Honestly, Sam couldn’t wait for all of them to go back to Ireland. It would be much easier to get closer to the younger Byrne sisters and Josephine O’Connor. He wouldn’t have to work so hard to dodge the Tulsa detectives. O’Connor’s personal guard might be challenging to step around, but one way or another, Sam knew these women would eventually star in his films. It would ruin them and destroy their families.
He could live hisownhappily ever after then.
Alas, tonight Sam found himself going to Wolves Irish Pub & Eatery at the unfashionable hour of five o’clock on New Year’s Eve. He, or she rather, as Sam was a gloriously rotund woman, squeezed into a sparkly black sweater dress— black to allow for dick concealment— atrocious silver ballet slippers— he wasn’t getting a disgusting bunion for a bit of good fun— and a brassy blonde wig, curled and hair sprayed to within of its life, was all he needed to secure a single table in the shadows.
He'd give his hostess her due. She smiled and kindly asked if he had a preference for seating.
Hoisting his ugly, black, pleather bag further up his shoulder— heavy because of multiple cameras— he used his best ‘older woman, I’ve smoked for forty years’ raspy voice and answered, “Thank you so much, young lady. If you have a small table for two somewhere out of the way, that would be perfect. An old high school girlfriend is supposed to be meeting me as soon as she gets to town. At this time of year, I’m afraid her flight may be delayed.”
“Oh, of course. There is one little table near the back that is close to the back garden, and even when it’s this cold, the heaters and shades make the space so nice,” the hostess gushed.
“Sounds perfect, bless your heart. And don’t you worry about checking on me much. I’ll order a few things while I wait for Mags and read a new juicy book I just started.” So easy. People see what they expect to see. Looking too closely is considered rude, especially with the younger ones. She either thinks I’m a badly dressed, odd-looking woman or a man dressed as a woman.
As it was so early in the evening, the hostess doubled as a waitress, so Tina helpfully took his order. Sam made sure to order two mixed cocktails, a large water, and two appetizers. No need to come back anytime soon, sweet girl. Just forget this little table in the shadows was occupied.
Sam decided to take a walk around while his order was working to get the lay of the land. He left his sparkly coat on the back of his chair and his novel tented on the table, cover up to display the scantily dressed couple. If the waitress came back before him, she’d know he was coming back.
The garden was a warm winter wonderland paradise. He could imagine quite a few couples having a private moment outside. The women’s restroom had a plush seating area with full-length and tabletop makeup mirrors for clothing tweaks and lipstick touchups. The perfect setup to hear gossip— and witness an occasional nip slip during tit adjustments. Sam could admit that Wolves was well done. Everything was new but comfortable, rich but understated. He hoped it burned to the ground.
8
The second Patrick’s foot passed through the garden’s doors, he knew he was fucking up. Not just a tiny fuck up, but a life-destroying fuck up.
He didn’t think anyone in his group noticed Miranda and him slipping out. He was about to tell the woman he’d made a mistake— changed his mind— loved someone... loved someone more than he should.
Patrick didn’t recognize himself... this scared, unreliable person he’d become.
Miranda ignored his disinterest or was so uninterested in anything but herself that she didn’t notice his lack of enthusiasm. They were in a part of the garden that sported several wooden benches and standing heaters. Patrick found himself sitting on one of the benches with Octo Hands straddling his hips. Patrick’s thoughts were muddled. He knew he was uncomfortable and only wanted to get back inside.
He stupidly allowed her one kiss before gently bracing her arms and moving her off his lap. “This was a mistake. I’m in a relationship.” One he’d already fucked up and just cheated on. Definitely not winning the Best Boyfriend Award anytime soon. Patrick was sickened by his behavior. Sick that Miranda was the type of woman he usually chose. Just... sick.
“What the hell, Patrick?” She asked, looking bewildered that he wasn’t already balls deep in her willing body.
“I don’t know.” Patrick attempted to explain, “I just don’t want to do this kind of shit anymore.”
Miranda stood, straightening her dress as she stood. “Whatever, Patrick. If you change your mind, come find me. I’m going to head back in and find my friends.” She looked at him curiously for a moment before walking away.
Patrick stayed sitting on the bench, letting his chin drop to his chest. Christ. He’d had everything. River loved him, and he loved her too, damn it! Why hadn’t he just said it back when she gave the words to him? Why didn’t he talk to her after... after what they’d shared? How she must have felt when he didn’t seek her out that night or the next day.
That version of Patrick needed to die. He never wanted to be so self-centered or so afraid of loving someone again.
He would have to tell her.
If he told her everything, begged her to let him prove he could change— was changed— maybe she would forgive him.
The question was whether he should talk to her tonight or wait until they were back in Dublin? They were flying out on the second of January. Not long, but still, Patrick disliked leaving things unsaid. Pushing off the bench, he decided to feel out River’s mood first. She’d seen Miranda touch him, but hopefully, she was too busy dancing to notice Patrick had gone outside with the woman.
Slipping back into the pub’s warmth, he was relieved to see the women still dancing. No one glanced his way. He used the restroom before joining the guys, who were all entranced. He was happy to see that Jane was dancing with the other women. No men were around them. Thomas must have made sure that wasn’t an option. Thank God for the guard’s diligence.
Bran briefly glanced his brother’s way and nodded. “It’s almost twelve. What do you guys think? Should we join our women on the floor? I don’t know about you clods, but I’m kissing Raven at midnight— bring the New Year in right,” Bran said, grinning.
James and his dad stiffened at Bran’s suggestion— Patrick felt his body freeze. Pat knew his expression must resemble the other men. A combination of yearning and fear. Their eyes were all trained on the dance floor.
Noticing their hesitation, Bran looked to James, saying, “You realize this might be your chance to at least hold the woman you love.” James stood immediately. “And Pat, you need to fix shit with River, brother.” Great. Raven must have told him.
Before Bran turned to follow James, he glanced at their father’s stony expression. “Dad, for fuck’s sake. Don’t leave Rowan by herself.” Clever, clever, Bran. Make it about not leaving Rowan embarrassed by being the only woman without a partner and not about Dad being so into the youngest Byrne he barely functioned in her presence— as if it wasn’t the biggest unspoken non-secret in the families.
“Fine.”
