Unfixable Read online

  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 motherfucker.”

  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. I
t 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, af
ter 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.