Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“Colm, Colm, Colm, Colm!”
Alfie shot me a grin and clinked his beer bottle with my glass, and then he reached up and got close.
“I’m glad you came!”
I smiled and mustered a nod. To be honest, the jury was still out, but I was always too happy to be near Alfie.
As musicians joined Colm on the stage, the music died, and everyone huddled closer.
“Drunken Sailor!” someone yelled.
“An Irish Pub Song!” another shouted.
“Considering they’re the only ones he knows, he’ll do both, you fuckers!” Kellan hollered back at the crowd.
I chugged my Guinness, because one thing was clear. If I was going to enjoy myself tonight, I had to loosen up.
Next, I took advantage of the lower volume—which was still too loud—and asked Alfie where Colby was.
He smirked. “He’s having fun with kids his own age out back. Don’t worry about him.”
I wasn’t…worried. I was curious.
When Finnegan and Emilia appeared close to us, someone came over and set down a bar table—actually two. Two bar tables created a barrier between us and the crowd that looked ready to make my fears come true. There was going to be a mosh pit, wasn’t there?
Alcohol followed—a lot of it—and two guys positioned themselves as security guards to make sure no one knocked into the tables. Two bottles of whiskey, stout in glasses, lager in bottles, shot glasses, vodka, and a few mixers ended up right in front of Alfie and me.
Shan and Liam joined us on this side, while Kellan disappeared into the crowd.
Alfie looked tempted.
I nudged him and nodded toward Kellan. “Don’t hold back on my account.”
The soundcheck appeared to be over, and Colm spoke into the mic about traditions and staying connected to the “home country.” His accent revealed he wasn’t from here originally. He was definitely from Ireland.
Alfie had made his decision. He poured himself a shot, threw it back, grimaced, and then touched my arm.
“Drink liberally and generously, West. That way, I’ll sound better when I sing later.” With that said, he was gone.
My eyebrows flew up. He was singing?
Granted, I knew he had a lovely voice. He used to sing to our children—and maybe he still did. But I presumed he wouldn’t be performing lullabies here.
“Oi! Pipe down!” Colm yelled into the mic. I winced and figured I might as well pour myself a shot or two too. I’d already been prepared to pick up my car in the morning. “The boss will sit this one out but has promised to join us with the whistle later.”
Emilia pouted up at her husband.
Finnegan chuckled. “Quit it. I’ll play in a bit.”
Emilia was about to respond when the music started with a recording of an Irish flute. The whistle they’d been talking about? I’d heard of tin whistles.
A beat later, the drummer started, followed by Colm on vocals, and his voice was…rough.
Within twenty or so seconds, the pub exploded with energy as the rapid beat of the music tore through the establishment. Alfie and Kellan were immediately sucked into the atmosphere and evidently knew the lyrics. They shouted every word along with the others, jumped around, and slammed their fists in the air. I swallowed hard and exhaled unsteadily, seeing a man I’d never met before.
I’d thought Alfie was a wild spirit back in LA when he’d been so honest and… Well, he’d never hesitated to give me the dirtiest suggestions in the most inappropriate situations, but this was so different. He was having fun with peers now. He had friends, he had a place in which he wasn’t alone, and—
I noticed Shan moving closer, and he leaned in. “He fits right in.”
I swallowed.
Yeah. Alfie fit in here.
Where did that leave me?
I tilted my head at Shan and spoke loud enough for him to hear. “You don’t want to throw yourself in the pit?”
He laughed and grabbed a beer from the table. “I don’t think so—but I enjoy watching.” He tipped the bottle toward Kellan and Alfie. “When Kellan’s nursing his hangover in the morning, I’ll play a round of golf before I come home with breakfast.”
I stood a little straighter and automatically managed to tune out the music at least a little.
“You play?”
He smirked faintly and inclined his head. “Alfie told me you do too.”
“I do. So, as you can see, this isn’t my world,” I chuckled.
He smiled and clapped a hand on my back. “You can belong to more than one world, West.”
Could I?
And for what reason? My goal—Alfie’s too—was for us to find common ground to be friends. We both wanted to bury the hatchet so we could spend time together with our children without them picking up on hostility between us. I didn’t need to attend parties with Alfie for that. Tonight was most likely a fluke. An olive branch. He wanted me to see this so I would gain an ounce of understanding about the people he now referred to as family.