Wild Irish Envy (Copperline #2) Page 4

  I couldn’t help it. Every nurturing instinct in me took over, and I held her close while she shook with uncontrollable tremors. Her teeth chattered and she felt so incredibly fragile.

  I was not a huge guy by any means, just a hair over six feet, more lean muscle as opposed to the thick brawn of a couple of my friends back in Montana. Still, she felt so small in my arms, so tiny and frail. I wanted to shelter and protect her. Especially now, while she was so vulnerable with illness.

  It was like I’d been given a free pass to treat her the way I’d always wanted to before.

  February, four years ago

  I couldn’t get her out of my mind after that first chance encounter. Summer came and went, the fall semester dragged on into spring, and my desire to be at school lessened even more. If I was honest with myself, the main thing that made me go to class every day was the hope that I’d run into her.

  By that point, I knew she was on campus and starting her degree. Her name would come up once in a while in passing or posted on a list somewhere that proudly named honor students. She was a sharp one, in spite of the fact that she was so young. I kept mentally doing the math in my head, trying to figure out at what point she’d be legal, as creepy as that sounds.

  This fixation on her didn’t make a lot of sense to me. I’d only met her the one time, and we’d only had a few hours. But I couldn’t seem to stop it. She held a familiarity right out of the gate that made me feel like I’d known her all my life.

  I kicked myself for not getting her cell number. I wasn’t even sure what her last name was until I’d seen it posted on the honor roll. Felicity stuck out. And Williams, like her grampa in the photograph on the wall of the mining museum.

  All I knew was that I wanted to see her again. It didn’t seem to matter how much I drank or what I toked or who I shagged. I just couldn’t get her out of my mind. So I waited it out, hoping I’d run into her again. Wishing that, when I did, she’d be old enough for me to do something about it.

  One evening, the guys and I were practicing. Drew was playing around with some lyrics I’d written, figuring out a baseline riff, while Cody helped to set the beat. Justin, who would add his lead chords later, leaned up against the wall sipping on a beer when our buddy Trent stopped by.

  Trent had been a friend of the band from the start. In fact, he’d actually had a lot to do with our existence on the music scene. He’d known Drew off and on since they were kids, and we all kinda hung out together. At the beginning of the fall semester, he had talked us into doing a campus radio show from the station in the basement of the Student Union Building. Our spot was pretty late at night, and half the time we were a bit shlossed and stoned when we were on the air. We started fiddling around with our own music live during the show, bringing in some instruments. Sometimes we’d take callers and one schnockered fella who called in had said “Damn, you mofos are bangin’!”

  And the Bangin’ Mofos were born.

  Before long, Trent had taken the initiative to line up a few gigs, taking on the role of band manager, more or less. The guy had no musical ability whatsoever, but his talent was in getting us organized. He and my buddy Brannon, who I’d met in a welding class, started scouting out places for us to play, and ultimately, we ended up with a slot on weekends at the Copperline Bar, a rowdy joint about halfway between Butte and a small town called Ophir.

  The newly formed Bangin’ Mofos got together almost every afternoon, much to the horror of Drew’s mom and dad, in their garage. Drew still lived at home, although he was actively searching for a new place to live. He kept talking about finding a place big enough for the four of us Mofos so we could practice all the time. He sorta had some delusions of grandeur that we were going to make it big someday.

  In the meantime, though, the garage was large and heated, something that had allowed us to continue practicing through the cold winter months. February was almost behind us, and, although you never really knew when spring would come to stay in the Rocky Mountains, it was unseasonably warm. We had the big garage door open as we fiddled around with a new melody when Trent pulled up across the street.

  “Awe, fuck,” Justin said, watching our friend get out of his truck, “Trent’s got a girl with him.”

  “Another one?” Drew sighed. “Sometimes I think the only reason he wants us to make it is so he has an inroad to more pussy.”

  I laughed at that. Unlike Brannon, who just seemed to appreciate the attention our notoriety was beginning to garner, Trent sort of worked it. He had done a lot for us, so it wasn’t a big deal. None of us really denied that he got us started, so when he used that as part of his pick-up line, we all kinda went with it. I turned back to the street as I strummed my old acoustic guitar and began to belt out the lyrics when my voice caught in my throat.

  Because Trent was with her.

  I suddenly felt a little ill.

  Not Fliss, I thought to myself. Anyone but her.

  She was supposed to be mine.

  But it was her, holding my friend’s hand as they walked up the driveway.

  “Denny, dude,” Drew called out to me, “are you going to sing, or what?”

  Shaken from my stupor, I realized that, not only had I missed my cue to start, I’d also completely stopped playing my guitar.

  “Right,” I mumbled, “sorry about that.”

  Justin stepped over to me and leaned in, his eyes on the pair coming towards us. “Damn, she is a pretty little thing, isn’t she. I wonder if Trent would be up for some threesome action.”

  I scowled over at him, but he just laughed and walked back over to his usual spot.

  Drew set down his guitar and walked forward to greet the happy couple. I sorta wanted to puke.

  I took a few minutes to gather my wits, walking over to a storage shelf where I’d put my beer and sucked it down. As I turned back around, Trent was motioning her over to me.

  She was absolutely as beautiful as she had been, if not more so. In just under a year, she’d matured a little and lost some of that ‘little girl’ look about her. The one thing that had put me off. The one thing that had made me hold back.

  Her hips were fuller and shapely. Gone was the t-shirt and jeans to be replaced with a sinfully sexy dress that, while the neckline didn’t show much skin, seemed to showcase her amazing tits and slender waist. And her smile had grown even more seductive, her makeup more refined. The way she carried herself seemed all that much more tempting.

  Part of me was elated. Because I had seen this in her, the potential for her to be this amazing and perfect woman… the stuff wet dreams were made of.

  But as Trent brought her over to me, all that elation fizzled into a sullen sick feeling in my gut.

  “Denny,” he grinned, “this is Felicity.”

  Her smile faltered for a second when he introduced us. For a split second, I wondered if she’d thought of me after all this time like I’d thought of her.

  “Denny,” she whispered before she dropped her eyes and took a deep breath. Looking back up at me, she stuck out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  As though we’d never met. That was a bitter pill to swallow, and I felt like it was choking me. For a second, I wanted to grab her and shake her. To go all juvenile and tell Trent that I saw her first and he couldn’t have her.

  “Felicity,” I ultimately said, not really liking how her whole name felt on my tongue. I liked it shorter, but I didn’t really want to do that here, now… in front of her boyfriend. “Nice to meet you, too.”

  Which was a complete lie. At that moment, I had so many emotions raging through my body. I was excited to see her, enthralled with how beautiful she was. Everything I’d remembered and more. But I was also angry, at myself for never really seeking her out. For just waiting to see her again, for chance, my supposed Irish luck, to bring her back to me.

  And I was angry at Trent for claiming her first, putting her out of my reach. I may have done some shady shite in my day, but I was a loyal f
riend and that was a line I wouldn’t cross.

  “I’m taking Felicity to dinner at the Uptown,” Trent grinned, smiling even wider as Drew gave a long, low whistle.

  “Wow,” Justin remarked, “going all out, huh?”

  “First date and all. I’ve had my eye on her for a while,” he said, pulling her up against him, and I sort of felt like I was choking when she looked up at him with a sweet smile. “Special place for a special girl.”

  Right then, I knew I could never do it. Even if they only dated a month, I couldn’t go there. Trent was a bit of a manwhore, but he was my friend and he had just called her ‘special.’ He was telling all of us that she was off limits.

  I quit going to classes the following week. What little motivation I’d had to continue had disappeared when I saw her smile up at him. When I realized that the only thing keeping me at Tech was now out of my reach.

  Drew sorta kept me company. He’d not gone much before, really, only enough to keep from going on academic probation. The two of us sat around most of the time, smoking weed and making plans for a future that didn’t really include a degree. I had no business being an engineer. I loved to weld, but more for artistic expression than anything constructive. I was an artist in a school full of scientists. But if I dropped out, I’d need a place to live.

  Drew found a big house for rent in Ophir, about twenty miles or so from Butte, and we went to check it out. It wasn’t horribly cheap, but splitting the rent four ways, it could be very affordable.

  So we talked the other Mofos into moving to Ophir. Both Drew and I dropped out. Cody and Brannon finished up with their two-year automotive degrees and began to breathe new life into the repair business Brannon had inherited from his grandfather. Justin kept going to school, probably just as a way to find more pussy.

  I began to do a little sheet metal work for Brannon from time to time. I also tinkered around with bits and bobs of scrap metal and began to sculpt some stuff. An influential old bird saw one of my pieces once as she came into Bran’s garage to pick up her car, and got kind of excited about it. She said she’d been looking for something just like it to put in her garden to trail some sort of viney kind of plant over, and she asked Brannon if it was for sale. Brannon put her in contact with me, and the next thing I knew, she’d commissioned another piece to use as a gate.

  She referred a few of her friends who placed orders here and there, and I started taking some pieces I’d just sort of randomly made to the Farmer’s Market. In little-to-no time, I more or less had a business. I’d gotten my own welding equipment and, between that and the automotive work I did for Brannon, was earning a decent wage.

  All under the table, since my student visa had expired. In a small town like Ophir, though, it was a little easier to fly under the radar, and that whole citizenship thing just sort of faded into the background. We became well-known faces in the small community, but one of the best things about rural Montana was that folks seemed to trust each other a little more. If you knew someone who knew someone, that was good enough, and little things like green cards were non-issues.

  All this time, the Bangin’ Mofos continued to play, continued to party.

  And I did everything I could to get over the nagging emptiness that took over every time I thought of Felicity Williams.

  Present day

  The call to put our seatbelts on for the descent into Dublin woke me. Fliss was still nearly comatose against my shoulder, well-medicated by the NyQuil. She was still feverish, and her forehead had a dewy gleam of sweat. I didn’t want to leave her alone like that.

  I called my da from the plane to check on my grandmother. We’d have to wait for the bulk of the passengers to disembark anyway, and Fliss was out cold.

  He answered on the third ring.

  “Hey da,” I said. “We just landed in Dublin. How’s nanny?”

  “Well, Denny,” he said, sounding a little weird. “I’m not really sure how to tell you this.”

  “Awe, bloody hell… am I to late?”

  “She’s gone, son.”

  I threw my head back against the seat. A few hours. I missed seeing her by a few hours.

  “She went off home to make ya lunch,” my da continued.

  “Wait, what?” I asked. “I thought she was dying.”

  “Crazy old wan,” he said, and I could hear the grin in his voice. “I went in to sit by her after you texted you were about to take off from Newark. I told her you were on your way and to hang on a little longer because you would be there soon. She opened her eyes and said she had better get going on the bacon and cabbage then.”

  I was completely gobsmacked.

  And then I laughed because it was so like her. She’d been bugging me to come back to Dublin for a good two years, if not more. She had really started after me when I dropped out of school, but it really didn’t work then because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to go back to Ophir since my student visa wasn’t really valid at that point. But she’d outsmarted me.

  More importantly, though, she was okay.

  “Well then,” I said to my da after I got a handle on myself, “I’ve got a friend who I’m going to help get checked into a hotel, and then I’ll come by.”

  “You brought a friend?”

  “Nothin’ like that,” I quickly covered. “Someone from Butte who’s coming over to write her thesis.”

  “Her?”

  “Da, don’t.”

  “Fine, son,” he said, and I could only imagine the wide smile on his face, “we’ll see ya later then.”

  “Jaysus, da,” I begged, “don’t say anything.”

  “About seven tonight, Denny,” he interrupted and then quickly ended the call.

  I roused Fliss, who seemed worse for wear and horribly groggy, as the plane emptied out. Once most of the passengers had left, I gathered up her carry-on and mine and ushered her towards the exit. She seemed to be very out of it, but whether from the cold medicine or the illness itself, I couldn’t tell.

  On our way out of the airport terminal, heading out to the taxi queue, I spotted another smoothie place, and loaded her up with another pomegranate smoothie. She hadn’t eaten since I’d been with her, but she also didn’t really seem to want to. I figured she’d go for the cool, fruity taste on her throat, though, and she needed some nutrition. It did seem to help her perk up… if only just a little.

  “So where are ya staying, Fliss,” I asked as we headed out the terminal doors to get a cab.

  “The, um… shit… Capital something?” she began to rifle through her purse and pulled out a slip of paper holding her hotel confirmation email. “Here it is. The Grafton Capital. I’m staying there for a few days until the flat is ready.”

  She could barely keep her eyes open in the cab on the way to the hotel. As we turned a corner, she sort of slid into me, so I once again slipped my arm around her to hold her a little bit steady. I was hoping the taxi driver didn’t think I’d drugged her, although she was totally giving off that vibe.

  The clerk at the hotel seemed to have similar thoughts as I helped Fliss get checked in. Just so it didn’t totally look creepy, I took my bags up as well. I just sorta pretended we were a couple, doing what I could to show some familiarity rather than just appearing to be some dodgy fella who just wanted to get her to her room.

  As soon as I unlocked the door, Fliss flopped down on the bed with an exhausted sigh.

  “Oh, I never thought lying down could feel so good,” she moaned. “It’s wonderful.”

  I pulled out a bottle of water from my bag that I’d gotten at the airport and another dose of the NyQuil.

  “Here, Fliss,” I said, nudging her and holding out the medicine, “better take another dose before you wind up feeling like shite again.”

  She lifted just enough to get the gelcaps down with a swig of the water before curling up into a shivering little ball.

  “I’m going to see my family,” I murmured as I slipped off her shoes and helped to pull the
blankets back to allow her to climb beneath them. “I’ll come back in a bit to check on ya, alright?”

  She nodded what seemed like some understanding of what I had said, and then her eyes drifted closed again as she snuggled into the pillow. I tucked the blanket around her shoulders and, grabbing the spare key card on the way out, left her there to rest.

  “So you brought a girl with you,” my younger sister Ciara said as she opened the door to my nanny’s house. No ‘hi, how are you?’ or even a ‘hey, Denny’s here!’ Just straight to the question, and I gave my da a dirty look that he simply chose to ignore.

  “I didn’t bring her with me,” I argued. “She was coming here anyway and fell ill on the plane. I was just helping her get checked into her hotel.”

  “Is she pretty?”

  “Ciara, it’s not—” I began, only to be interrupted by my sister.

  “I don’t care. Is she pretty?”

  “She’s American,” my da said, and just then my nanny came out of the kitchen with a wide smile on her face. She looked smaller. Frail. Completely unabashed that she’d gotten me to come to Dublin under false pretenses.

  “Gossún,” she smiled, “you’re just in time.”

  “Bacon and cabbage, huh, nanny?”

  “Of course,” she said, “it’s your favorite.” She looked around me to the front door. “Why, Denny, where are your bags?”

  “Probably at the hotel with his American girlfriend,” Ciara giggled, and I shot her a dirty look.

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” I argued.

  “You have an American girl? You should have brought her to lunch,” my nanny said.

  “She’s not feeling well,” I explained. “And, really, she’s not mine, anyway, so why would I bring her here?”

  And that was the common theme through the meal. Not so subtle hints about Fliss. Who was she? Where was she from? Was she Catholic? (This seemed to be most important to my mother who seemed overly concerned about the eternal souls of her future grandchildren.)