Aiden swore something stabbed him in the chest at hearing that. He was so close with his sisters. He couldn’t imagine not being at their weddings. Colleen was his Irish twin, which meant they had the same birth year. He’d been born in January and she in December. Growing up, she often played the role of “mom” to him and their baby sister, Mary Catherine, when their mother was at one of her two jobs. And outside the house, Aiden protected and looked after his sisters.
They’d forever been the Three Musketeers, them against the world. Or what was their world, anyway. It’d been hard distancing himself from them over the last several years, even though it was for their own good. But if he ever had to completely sever ties, it’d be devastating.
Aiden rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry to hear that, man. Hopefully a few more calls to Kat about wedding stuff will do the trick.”
“I have a better idea. Sweep her off her feet, whisk her to Hawaii, and we’ll have a double wedding. I hear they’re all the rage.”
“Yeah, right. So not happening, brah,” he said, adding a mocking tone to his friend’s Hawaiian term.
“Okay, fine,” Jax said. “Jokes aside, though, man. As far as V knows, Kat has a real bad history with men. I don’t know her, but I know you. You’re a good man, O’Brien. You’d treat her well, and she might even remind you you’re not the piece of shit you think you are. Who knows, you might even fall in love.”
Aiden pushed off the desk and clenched the phone hard enough to do some damage if he kept it up for long. “I can’t have that, Jax. You know that.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said meaningfully.
“Killing my best friend’s sister doesn’t exactly make me the lovable type.”
“Everyone deserves to be loved, O’Brien. Even you. You’re just too lost in the past to realize it.”
Unable to get past the tightness in his throat to say anything else, Aiden disconnected the call. He couldn’t deal with the shit in his head trying to get out right now. It was almost closing time. He needed to focus on getting through the rest of the night, and then he’d go home and work out till he passed out or at least became too tired to think. Total physical and mental exhaustion was his only option for self-medicating anymore.
As he entered the main area of the bar, he saw Kat arguing with a customer. Pushing his way through the crowd, Aiden approached the four men in the booth, placing himself between the mouthy one and Kat. The table quieted as he planted his feet and crossed his arms.
Pinning the drunk with nothing more than a hard stare, he directed his question to Kat. “What’s the problem?”
“He’s just arguing over his tab,” she said. “It doesn’t require your services, Irish.”
Aiden nearly smirked. She was so proud, this one. He liked that about her, though, and she was right. She could take care of a squabble over a bill. Giving her a quick nod of acknowledgment, he moved out of her way but stayed within earshot.
“Speaking of servicesss,” the man slurred, “what do you charge for your serviccces?”
Kat shook her head and made a clucking sound with her tongue. “Come on now, Karl. Didn’t your mama raise you to never ask a lady about her business unless she offers first?”
“My mama run off when I was little, but my daddy taught me plenty on what to do with da ladies.” The group of men erupted in laughter and elbowed one another in the ribs.
“I’ll just bet,” she said. “Look, why don’t you pay for the seven rounds you and I both know you ordered, and I’ll get you one last round on the house.”
Karl narrowed his eyes, a sneer twisting his lips, and leaned in. “I tell you whut. I’ll pay for the six rounds I know I ordered, and instead of a free round, you can show us your titties.”
Aiden’s body shot bowstring tight. In one stride, he reached the booth, yanked the bastard out by the front of his shirt, and held him so his toes barely scraped the floor.
The man literally trembled. His eyes were so wide he looked prepped for eye surgery and his head was drawn back so far on his neck it looked cartoonish. Aiden had at least twenty pounds of muscle and almost half a foot on the guy. Not to mention the ability to break him in dozens of different ways if the notion happened to strike.
“Say that again, asshole,” Aiden growled. “I fucking dare you.”
“I was just jokin’, man, I swear!”
“Irish, I can—”
“I got this, Syd. Go back to work,” he said as evenly as possible. The rage bubbled dangerously close to the surface. The last thing he wanted to do was deflect any of that onto her, but thanks to dipshit Karl, he was hanging onto his control by a thread.
With a disgusted sigh, she whipped the towel down from her shoulder and strode toward the bar. He waited to make sure she wasn’t obeying her stubborn Scottish streak that no doubt wanted her to come back and stand her ground. Then he took the folded cash he saw in the guy’s front shirt pocket. Aiden set the man down, glanced at the amount scrawled on the paper tab, and thumbed through the bills—mostly crumpled singles with a few fives.