s thrilled to have the chance to finally let me know what he thinks of me. “If a breakup has sent you four-thousand miles away just to recover, I’m guessing there hasn’t been a ton of adversity in your life.”

“Really.” I hold in the burst of laughter dying to escape. “What sent
you
away from
here
?”

His expression hardens. “We weren’t talking about me.”

“We are now.”

Shane considers me a moment. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a righteous pain in the arse?”

I smile sweetly. “If I had a nickel…”

“Right.” He runs an impatient hand through his hair, and I try not to stare at the muscle flexing in his arms, stretching the fabric of his shirt. “Suffice it to say my father and I never saw eye to eye. When Faith says I’m just like him, she means to say I’m a controlling bastard.”

The harshness in his voice cuts through me. There are more unresolved issues here than raindrops on the windshield. “I thought the Irish were superstitious people. You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”

“I only speak the truth.” He’s all restless energy now, shifting in his seat, adjusting mirrors. “So let me guess. Your parents are in full support of this ridiculous pilgrimage to discover yourself. Maybe one of them has a friend on the committee that named you the contest winner?” Blue eyes drill into mine. “What would you know about having your every move criticized? Being told to get back behind the bar where you belong? You wouldn’t understand a goddamn thing about it.”

“You’re right. I don’t get it.” My anger is whipping through my chest like a gale wind. Never, I’ve
never
talked about my past with anyone outside my sister, save Evan. But I want to put this fucker in his place so badly now, that I can’t hold back. It all comes spilling from my lips, even though I know I’ll regret it the second I finish talking. “I understand nothing about having a controlling parent. I don’t know what it’s like to have a mom who brings you toast, even though it’s cold and rock hard. Or a father.
Period
.” I push my door open, no longer giving a damn about the rain. “I’ll see your overprotective daddy and raise you a prostitute mother with a nasty heroin habit. You
cocky
mother
fucker.
”

Slowly, he sits up straighter in the driver’s seat. “Wait—”

I slam the door on his stunned expression and stomp through the pooling water toward the inn. Through the wall of sound that is the torrential rain, I barely make out the sound of Shane’s driver-side door opening and closing. All I can focus on is getting inside, getting to my room, so I can scream into a pillow and try to forget I’ve just been reduced to a petulant teenager. I hate that he’s the only one who’s ever done it to me. With Evan, I allowed every piece of information about my mother, my past, to be revealed at my own comfortable pace. He’d never pushed or pried, never shown me anything but…

Pity
. Horrible, gooey, unwelcome pity. It hits me like a lightning rod, how much I’d resented Evan for that. From the beginning. Yet I’m only seeing it now. Awesome timing.

I’m just about to reach the entrance when Shane hooks an arm around my waist. I whirl around to push him away, but he pulls me back against his hard frame, walking us to the dark alley that runs alongside the inn.

“Why?” He growls into my wet hair, bracing one hand on the brick wall, keeping his other thick forearm wrapped around my middle. “Why can’t you stay put? Every time it gets uncomfortable, I have to chase you down.”

The words are so familiar. Evan said something similar to me once.
Why do you keep running from me?
All the struggle goes out of me at the visceral reminder of what a coward I am. “What are you going to say next?” Sarcasm drips from my voice. “That you just want to get to know me? That I have nothing to be scared of?”

“No.” He nudges his fingers just below the waistband of my jeans and presses down hard on my belly. Oh God, in my current worked-up state, I don’t expect the bullet of pleasure that wings me in the gut. It catches me off guard and I moan, head falling back against his rain-dampened shoulder. “I’m not going to say that. It would be a load of bullshit.” He fits his lap against my bottom, his lips drag up the side of my neck, bringing rain with them. “Here’s what I want to say, girl. Having to chase you only makes me want to pin you down.”

Like a bomb has been waiting for the right opportunity to go off, heat explodes through me, sending shrapnel in every direction. Some inner demon stowed away deep inside me loves the fact that he didn’t run after me spouting apologies. Reassuring me that my secrets are safe with him. It loves the honesty, has quite possibly been craving it for a long time.

It has been ages since I’ve had sex. That has to be the main reason I’m considering turning around, wrapping my legs around his waist, and letting Shane hate-fuck me against this filthy brick wall. I like sex, even if I’ve only ever had it with one person. Instinctively, I know Shane wouldn’t give me the sweet intimacy I’m used to. No tender looks or gentle kisses on my eyelids. He would be an entirely different experience, demanding and intense.

Shane’s hand curls into a fist at my belly. “Take back your words. Tell me I can touch you.” His breath shudders out, the sound almost lost in the pounding rain. “
Take it back
.”

“No,” I choke out, but my bottom presses back against him harder, contradicting my words. Shane groans and the sound liquefies my insides. It’s hot and needy and
male
.

“I’ll have you over him in five minutes flat, babe.” Biting my ear lightly, he fingers the snap of my jeans. “Let me take him right out of your head.”

I’m equally horrified and tempted. Tempted because, my God, I’ve never been so achingly hot or turned on in my life. I’m not even sure I knew what being turned on meant until right this moment, soaked to the skin in an alleyway while someone I’m supposed to dislike begs to have me. It’s an unbelievable rush, knowing the frustratingly complicated Shane wants me enough to let his pride slip for the chance. It would be amazing between us. I don’t need a crystal ball to tell me that. Even now, I’m battling the need to drag his hand down the front of my jeans, to the source of the throb he’s created.

But the horrified half of me wins.

I’ll admit it. I’m afraid. Afraid Shane is right. That letting go right now, letting this urge work itself out, might mean Evan slips a little further from my mind. Don’t I owe him more than that? I wasted two years of his life, and now I’m going to tarnish his memory, which is still fresh, by letting a near stranger attempt to exorcise him from my brain? My body? I can’t do it.

I try not to acknowledge the final reason I tear myself away from him. Shane would change me. For the better or worse, I don’t know. But I’m not ready to find out.

“Stop. You have to stop doing this.”

“You say that like its simple.” His head drops to the crook of my neck. “God, why do I hate the idea of you having had a fucking boyfriend? I shouldn’t give a shit. You’re just passing through.”

“I don’t know.” My voice is a strangled whisper. “Get over it.”

A beat passes, and then he lets me go with a harsh curse. I can feel his gaze burning into my back as I jog on unsteady legs toward the inn, wanting to go back and throw myself into his arms every step of the way.

Chapter Seven

It’s still dark outside Monday morning when Kitty knocks on my door. How do I know it’s her? She’s singing the American National Anthem. Maybe she’s starting to remember me. Or at least that there is an American sleeping on the other side of the door. For some reason, that fact makes me smile through my tigerlike yawn. I try to reach out and turn the rattly glass knob without leaving the bed, but when I almost eat shit onto the floor, I give up and stand.

“Morning, Kitty.”

“Is that what you’re wearing?”

Glancing down at my flannel boxer shorts and Chicago Police Department T-shirt in sleepy confusion, I open my mouth to respond, but it snaps shut when she glides past me into the room. Today, she’s wearing creased black slacks and a silk button-up blouse, two sizes too big. Her hair is being held up by a knitting needle and as she walks past, I jerk back before I’m impaled by the sharp end. A brush with death already and I haven’t even drank a cup of coffee yet. Never a dull moment in this country.

Since Friday night, I’ve been sticking to my routine of leaving before the pub opens and sneaking back in when it’s too busy for Shane to take too much notice. The weekends mean bigger crowds in the pub, but it’s Monday now and I’m not sure how much longer my luck is going to last. Even though we haven’t spoken, I can feel his attention slide over me every time I walk past the bar, telling me my presence doesn’t go unnoticed. The one time Shane and I made eye contact, I was surprised to find him looking less hostile and more thoughtful as he watched me slip through the pub. He had that face Derek gets when he’s looking through a homicide case file. It’s certainly not helping that I’ve been dreaming about blue eyes, rough hands, and a certain accent that makes everything sound like a good idea. Honestly, I never pegged myself for a girl who fawns over accented men, but I’ve started hearing my name in my head the way he pronounces it.
Will-eh.

It’s fucking annoying.

I’ve spent the last couple days strengthening my resolve. Thankfully, Faith has been busy waiting tables all weekend, so I haven’t had to contend with her inviting herself along to more places with me. Not that her company wouldn’t be welcome, but antagonizing Shane is at the bottom of my Bucket List. Yesterday, I’d gone to a one-woman show at the Abbey Theatre, having scored a last-minute matinee ticket. Afterward, I’d spent the afternoon people-watching at Trinity College, listening to the tour guides for free from my sprawled-out position on the grass while I waited for film to be developed at the One Hour Photo.

Today I’m planning on doing something for Ginger. Yesterday I overheard a group of tourists discussing the Heritage Center at Dalkey Castle, where they’d been heading to trace their Irish lineage. Since I could be 100 percent German for all I know about my heritage, this could be a total waste of time. Ancestry wasn’t something often discussed in the Peet household. Ginger and I aren’t even certain if we have the same father, although it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference either way. She’s my sister, plain and simple. But isn’t it worth the trip to find out if maybe, just maybe, we can think of ourselves as something bigger than the unwanted offspring of Valerie Peet? I think so. A bus schedule sits on my bedside table and I’m planning on heading out to Dalkey as soon as I get dressed.

Kitty raps on the glass overlooking the street. “Have you seen the owl outside your window?”

I follow her line of vision knowing I’ll see nothing. “There’s an owl?”

“Sure, maybe it was yesterday. I can’t keep track.” Kitty looks crestfallen, but a smile chases it away. She goes to my dresser, flips over the tea cup, and begins to pour tea. From the lack of steam, I know it’s ice cold. “Why do you never hang out down in the pub? We really have a lovely menu. Our cook, Martin, takes the bus in every morning from Howth with fresh fish. It’s gorgeous with chips, so it is.”

To be honest, I
do
want spend some time down in the pub. When I walk through the buzzing crowd at night, I’m always tempted to pull up a stool and watch everyone operate. The old men at the bar, left over from the day crowd, shaking their heads at the younger customers’ antics. Office workers whose ties and tongues get looser the later it gets. There always seems to be a bachelorette party/pub crawl of some sort taking place, putting a group of girls in feather boas and glitter lotion. It’s Shane. He’s the reason I don’t stay. Yet if I dig deep into my subconscious, I’d probably realize he’s also the main reason I
want
to stay. So go figure.

“I’ve heard good things about the cod.” I push my tangled hair back over my shoulder. “Some night I’m definitely going to stop in.”

“A fib if I ever heard one.”

“Yeah.” I laugh, still too groggy to make a convincing denial. Kitty sets the teapot down on the dresser and starts to make the bed. Guess I won’t be going back to sleep, after all. With a shrug, I head to the bathroom and brush my teeth, wondering why she’s decided to switch up the routine, almost as if she knows I’d planned on getting an early start today. My musings are interrupted when I hear a deeper voice coming from the bedroom. The last of my sleepiness shoots toward the ceiling and sticks like slime.

Shane is in my bedroom.

I freeze in place, hating myself for checking my reflection in the mirror. I’m currently somewhere in the neighborhood of Swamp Thing’s ugly cousin. No way am I going out there. I shut off the running water in the sink to listen, trying to figure out why he is in my room.

“You took the wrong pot, Ma.” His voice is gentler than usual as he sets something down with a
thunk
. “This one’s just boiled. I’ll trade you.”

“You know, I thought something about it felt odd.” The note of embarrassment in her voice makes me frown. “The temperature, like.”

“The pots look the same, don’t they? Easy mistake.” A floorboard creeks. “Now when you start serving coffee to the guests, we’ll know you’ve finally lost the plot.”

In my horror, I drop my tooth brush, but the sound only interrupts Kitty’s delighted laughter. Obviously, she is far from offended, but now I’ve given myself away as an eavesdropper. Honestly, the fact that I’ve become an eavesdropper in my own room is exasperating. Throwing one last disgusted glance at myself in the mirror, I swagger into the bedroom. As much as one can swagger in boxer shorts and bare feet.

Shane comes into view, his gaze running over my bare legs before snapping back up to search my face. There it is again, that thoughtful expression that makes me wonder what he’s thinking when I shouldn’t give a flying fuck. His hair is slightly more rumpled than usual and he’s wearing suspenders. Apart from firefighters, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone wear them in real life. They look so good and natural on him it’s unnerving. Kitty is looking between me and Shane with a serene expression on her face, as though we’ve just finished discussing the weather. Do they even need to discuss the weather here? Rain. There, discussion over.

“Well.” Kitty picks up both teapots, smiling cheerfully as she glides toward the door. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Shane makes no move to follow her. I raise a single eyebrow and point toward the door, but Kitty is already closing it behind her. All I can do is gape.

“What are you still doing here?” My breaths are shortening. This is far too intimate, both of us sleep-tangled, standing in the dim morning light with a bed so close. Without the armor of my jeans and boots in place, I feel far too exposed. I need him to leave. “You have to go.”

“In a moment.”

“
God
, your family lacks basic boundaries.” I shift my feet on the cold floor. “Do you have tea parties at six in the morning with all your guests, or am I just that special?”

“Fair warning, girl. I’m having trouble contending with your smart mouth and those shorts at the same time.”

My hands fly to the hem of my boxers, but I stop at the last second and cross my arms over my chest. I refuse to cover up my legs in my own room. “What do you want?”

“I should think that was obvious by now.”

Me. He means me. I can tell by the way his voice has dropped, falling like a boulder in the quiet room. I take a step backward, away from his intensity, even though there is a dark, untapped part of me that wants to venture closer.

“Please rid yourself of that nervous expression. Don’t you think I realize this is inappropriate, coming into your room like this? You never stand still long enough to give me another option.”

There is a thread of frustration in his voice that echoes in the pit of my stomach. “Say what you came to say. I have plans.”

“Of course you do.” He scrubs a hand over his stubbled jaw. “What you said Friday night in my car… I don’t like being wrong. Something tells me you understand that feeling well.”

I don’t respond, but he definitely has my attention now. He’s talking about my impulsively telling him about my mother. The threat of him coming any closer fades, some unnamed intuition telling me it wouldn’t be his style to catch me off guard with a reminder of something upsetting and then take advantage. Still, I’m far from relaxed. Relaxing around Shane simply isn’t a possibility. Especially not now when he looks like he’s just crawled out from between a pile of twisted sheets.

Shane clears his throat and nods toward my shirt. “Chicago Police Department. Do you know someone on the force, or did you get that as a souvenir for being arrested?”

The abrupt subject change throws me off. “That was it, huh? Your whole apology?” He simply leans against the doorjamb and raises an eyebrow. Apparently his implying he might have been wrong about me is all I’m going to get this fine morning. Although something tells me a brief, stilted explanation counts as groveling in Shane’s world. “My sister’s husband Derek. He’s a homicide lieutenant now, but he’s being promoted soon to captain.”

Remembering how I came by this T-shirt makes me smile. The first week Ginger and I lived in Chicago, our apartment flooded. Derek had come out into the hallway, taken one look at both of us in soaked nightclothes, and stomped back into his apartment to retrieve two department T-shirts, mainly because he didn’t like the group of firemen ogling Ginger. His concern for me came secondary, but I didn’t care. It was the first time someone besides Ginger had gone out of their way to make me comfortable. I’ll keep this damn shirt until I die.

“He’s important to you.” His statement jerks my attention back to the present. There it is again, that reflective expression on his face, as if he’s trying to solve an algebra equation.

“And?”

“What else is important to you, Willa?”

My laughter is a little too unnatural. “Why do you care?”

“I told you, I don’t like being wrong.”

“That’s it?”

Shane stays silent, dragging white teeth over his full bottom lip. In his own way, he’s answering me, but I can’t fully interpret his meaning. He asked me what I consider important, though, and I have a hard time letting an opportunity pass to talk about my sister. It feels wrong to omit her importance in my life, and right now when I’m so far away and haven’t seen her in weeks, talking about Ginger makes her seem closer. It’s not because Shane makes me simultaneously want to let my guard down and reinforce it. It’s not.

“Ginger. My sister. She’s important to me,” I whisper, unsure why
letting my guard down
keeps winning the battle.

“I can see that.” He scrutinizes me a moment, as if debating whether to push for more. It confuses me. I don’t understand why he has taken a sudden fascination in my personal life when up until now he’s been so adamant about not giving a shit.

“If you think this little display of interest is going to get me into bed, you’re wrong.”

Shane laughs under his breath. “I’m not going to pretend I don’t want you beneath me.”

He says it without missing a beat, the confidence radiating from him heating me from across the room, as if we were standing in the Sahara instead of damp, chilly Ireland. I’m torn between affront and respect. He has a lot of goddamn nerve. But then, so do I. My hand presses shakily to my belly. Damn him, his honesty is appealing to me on some untapped level and he knows it. “I told you, it’s not going to happen.” It sounds less convincing every time I say it.

Shane nods. “Because you’re still in love with your Evan.”

“He’s not my Evan anymore.”

“Whose decision was that?”

“It’s complicated.”

He shrugs his wide shoulders, forcing a resigned sigh past my lips. There’s a part of me that needs to talk about it, I realize. As an added bonus, maybe if I explain the fucked-up reasons for my breakup, he’ll realize how important it is to keep his distance from me, just in case failure is contagious.

“Mine,” I say. “I broke up with him. But only because he was too nice to cut me loose himself.” Saying the words out loud hurts, but I won’t lie. I feel an immediate lessening of pressure in my chest, just releasing what I’ve been holding inside. Giving it over to the universe.

“You dated a nice guy,” Shane muses with a too-tight smile.

“The nicest.” I swallow hard, refusing to look away. One of my resolutions in coming here was to resuscitate the old Willa. She wouldn’t have minded her flaws being visible. Those flaws were what kept people from getting too close.
Look at them
, my throat aches with the need to scream. “He got the bum deal.”

“Explain that.”

I search for the right words on the ceiling. Unsurprisingly, they’re not there. I think back to the way Evan smuggled me into his circle of friends and put me on display. Look at her! Talk to her! Treat her like she’s one of us! They tried, too. He’d promised to scale my Mount Everest of issues and swing me Tarzan-style down the other side, beaming like a hero. Evan rarely failed at anything, and it visibly frustrated him when I didn’t seamlessly fit in. Captain of the basketball team and loved among his peers, he’d been determined to keep his streak alive with me. I’d watched him flounder from the sidelines, trying to understand why I couldn’t leave my deep-seated childhood trauma locked away where it wouldn’t offend or make anyone uncomfortable.