Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Kat wasn’t wrong in her memories of Cillian. He’d been the father I was denied by birth, teaching me the things I needed to know to make it in the real world. “I miss him too.”
My feelings for Cillian were complicated. He was a good man, a strong man, but he also raised Colm, and I couldn’t think about one without remembering the other.
In November of 1982, just months after my sixteenth birthday, I was out with Uncle Seamus, my new best friend. We were sampling a new brand of rot-gut whiskey because drinking with my uncle was my favorite pastime in the aftermath of Owen Doyle.
But that night, I wasn’t drinking to forget. I drank because it was Friday night, and I was with the one person who loved me without condition. Without judgment.
“If you have to drink this swill, I recommend a splash of cola. Not too much, or it’ll end up sweet, but just enough to mask that bitter, cheap taste.”
I soaked up every tidbit of knowledge Seamus shared with me, nodding like I was as wise to the ways of the world as he was. “Why not just order the good stuff?”
Seamus threw his head back and laughed. “Because some days, I just wanna get shit-faced, lass, and when those days cross paths with the days my pockets are empty, well, I have two choices. Deal with reality or get shit-faced on cheap whiskey. I choose the latter.” He chuckled to himself.
“Makes sense.” I smiled and held up the glass with the dark amber liquid. “To delaying reality, at least for a little while.”
Seamus raised his glass. “I’ll drink to that.” He finished his drink and spotted a friend on the other side of the bar, leaving me alone while he went over to say hello. Saying hello for Seamus could take ten seconds or three hours, so I turned on my barstool to people-watch.
The Oak Barrel was the definition of a dive bar, with dark wood everywhere, fake leather in green and black, and black & white photos on the wall of men and women who looked to be old Irish gangsters.
According to Seamus, most people at the bar worked for one of the Irish gangs in town. Some sat at the bar alone, drinking away their sorrows or their sins, while others laughed it up at the tables, enjoying wings and fried mushrooms to soak up some of the booze. The younger gangsters drew my attention most because they were loud and boisterous, and they were never idle.
That night a broad-shouldered man was wearing a leather jacket to perfection. He had thick black hair slicked back to highlight his pale skin and deep blue eyes.
Despite the toothy white smile, this man was a bad boy through and through. It oozed from his pores, from the cigarette hanging out of his mouth to the expert way he held the pool stick as he hustled a group of young wannabe thugs and the distracted smile he wore while he did it.
I watched him for more than an hour, transfixed by his beauty but in awe of how he wore his confidence. Better than he wore that leather jacket. Deep down, I knew he was trouble, but I couldn’t look away. I wasn’t afraid of the kind of trouble he represented. I was probably looking for that exact brand of trouble.
I didn’t think he’d noticed me because I wasn’t dressed like the few women inside the bar. They all wore tight jeans or denim skirts, half-shirts and big hair.
I wasn’t allowed to have big hair. My mother told me big hair was for whores. Well, I didn’t want to be a whore at all. So when those blue eyes settled on me, and he winked, my cheeks flushed. Warmth covered me, and I sucked in a deep breath, shy but still unable to look away.
After he sent the young thugs on their way, he pocketed a little lighter, then sauntered over to where I sat at the bar and laid a twenty-dollar bill down on the scuffed wood.
“A drink for me and the lady. Jameson. Double.”
The fact that this handsome man wanted to buy me a drink left me thrilled, but I didn’t want him to get in trouble, so I leaned in and whispered in his ear. “I’m only sixteen.”
He winked again. Those deep blue eyes just a few inches from mine sparkled with mischief. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
I glanced over at Uncle Seamus. He had started a card game with his friends, so, knowing he would be busy for the next few hours, I turned back to the gorgeous man with deep blue eyes. “In that case, I’d love a drink.”
He flashed a wide, satisfied smile that held just a hint of relief as he sat back and held his hand out. “Colm Ashby, at your service.”