Unfixable

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 f*cking 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, after 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 f*ck. 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.
“Well.” Kitty picks up both teapots, smiling cheerfully as she glides toward the door. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”
Shane makes no move to follow her. I raise a single eyebrow and point toward the door, but Kitty is already closing it behind her. All I can do is gape.
“What are you still doing here?” My breaths are shortening. This is far too intimate, both of us sleep-tangled, standing in the dim morning light with a bed so close. Without the armor of my jeans and boots in place, I feel far too exposed. I need him to leave. “You have to go.”
“In a moment.”
“God, your family lacks basic boundaries.” I shift my feet on the cold floor. “Do you have tea parties at six in the morning with all your guests, or am I just that special?”
“Fair warning, girl. I’m having trouble contending with your smart mouth and those shorts at the same time.”
My hands fly to the hem of my boxers, but I stop at the last second and cross my arms over my chest. I refuse to cover up my legs in my own room. “What do you want?”
“I should think that was obvious by now.”
Me. He means me. I can tell by the way his voice has dropped, falling like a boulder in the quiet room. I take a step backward, away from his intensity, even though there is a dark, untapped part of me that wants to venture closer.
“Please rid yourself of that nervous expression. Don’t you think I realize this is inappropriate, coming into your room like this? You never stand still long enough to give me another option.”
There is a thread of frustration in his voice that echoes in the pit of my stomach. “Say what you came to say. I have plans.”
“Of course you do.” He scrubs a hand over his stubbled jaw. “What you said Friday night in my car… I don’t like being wrong. Something tells me you understand that feeling well.”
I don’t respond, but he definitely has my attention now. He’s talking about my impulsively telling him about my mother. The threat of him coming any closer fades, some unnamed intuition telling me it wouldn’t be his style to catch me off guard with a reminder of something upsetting and then take advantage. Still, I’m far from relaxed. Relaxing around Shane simply isn’t a possibility. Especially not now when he looks like he’s just crawled out from between a pile of twisted sheets.
Shane clears his throat and nods toward my shirt. “Chicago Police Department. Do you know someone on the force, or did you get that as a souvenir for being arrested?”
The abrupt subject change throws me off. “That was it, huh? Your whole apology?” He simply leans against the doorjamb and raises an eyebrow. Apparently his implying he might have been wrong about me is all I’m going to get this fine morning. Although something tells me a brief, stilted explanation counts as groveling in Shane’s world. “My sister’s husband Derek. He’s a homicide lieutenant now, but he’s being promoted soon to captain.”
Remembering how I came by this T-shirt makes me smile. The first week Ginger and I lived in Chicago, our apartment flooded. Derek had come out into the hallway, taken one look at both of us in soaked nightclothes, and stomped back into his apartment to retrieve two department T-shirts, mainly because he didn’t like the group of firemen ogling Ginger. His concern for me came secondary, but I didn’t care. It was the first time someone besides Ginger had gone out of their way to make me comfortable. I’ll keep this damn shirt until I die.
“He’s important to you.” His statement jerks my attention back to the present. There it is again, that reflective expression on his face, as if he’s trying to solve an algebra equation.
“And?”
“What else is important to you, Willa?”
My laughter is a little too unnatural. “Why do you care?”
“I told you, I don’t like being wrong.”
“That’s it?”
Shane stays silent, dragging white teeth over his full bottom lip. In his own way, he’s answering me, but I can’t fully interpret his meaning. He asked me what I consider important, though, and I have a hard time letting an opportunity pass to talk about my sister. It feels wrong to omit her importance in my life, and right now when I’m so far away and haven’t seen her in weeks, talking about Ginger makes her seem closer. It’s not because Shane makes me simultaneously want to let my guard down and reinforce it. It’s not.
“Ginger. My sister. She’s important to me,” I whisper, unsure why letting my guard down keeps winning the battle.
“I can see that.” He scrutinizes me a moment, as if debating whether to push for more. It confuses me. I don’t understand why he has taken a sudden fascination in my personal life when up until now he’s been so adamant about not giving a shit.
“If you think this little display of interest is going to get me into bed, you’re wrong.”
Shane laughs under his breath. “I’m not going to pretend I don’t want you beneath me.”
He says it without missing a beat, the confidence radiating from him heating me from across the room, as if we were standing in the Sahara instead of damp, chilly Ireland. I’m torn between affront and respect. He has a lot of goddamn nerve. But then, so do I. My hand presses shakily to my belly. Damn him, his honesty is appealing to me on some untapped level and he knows it. “I told you, it’s not going to happen.” It sounds less convincing every time I say it.
Shane nods. “Because you’re still in love with your Evan.”
“He’s not my Evan anymore.”
“Whose decision was that?”
“It’s complicated.”
He shrugs his wide shoulders, forcing a resigned sigh past my lips. There’s a part of me that needs to talk about it, I realize. As an added bonus, maybe if I explain the f*cked-up reasons for my breakup, he’ll realize how important it is to keep his distance from me, just in case failure is contagious.
“Mine,” I say. “I broke up with him. But only because he was too nice to cut me loose himself.” Saying the words out loud hurts, but I won’t lie. I feel an immediate lessening of pressure in my chest, just releasing what I’ve been holding inside. Giving it over to the universe.
“You dated a nice guy,” Shane muses with a too-tight smile.
“The nicest.” I swallow hard, refusing to look away. One of my resolutions in coming here was to resuscitate the old Willa. She wouldn’t have minded her flaws being visible. Those flaws were what kept people from getting too close. Look at them, my throat aches with the need to scream. “He got the bum deal.”
“Explain that.”
I search for the right words on the ceiling. Unsurprisingly, they’re not there. I think back to the way Evan smuggled me into his circle of friends and put me on display. Look at her! Talk to her! Treat her like she’s one of us! They tried, too. He’d promised to scale my Mount Everest of issues and swing me Tarzan-style down the other side, beaming like a hero. Evan rarely failed at anything, and it visibly frustrated him when I didn’t seamlessly fit in. Captain of the basketball team and loved among his peers, he’d been determined to keep his streak alive with me. I’d watched him flounder from the sidelines, trying to understand why I couldn’t leave my deep-seated childhood trauma locked away where it wouldn’t offend or make anyone uncomfortable.
Unfortunately, uncomfortable is kind of my thing. I do uncomfortable like a squeaky, plastic couch cover. It’s not intentional. But when you spend your childhood nights locked in your bedroom, hiding from your mother’s johns while your sister tries to drown the animalistic grunts with loud country music and a pillow over your ears, Evan’s kind of normal ceases to be a possibility.
Shane’s stare drags me back to the here and now. “He belonged with someone more like Faith.” When I hear myself say it, I realize the thought has been germinating for a while. Oddly, I don’t feel an ounce of resentment over it. More like, wistfulness. Not a typical emotion for me at all, which is probably why I missed it. “He couldn’t make me into a Faith. I didn’t fit the mold. And I tried.” I take a deep breath. “I did.”
“No.” Shane pushes off the wall and comes toward me. Every inch of my skin breaks out into goose bumps, but I’m rooted to the floor. His gaze is fixed so firmly on me, for a fleeting second I wonder if it’s a tangible thing, keeping me from moving an inch in either direction. He stops right in front of me. “You didn’t try at all.”
“Beg pardon?”
“If someone like you tries, you don’t fail. Deep down you didn’t really want to change.”
His words are like a battering ram to the chest, emptying my lungs of oxygen. I can’t swallow around the golf ball in my throat. I’ve been wondering where the whopping case of guilt came from, and I’m sickened by the realization this could be it. Was I only pretending to try the whole time? God, am I that selfish? “How f*cking profound,” I manage, feeling light-headed.
Shane reaches out with one rough hand and slips his fingers through my hair, cradling the back of my head. I want to flinch away, but seconds ago I felt untethered and now his touch is anchoring me. I can’t help leaning back into his hand, letting my neck loosen. “No, I have a suspicion that you don’t fit any mold but your own, Willa.”
“Likewise.”
A corner of his mouth quirks up, but he grows serious almost immediately. “You’re leaving in a matter of weeks. It won’t be long after before I sell this place and return to racing. If its commitment you’re scared of, you’ve nothing to worry about here.”
“Is this your way of asking for a fling?” My gaze drops to his lips as they move to hover over mine. I’m positively frozen, waiting to see what he’ll do. “If so, I told you I’m not interested.”
“Liar.”
“This inn is sorely lacking in hospitality,” I respond lamely. “I’ve been accused of fibbing already this morning.”
“That should tell you something.” He wets his lips slowly, pupils dilating. My heartbeat is so deafening in my ears, I wonder if he can hear it. “It’s inevitable, Willa. We are inevitable. When you stop fooling yourself, come and find me.” Imperceptibly, his fingers tighten in my hair, just enough to straighten my spine with awareness. “In the meantime, no more talk of other men. That was an end to it.” When all I do it stare, buffering between indignation and awe at his balls of steel, he drags his lips across mine. My belly begins to ache, not in a bad way. In a hot, melting way that makes my thighs feel ticklish. “Nod if you understand me.”
After a long pause, I nod. I can’t believe it. I f*cking nod.
Shane releases me and steps back, his every move appearing reluctant. I’m reluctant for him to let me go, too. That kiss is now something I want badly, at least in this moment where my walls are down. But I was right, he’s not going to take advantage of the situation. Between that and his kind treatment of Kitty, I’m starting to wonder if maybe I was wrong about Shane, too. He looks like he wants to say more, but instead he leaves me standing there and walks to the door.
Before he closes the door behind him, he sticks his head back in. “I wouldn’t drink that cold tea if I were you. She’s been hiding the pot in her closet since last Tuesday.”
The door shuts on my laugh, echoed by his on the other side.