Unfixable

Chapter Eight

It’s dark when I make it back to the inn. I’m having a hard time keeping the smile off my face. Today might have started off on the disconcerting side, but it rallied as soon as I got to Dalkey Castle. By chance, I’d wandered into a live show where actors, dressed in authentic Medieval garb, pretend to be castle workers from the 1500s. I found it so clever and entertaining, I’d stayed for a second show. The illusion was shattered afterward when I saw the actors sharing a joint and talking on iPhones behind the theater, but hey, it was fun while it lasted.
After grabbing a quick lunch, I’d spent some time in the Heritage Center. I couldn’t wait to talk to Ginger and tell her what I found. As soon as I get to my room and kick these boots off my sore feet, I’m going to throw myself on the bed and give her a call. Since Chicago is six hours behind Dublin, she’ll still be working at Sneaky Peet’s, her furniture shop in Wicker Park, but maybe I can catch her in between customers.
Through the glass of the front door, I take a second to watch Shane as he serves a group of young female customers. He smiles absently as he slides them their change, probably not even realizing what a panty-soaker that mysterious half smile can be to the opposite sex, making it twice as effective. As soon as he turns his back, one of them pretends to swoon, the rest of the group pressing manicured hands to their chests as if he’s walked away with their still-beating hearts. I’m not annoyed by the sight, at least I don’t think so, but something is sparking in the base of my neck. Something that won’t go away when I swallow. Never having been jealous a day in my life, at least not over a boy, I can’t put a name to the feeling. But I’m positive I shouldn’t be feeling it over Shane.
If its commitment you’re scared of, you’ve nothing to worry about here.
As valiantly as I’ve tried to ignore Shane’s proposition this morning, his words have been echoing in my head all damn day. At first, they’d nicked my feminine pride a little. Weren’t boys supposed to at least bullshit you a little about wanting forever? Evan hadn’t wasted a moment offering me the moon on a silver platter. One time when he’d met me after an afternoon of tailgating and watching football with his buddies, he’d drunkenly started naming our future children. Back then, it had scared the shit out of me. Yet in contrast to Shane’s three-week exit strategy, or entrance strategy, depending on how you look at it, bestowing a moniker on nonexistent offspring is a comfort. It had merely been talk, while Shane’s indecent proposal required a decision in the here and now. I thought I’d made the decision. No way, no how, was I letting him anywhere near me. The more I think about it, though, the more it appeals. A lot.
We are obviously attracted to one another. Neither one of us wants or is available for any kind of messy commitment. On the bus ride home, one thought had permeated my head with stark clarity. Is this my first grown-up, no-strings-attached fling, just waiting to happen? I’ve never been in this position before. It’s entirely possible that this confusion and anger Shane provokes in me is…lust? Pure, undiluted, want-to-rip-his-clothes-off lust.
Maybe I’ve been so worried about my feelings getting wrapped up without someone else’s so soon after Evan, I’ve placed too much importance on what Shane makes me feel. I’m starting to wonder if the best course of action isn’t just to say yes to his proposition and get it over with. Scratch the itch. Once it’s done, I can move on, secure in the knowledge that I’m in control of my own destiny and not every man who crosses my path has the power to change me, or put some kind of hold on me.
Yes, I’m actually considering sleeping with Shane.
After all, what’s the worst that could happen? I’m only going to think about it. No harm in kicking the idea around, right?
With my tentative resolve wedged firmly between my shoulders, I push open the door to the Claymore Inn. For a Monday night, there is a decent crowd. Most of the bar is full and half the tables are scattered with empty glasses as customers lean toward one another and talk too loudly, laughing even louder. A Stone Roses song is playing, blurring all the conversations into one. The smell of beer, cologne, and fried food is starting to become familiar and it hits me now, reminding me I never ate dinner.
I feel Shane’s gaze warm me on the spot, like that instant where you step underneath the shower spray in the morning. It wakes me up and makes me aware of my body. This time, though, I don’t avoid his stare, I meet it head-on. Elbow propped on the bar as he chews on a cocktail straw, he narrows his eyes a little when he registers my decision not to ignore him. He clearly expected me to breeze though the bar without acknowledging him as I’ve done the previous two nights, but I’m done acting scared.
Slowly, he nods at me. I nod back, and just like that, some type of silent communication has passed between us, although I have no idea what was said. I need a decoder ring with this freaking guy.
I’m halfway through the pub when my phone buzzes in my pocket. My step falters, and I frown. No one should be calling me on my cell phone. Since arriving, I’ve only been calling the States using a prepaid calling card to avoid any expensive fees. Basically I’ve only been using it to check the time. When I dig my phone out of my pocket and see that Derek is calling, my instincts start to tumble in my stomach, like a dryer with tennis shoes inside.
“Derek?”
“Willa.” My worry plummets when I hear the astonished joy in his voice. It’s so uncharacteristic for him, I double-check to make sure it’s really the lieutenant calling. “I’m glad I caught you.”
“What is it? Is…is Ginger okay?”
“She’s wonderful. She’s… God, she’s perfect.” For a second, he doesn’t speak and I get the sense he’s actually choked up. “The baby came this morning.”
“What?” My heart shoots up into my throat. “Ginger wasn’t due for another month. I-is the baby okay?”
“She’s beautiful. Healthy.” A short pause. “We named her Dolly.”
Tears begin pouring unchecked down my cheeks. My sister and I have idolized Dolly Parton as far back as I can remember. We claim our passion for her is due to the music, but as I get older, I realize that’s only a fraction of it. Dolly grew up in one-room shack in our home state of Tennessee without a dollar to her name and went on to become a superstar. Although it remains unspoken between me and Ginger, I think we use Dolly as an example of what’s possible for us, no matter the circumstances we were born into.
“Ginger wanted to be the one to tell you the baby’s name, but she’s sleeping now. I don’t think she’ll be up for the call for hours. I thought you’d want to know right away.”
“I did. I do.” Shock, happiness…and an overwhelming sense of disappointment take me over now that the initial relief has passed. Disappointment that I wasn’t there for Ginger. Disappointment that I’m in another country licking my own wounds like a selfish brat when I should be with the only family I’ve ever known. This line of thinking is selfish in itself. I know this. But the bitterness won’t stop. I take a deep breath, trying to focus on the fact that my niece was born healthy and Ginger came through it no worse for wear. “That’s amazing, Derek. Congratulations. You’re going to be a great father.”
It’s like he didn’t even hear me. “Willa, you should have seen your sister…” This time he doesn’t try to hide the fact that he’s choked up. “I thought I knew how strong she was. How incredible. I had no idea.”
I swallow a sob. “She finds a way to remind you once in a while.”
“I’ll never forget again.” His deep, shaky inhale crackles through the line. “I have to go now. The nurse needs me to fill out the birth certificate. Jesus, a birth certificate. It might be the only kind of paperwork that doesn’t piss me off. You all right, kid?”
“I’m great. I’m so happy for you, Derek.” I feel someone step behind me and lay a hand on my shoulder. Without turning around, I know its Shane. Absently, I notice Orla has appeared behind the bar to replace him, possibly just returned from her break, and she’s watching me with concern. Correction, everyone in the pub is watching me. When I feel tears rolling over my knuckles as they grip the phone, I swipe at my eyes with the sleeve of my hoodie. Hesitantly, Shane pulls me into his side and I go without protest. “Hey, listen. Try not to turn Dolly into a law-abiding citizen before I have a chance to corrupt her.”
A rumbling laugh. “Don’t even think about it. She’s not leaving the house until she turns eighteen. And only then, after completing every self-defense class I can find.”
I release a watery sigh. “Sh-should I come home? I can—”
Shane goes stiff beside me, but I’m in no place to ponder that reaction.
“I knew you’d say that. It’s not necessary.” A chair scrapes back four thousand miles away. “You’ll be home soon enough. I’m off for a week and then Patti is coming over to help out while I’m at work.”
Patti, the ex-police dispatch operator who’d taken a shine to Ginger at a long-ago police gala, then quickly became an inevitability in our lives, sort of an adopted grandmother that asked too many uncomfortable questions. I hear someone call Derek’s name in the background. Not Ginger, probably the nurse.
“I have to go. You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. Will you have Ginger call me when she’s up?”
“Of course. Talk to you soon. Stay out of trouble.”
“Trouble finds me, you know that.”
“Bye, Willa.”
“Bye.”
In my hand, the line goes dead, but I continue to hold it to my ear, imagining Derek bustling around the hospital room while Ginger sleeps peacefully in the bed. I want be sitting in one of the hard, plastic chairs in that room so badly, it’s a physical ache yawning in my stomach. I want to hold my niece. I want to look down at her and see the proof that Ginger escaped our past and made a happy life. I want to know it’s possible for me, too. But I can’t. It’s out of my reach.
Finally, Shane takes the phone out of my hand, and it drops limply to my side. With an arm around my waist, he walks me through the noticeably quieter pub toward the back hallway. I think he is going to leave me at the bottom of the stairs leading up toward the rooms, but he pulls me into the dark office instead.
I’m thankful when he closes the door and doesn’t turn on the overhead light. Fluorescent lighting and sniveling girl are an unattractive combination, even if that ambiance would probably help me pull it together quicker. In the pitch-black, however, nothing prevents the sob from shuddering higher in my chest and escaping through my parted mouth. Not even Shane’s presence. I cringe when I hear it. It sounds like weakness. But he’s pulling me against his chest and holding it in is no longer an option.
“All right, love.”
That’s all he says, yet somehow it’s the perfect thing. In this case, however, the perfect thing makes me cry all the harder. I don’t want to be comforted. I don’t deserve it. “I was supposed to be there. First babies almost never come early. I Googled that shit.”
“I need more to work with. Who had a baby?”
“Ginger.” Just her name brings on a fresh wave of tears. “She wasn’t due for another month. And I’m here in this rainy-ass country. When I should be there.”
He begins rubbing circles on my back with his big hand. “It does rain a lot.” For some reason, that startles a laugh out of me, but it’s far too tempting to bury my face against his neck and keep crying. I haven’t cried in a long time, not even over Evan, and I can’t seem to stem the flow of emotion. “You couldn’t have predicted it,” Shane says quietly, almost to himself.
I wipe my eyes on Shane’s hard shoulder and pull back shaking my head, even though he can’t see me. “You don’t understand. It’s our job to predict what the other will do. We’re both impulsive, and we can’t communicate worth a damn. Predicting is our how we operate.” My head falls back on my shoulders. “I couldn’t even get this one thing right. The one time she actually needs me, and I’m missing in action. God, I’m so f*cking sick of not getting it right for people that matter. She was there for me through everything. She saved me.”
He’s silent a beat. “Saved you from what? Tell me, Willa.”
I laugh bitterly, hating the sound but unable to stem it. “I can’t.”
“Bullshit. Give me something.” He lays his rough cheek against mine, the gesture undermining his harsh words. Letting him stay there feels risky, yet oddly natural.
“Why do you want to know? Just so you can understand where your initial judgment of me went wrong?”
“I have a need to know. Beyond that, I don’t have an explanation.”
I take a deep breath and tell the first story that comes to mind. “Ginger bought me my camera when I was twelve. A Christmas present. She probably had to save the entire year to afford it. It’s not the best one, but it’s mine.” I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to believe what I’m revealing, but Shane’s heat combined with the dark is so inviting. “Ginger had to buy the same camera five times from a pawn shop in Nashville because our mother kept selling it to buy heroin.”
Shane doesn’t say anything, but his circling hand grows firmer on my back, massaging my suddenly tired muscles.
“Ginger never told me. Just kept buying the damn camera and leaving it in our room, under a pile of clothes or in the back of the closet we shared, teasing me about misplacing things. One night, she was working at the bar. Mom came home, high out of her mind, with two men I didn’t recognize. They tore my room apart looking for that camera to pawn it again. But Ginger had taken it with her to work that night just in case my mother came home. So it wasn’t there.”
Shane’s hand goes still on my back. My voice has gone hollow, almost unrecognizable. This could be my default voice for talking about Valerie. I wouldn’t know, because I try to avoid talking about her whenever possible.
“Drugs did funny things to her mind. She wasn’t thinking rationally, just knew she needed her fix. Otherwise she would have realized pawning your child wasn’t possible. She did her best to convince the owner to hold me for just a few hours, kind of like collateral on a loan. Thankfully, the owner kept Ginger’s number handy so he could call her whenever my mother came in to pawn the camera. My sister came and got me. We didn’t see our mother for a while after that.”
Shane curses under his breath and pulls me closer, enveloping me in his contradictory scents of smoky and fresh. “Ah, love. I’m sorry.”
I nod, but he’s pressed so close it seems like I’m nuzzling him. “That’s just one time out of a thousand I owe her for. I don’t know anything about babies, but I was going to help. This was my chance to pay her back for saving me.”
Shane pushes my hair back from my face. “Willa, I understand guilt. More than you know,” he adds quietly, giving me the feeling that I’m not the only one hurting here. His voice sounds rusty, as if he hasn’t flexed his compassion muscle in a while, making it all the more meaningful. “I don’t know your sister, but I do know you’re not the type who needs rescuing. I reckon she’d say you rescued her, in return.”
“Huh…thanks,” I say on an exhale. Even if I don’t entirely believe him, I appreciate him saying so. From what I’ve learned about Shane, warmth and understanding don’t come easy to him. Being that he doesn’t especially like me, I’m sure saying the words were twice as difficult. When neither one of us speaks for a stretch of time, the darkness starts to feel closer. I become aware of every tingling point of my body that connects to his. My knees, my arm, my cheek are all warmer than the rest of my body. Our breaths sound like waves rushing between us, and the longer we go without speaking, the deeper those breaths become. Something he said before comes back to me, though, and I need to voice my curiosity. “Why are you guilty, Shane?”
Shane’s hand curls into a fist at the outside of my thigh. “Too many things, Willa.” His head turns just slightly, and I shiver when his lips brush my earlobe. “I’m not a nice guy. Not like—”
I kiss him. I don’t know what compels me to do it. If it’s the fear of hearing Evan’s name right now, allowing his ghost to intrude on this oddly endearing moment in the pitch-dark. Or if it’s just Shane and I’ve finally reached my limit on resisting him. As he sinks into the kiss with a groan and my head goes light, I know it’s the latter. It’s all Shane.
Just as I’m about to pull him closer to deepen the kiss, he breaks away. “I shouldn’t kiss you when you’ve been crying.”
“Yes, you should.”
“Yes, I should.”
His lips seal hard over mine, the force of it tipping my head back. We breathe shakily into one another’s mouths at the initial contact. We’ve barely started and I can’t draw air into my constricted lungs. I quickly decide air is overrated when his tongue nudges my mouth open and he starts to take. My sanity, logic, and reservations become indistinct as his fingers burrow in my hair and my mouth is mastered.
Shane Claymore kisses me like the world is ending. I’ve never experienced anything like it. He doesn’t rest in one pattern, but keeps me guessing which part of me he’ll explore next. The kiss is at once fast and slow. Determined and savoring. My thoughts bleed together until all I can do is melt against the body molding into mine, trapping me between it and the desk.
With an irritated groan, he takes one final, provocative pull of my mouth, then gives into the human weakness of oxygen requirement. We’re dragging in air, the office suddenly stifling. I can’t see his face so I have no way to judge what he’s thinking. Then I feel the grip of his strong hands on my backside, yanking me to the edge of the desk. His hips wedge between my legs, hard, and I gasp at the unexpectedness of it. It’s an aggressive move, but it doesn’t scare me. No, instead it sends a thrill of heat coursing through my system.
“When you walked in tonight, I could see it on your face. You’re thinking about it.”
“Thinking about what?” I run my hands up his muscular chest, licking my swollen lips. Why isn’t he still kissing me? Before I can voice my second question out loud, his body propels mine backward onto the desk, so my legs have no choice but to curl around his waist.
“This, babe.” Shane’s mouth skates up the side of my neck as his hips begin to roll suggestively against mine. The rhythmic movement causes the seam of my jeans to push and drag over a spot I’ve been sorely neglecting of late, and I moan. “This. Us. Me moving inside you. You’re thinking about it.”
“Jesus. I am now.”
Shane grabs both of my thighs and props them on his hips. “People like us, we keep too much inside already. We can’t bottle up everything, or we go crazy.” His mouth collides with mine, the kiss beginning almost lazily, but by the time we break for air again, we’re in a frenzy. “Come to me, soon, Willa. Knowing you’re asleep upstairs in that big bed alone is keeping me up at night. I want to be between your legs without these goddamn jeans in my way.”
“Yes. Okay,” I pant. “I’m th-thinking about it.”
With a low curse, he releases me. I slump back onto the desk, listening to his footsteps make their way toward the exit. As he opens the door, allowing dim light to intrude, I prop myself up on my elbows to watch him. He pauses and looks back at me, hair disheveled, mouth still damp from kissing me.
“Think faster, girl.”