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I help her into her clothes. She tries to hide the pain when she has to move that hurt shoulder, but I see it in her eyes. I wish I could soak it into myself and take it away from her.
Before long, we’re in the car and on our way to the pub. She’s quiet, chewing on her bottom lip.
“He’s just letting off some steam,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “He’s fine, Anastasia.”
“Archer doesn’t drink,” she says. “Not because he’s an addict, he just doesn’t like it. So, if he’s drunk enough to be singing in a bar, he’s really churned up inside, and I hate that.”
“Or he just wanted to drink a couple of pints and got carried away.”
She nods, but I know she’s not buying it. She’s worried about her brother, and if the tables were turned, I can admit I’d be the same.
It doesn’t take us long to reach the pub and find parking. When we step inside, we both stop cold and watch in horror as Archer, with a microphone held to his lips, sings a horrible rendition of Danny Boy.
“What is it with you Americans and Danny Boy?” I ask.
“Oh, dear God,” Anastasia says and hurries to weave her way through the high-top tables to the little stage. “Archer!”
“Stasia!” He smiles down at her with bleary eyes. “Found a new favorite pub.”
“Come down from there,” she says, holding up her right hand for him. “You’ve done enough singing.”
“I didn’t know I had such a knack for Irish music,” he replies as he stumbles down to the floor, much to everyone’s relief. I take Archer’s arm and help him over to a stool at the bar. “I’ll have another beer,” he says to Keegan, but I shake my head.
“I do believe we’ll be taking you home,” I say and slap his back.
“Nah, not ready to go home,” he says, shaking his head.
“A water, then,” Keegan says, sliding a tall glass over to Archer. “It’s refreshing for a singer’s throat.”
“Okay,” Archer says and takes a sip. Anastasia and I flank him, sitting on the stools on either side. As she makes sure he drinks his water, Shawn joins me.
“Thanks,” I say to my brother. “How long has he been here?”
“A few hours, at least,” Shawn replies. “He was already half-drunk when I got here. I needed a break from work.”
“How’s that going?” I ask.
“It’s going well, actually.” He takes a sip of his Guinness and watches me with cool green eyes. “I received a call yesterday from Luke Williams.”
“Did you, now?”
He nods slowly. “He said that he ran into you at a family gathering, and it reminded him that he’d been meaning to reach out to me about writing a screenplay for a story idea he has.”
“That’s awesome.”
“I didn’t realize Anastasia is related to Luke Williams.”
I laugh and then simply shrug. “She’s related, by marriage, to all kinds of interesting people. I’ll tell you about it sometime. Luke told me that he’s been watching your career and would like to work with you.”
“Well, he’s in luck because I’m between projects right now.” Shawn smiles, and then something behind me catches his eye. “You might want to get that chap home. He’s in a bad way.”
I glance back to see Archer glaring into his water glass.
“Aye, we’ll leave now. Keep me posted on the project.”
Shawn nods, and I turn just as Archer says, “I’d like to sing a song—”
“Come on, Bono, we need to get you home and tucked into bed.”
I take his arm, and with Anastasia following behind us, guide him out to the car. I pour him into the backseat and head toward home.
“I’m sorry,” Anastasia whispers.
“You need to stop apologizing for family,” I reply calmly. “We’ve both large ones, and we love them. There’s no need to be sorry for it.”
She nods, and by the time we reach the house, Archer has fallen asleep, snoring loudly.
“Come on, mate,” I say, pulling on his arm. “Let’s get you inside to bed. But you need to move under your own power because you’re too large for me to carry.”
He mumbles but manages to stand on his own steam to walk as I steer him through the house to the back bedroom.
Archer collapses onto the bed, still in his clothes, right down to his shoes. Murphy sniffs him and whines, I’m sure wondering what in the hell is going on.
“He can stay that way,” Anastasia says with a soft sigh. “It won’t matter to him if his shoes are on or off, and I’m too sore to try and wrangle them off his huge Fred Flintstone feet.”
I smirk and close the door behind me. Murphy leads us upstairs, and once we’re finally back in bed, snuggled up, Anastasia holds onto me tightly.
“Thank you,” she says. “For everything.”
