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“I know, but I still don’t want to cross her,” I replied but only vaguely heard his response.
Holy fuck. Feisty little Lochlan had a goddamn set of pipes on her. She was fucking incredible. Flawless even. When Raven and Cade obnoxiously joined in on the chorus, Isla harmonized right alongside them without once changing how the song should’ve gone.
What the ever-loving fuck?
By the second chorus, she had every fucking woman in the bar singing the lyrics—including Mom. Her stage presence was intoxicating.
“She used to be in a band,” Cade announced when the music began to fade. “Her once gothic little self used to travel with a band, doing bar appearances and small concerts. She had a whole fucking following. She plays guitar, is classically trained in violin and piano, and took voice lessons from some of the best coaches available for most of her life. You never stood a chance.”
“You fucking lost.” I grinned like a fucking idiot as I met Cole’s surprised expression. No one ever beat Cole in singing.
One point for the Byrnes.
One point for the Lochlans.
There was no fucking way we wouldn’t win this year.
“Thank you, thank you, darlings,” Isla said cheerfully into the mic after putting my guitar down—properly I might add. Okay, maybe I’d let her touch my guitar again. She had to fucking ask first.
Nolan always sang last, and the kid visibly paled when we all glanced down at him. The thing was, Nolan had social anxiety. Always had. He was great in small groups, he somehow was doing well managing the pack, but anything bigger? Like… say performing in a bar full of people staring at him? He couldn’t do that shit. But he fucking tried. The kid deserved more respect than anyone because we would’ve let him skip out on his turn, but he was determined to do it for the pack.
“Slide over, honey,” Declan whispered and gently nudged Raven in Cade’s direction as he nodded to me.
“Yeah,” I agreed quietly. I snapped my fingers at my brothers, getting Lucas and Finn to pay attention to us. Sam was on top of it despite being drunk. We perched on the edges of our seats and waited as ‘Head Over Boots’ started. Nolan cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets. The music moved from the intro into the first verse.
Nolan tried. He really fucking did. But even with the mic, we couldn’t hear him in the dead silent bar. Before the song ever hit the chorus, the five of us were on our feet and headed toward the stage on a fucking rescue mission. No one expected Nolan to fucking win, so there was no need for him to suffer.
“Oh, thank God,” Nolan whispered as Lucas threw an arm around his shoulders and stole the mic.
“Come on, this is prime Byrne boys dancing material,” Sam teased as Finn sang for the lot of us. “You didn’t think we’d miss out on this, did you?”
Not a fucking chance. For a good two and a half minutes, we sandwiched Nolan between us and belted out the lyrics to the best of our ability. I knew most of the song, Lucas and Finn knew mostly the chorus, and Declan and Sam resorted to making shit up as we went. It was a fucking mess.
But it was fucking perfect.
Chapter 32
Killian
Cigarette perched between my lips, I breathed in the silence. The bar was still wild as ever, even though the contest was over. Declan and Raven had left to go to bed, and Nolan had left with Isla to go for a walk, but that was it. There was no sign of the drinking chaos coming to an end.
Me? I just sat in silence. I couldn’t do more. I was thoroughly tapped the fuck out. I dropped into one of the chairs on the far end of the parking lot and just breathed. That was what I needed. To breathe through all the riled-up chaos colliding inside me.
“This spot taken?” Fucking Cade. I glanced over, grunting like a fucking caveman. He didn’t get the goddamn message and sat down in the chair next to me. Legs stretched out, he tried to make himself comfortable while pressing a bag of ice to his shoulder.
“What’d you do?” I asked because what the fuck else were we going to talk about?
“Punched a guy who almost ran over your wife in the bar fight,” he said plainly. Oh. Well, fuck him for putting it like that. It wouldn’t make me like him. “Threw my pitching arm out. I’ve got a reckless injury clause in my contract, so this needs to be usable in two days. But fuck, I don’t heal up the way I used to.”
The older we got as wolves, the longer it took us to heal. As pups, we were scrappy. But aging got the better of us.
“Maybe you’re getting old,” I muttered, trying to goad him into leaving. He was the last fucking person I wanted to spend time with.
“Definitely fucking peaked in my career, that’s for sure,” he stated. He was completely undeterred by my attitude. That fucking annoyed me. “I’ve got maybe another few seasons in me if I’m lucky. I—”
“I fucking hate small talk,” I snapped over him. Jesus fucking Christ, shoot me now. There wasn’t a single fucking part of me that wanted to listen to Cade talk about his fucking career. Blowing out a huff of smoke, I grumbled, “Go away.”
He didn’t.
