Fighting Irish Page 8

  “And what beautiful flesh it is,” crooned Ian, who didn’t give a shit that Rory was staring daggers at him. He stepped aside so they could enter Tierney’s living room. “Come in, Brittany Manion. Come in.”

  “Is that Rory?” called Tierney from upstairs.

  “Yeah,” said Ian over his shoulder, adding, “and Brittany Manion.”

  “What? Brittany who?”

  “Manion,” shouted Ian, looking back and forth between Rory and Brittany with a devilish look in his eyes.

  “Brittany Manion from camp?”

  “You went to Summerhaven!” exclaimed Ian. “I knew I recognized your name! You know, beyond the hotels.”

  Footsteps landed on the stairs, and Tierney suddenly appeared. She stared at Brittany for a moment, then slid her eyes to Rory. One thing was for certain: she wasn’t happy.

  “What’s this, now?”

  “Tierney, meet Brittany.”

  Tierney had a roll of paper towels in her hand, which she set down on the bottom step as she approached her brothers. She wiped her hands self-consciously on her jeans before offering one to Brittany.

  “I’m Tierney.”

  “I remember you,” said Brittany gently, shaking Tierney’s hand. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  “Where’s my handshake?” whined Ian.

  Brittany crossed her arms over her chest and turned to Ian. “I’m not sure if it’s nice to see you.”

  “Oh, hell!” Ian grinned. “Why’s that?”

  “You don’t really remember me, do you?” asked Brittany.

  “Well, I recognize your name, of course, and you obviously went to Summerhaven at some point because Tierney remembers you, but no…I guess I can’t exactly place you.” He stepped closer to her, his grin suggestive as his eyes scanned her face. “Should I? Am I forgetting something memorable?”

  “I was best friends with Hallie,” said Brittany.

  To Rory’s surprise, and satisfaction, Ian’s smile instantly dimmed as he took a step back from Brittany. Searching Ian’s face for a moment, Rory saw the moment a lightbulb turned on behind his brother’s eyes. “Oh my God! Yeah! Yeah…you’re…oh, yeah. I remember you now. You were friends with her. You had big, um—yeah. Yeah. But weren’t you a brunette back then?”

  Brittany nodded. “Bingo.”

  “Hallie. Halcyon Gilbert,” murmured Ian, more to himself than anyone else. He licked his lips, then bit his bottom lip for a second, deep in thought. All of his flirtatious charm slipped away to show a man affected, maybe even undone, by little more than a name. “Hallie.”

  “Yeah,” said Brittany, her tone dry. “Hallie. Remember her?”

  “Sure. You ever see her?” asked Ian, trying to look cool.

  “Once in a while,” said Brittany. “We both live in Boston.”

  Ian cleared his throat. “How’s she…how’s she doing?”

  Brittany took a deep breath. “She’s been better, actually.”

  Ian flinched, his eyes narrowing, his body tensing, his fists clenching by his sides. Fighting stance, thought Rory. Interesting.

  He vaguely remembered Brittany’s blonde-haired friend, Halcyon Gilbert, but he had no recollection of Ian and Halcyon being an item. Ian played the field—flagrantly, famously—though it was possible, Rory supposed, that this girl, Hallie, had meant more to him than the others. It was just strange that Ian had never mentioned her, when he had been pretty loud and proud about his conquests back then.

  “Why?” demanded Ian. “What happened to her?”

  “She’s going through a pretty bad divorce,” said Brittany, staring at Ian thoughtfully.

  Ian’s face relaxed. “Sorry to hear that.”

  Except Rory knew Ian’s face like the back of his hand, and Ian’s face didn’t read “sorry” at all. In fact, it read a little, tiny bit “relieved,” like news of Hallie Gilbert’s divorce was welcome.

  “She has a little girl. Jenny,” said Brittany. “It’s been a really rough for them.”

  “Jenny, huh?”

  “Yeah. Jenny.”

  “Well, um…that’s too bad. Tell her I say hi, huh?” asked Ian. “If you see her?”

  Brittany stared at Ian for a beat before answering, “Umm, no. That’s not happening.”

  “Oh, come on!” said Ian. “She can’t still be pissed at me. It’s been—what? Ten years?”

  Brittany scrunched her lips together, tilting her head left and right as though adding up an equation. “Yeah. Ten years this summer. And still pissed? Oh, you bet. I’m pretty sure you’re on her shit list for life, Ian.”

  From behind Ian, Tierney hooted with laughter, reaching for the sack of biscuits Rory was holding and taking them to the kitchen, muttering something about “Irresistible Ian’s not so irresistible now.”

  Ian, on the other hand, looked at Brittany in surprise for a few minutes before pulling his quilt tighter around his shoulders. “Whatever. I need a shower.”

  Brittany turned to look at Rory as Ian loped upstairs. “Was I too hard on him?”

  Rory shook his head. “You were just right.”

  “Yeah? I feel a little bad. Like I just kicked a puppy.”

  “You want the truth? It would have made Ian feel like total crap if you’d treated him with kid gloves.”

  She chuckled softly, her cheeks coloring. “At A Better Tomorrow, I’ve learned not to treat the women there like victims. They don’t want to be patronized or talked down to.”

  “You’re pretty awesome, Brittany Manion,” said Rory, trying desperately to ignore the swelling feeling in his chest that told him awesome was just a pallid substitute for all the other words circling in his head: phenomenal, amazing, epic, enticing, fascinating—

  “Rory? Give me a hand?” called Tierney.

  Rory gestured to the couch with a flick of his head. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”

  He headed into the kitchen, letting the 1940s-style swing door between the living room and kitchen shut behind him. “What?”

  “Why in the name of sweet Jaysus did you bring her here?” demanded Tierney, tucking a stray piece of dark hair behind her ear. “And with no notice? I look like a washerwoman from the Liberties!”

  “She doesn’t care what you look like, one. And two, that was more banter than I’ve heard out of Ian in years.”

  “Banter,” mumbled Tierney, putting the biscuits on a cookie sheet before popping them in the oven to reheat. “She’s Brittany Manion, Rory. Mama would have a conniption. What’ve you got to do with her?”

  “She’s booking her wedding at Summerhaven.”

  “What?” Tierney’s pinched expression softened, and she reached out to put her hand on Rory’s arm. “A wedding! That’s great!”

  “I know. So can you please be nice?”

  Tierney tightened her grip on his arm, her smile fading when she asked, “You say she’s getting married?”

  “Yes. At Summerhaven, which means I’ll have enough money to—”

  “You’re saying she’s taken?” interrupted Tierney, her eyes boring into Rory’s.

  “Generally, an engagement precedes a marriage,” said Rory. “Yes. She’s taken.”

  “Well, the way she looks at you says different,” said Tierney, letting go of Rory to take four plates out of her cupboard.

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “She looks at you like you hung the moon.”

  “No, she doesn’t,” said Rory. “She’s just…really nice. Kindhearted. I met her yesterday when she came to tour the camp. And then—”

  Tierney turned around, her eyes wide, her mouth open. “She’s the one who took care of the group last night!”

  “Can you lower your voice?” asked Rory in an annoyed whisper.

  “Am I right?” asked Tierney. “Eh, I know I’m right. She stayed and helped while you were here, didn’t she?”

  “So what if she did?”

  Tierney just stared at him, a very slight smile
on her lips.

  “She probably looks at everyone like—like they hung the damned moon.”

  Tierney’s mocking smile deepened. “Maybe.”

  “Anyway,” said Rory, “she’s headed back to Boston tomorrow, and she’ll be getting married at Summerhaven in May. So there’s no use in spinning tales in your head, Tierney. She’s engaged. She’s definitely not interested in me. That’s that.”

  Tierney opened the oven, took out the biscuits and plopped one on each plate before turning back around.

  “Whatever you say,” she said, then stepped through the swinging door, back into the living room with Brittany.

  ***

  They’d visited with Ian and Tierney for about an hour before Rory had looked at his watch and said it was time to go. Although he’d called Chef Jamie to be sure everything was in order for the nine o’clock breakfast, Brittany sensed he wanted to be there to be certain everything went smoothly, especially after missing check-in last night.

  Brittany relented and hugged Ian good-bye after he’d begged her for a squeeze. She took Tierney’s hand as she left the cottage, thanking her for the biscuit and tea.

  She’d enjoyed her visit with the Haven siblings. The conversation was quick, funny, and nonstop. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so hard. One of them was always giving one of the others a hard time, but there was so much love, so much affection and good humor between them, Brittany envied it and wanted to bask in it at the same time.

  Her father had remarried to a childless woman who wasn’t fond of Brittany (or her massive trust fund), and her mother lived in Tuscany with her much younger boyfriend, Gilles. Brittany hadn’t been allowed to build much of a relationship yet with Ben’s girls, and while she had some good friends in Boston, those friendships felt polite when contrasted with the boisterous Havens.

  Sitting in the car beside Rory, she longed for what he had: family.

  But that’s why you’re marrying Ben, she reminded herself. You and Ben will build the family you want together. And one day, your children will be like the Havens—giving each other grief but also willing to take a bullet to save the others. You’ll have what you want, Brittany. You just have to stay the course.

  “They’re a handful,” said Rory, as though reading her thoughts.

  “I loved visiting with all of you,” said Brittany. “I wish I’d had brothers or sisters.”

  “You’re an only child?” asked Rory. “You know, when I was little, there were times I wished I was an only child.” He laughed softly before shaking his head. “Not anymore, though. I love those two. Wouldn’t trade them, no matter how much trouble they are.”

  “Ian looked better after his shower,” said Brittany.

  “Yeah, he did,” agreed Rory, “but his hands were shaking the entire time we were there. I hope he got back in bed when we left.”

  “I hope he makes it this time.”

  “Me too,” said Rory. He cleared his throat, changing the subject. “So, I want to keep an eye on breakfast and touch base with the housekeeping staff, but once the presentation starts at ten, we can slip out to the florist, okay?”

  “Great,” said Brittany. “And the photographer too? You mentioned her?”

  “Right,” murmured Rory, his brow creasing.

  I’m starting to recognize that look, thought Brittany. “What’s wrong?”

  “N-Nothing,” said Rory. “I just don’t think June’s right for your event.”

  “Is that the photographer’s name? June?”

  Rory nodded once. “I’ll find someone else, okay?”

  Hmm. Brittany could sense that something was up with this “June,” but Rory didn’t seem to want to discuss it, so she didn’t press him. “Okay. Thanks. Is there anything I can do to help today?”

  “No,” said Rory, turning back to her, his eyes unsettled. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Go for it.”

  “Your fiancé…”

  “Ben.”

  “Right. He’s older than you are?”

  “Mm-hm. He’s forty-three.”

  “Why didn’t his first marriage work out?”

  Brittany took a deep breath. Did she want to share this with Rory? The answer came quickly: for whatever reason, she did.

  “Ben and Angie went to med school together and both worked long hours in the pediatric unit at Mass General. Their first daughter was unplanned, and I don’t think they were ready to be parents yet. Between their residencies and Grace, they barely ever saw each other—like ships passing in the night. And then Sabrina came along a few years later. I guess…I mean, I guess they never really got things back on track, and he…”

  “He what?”

  “He cheated on her.”

  Rory’s neck whipped right to face her. “He cheated?”

  Brittany gulped at the flinty set of his green eyes. “It was a one-time thing.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he told me.”

  “And you believe him.”

  Mostly. “Why shouldn’t I?”

  Rory shifted in his seat, his fingers clenching and unclenching the steering wheel as he took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “I hope to God you’re right.”

  Me too.

  “I am,” she said, starting to feel a little bit defensive.

  They drove on in awkward silence for a few minutes before Rory spoke again.

  “It’s just that…you’re amazing,” he said softly. “You deserve amazing.”

  His words, once again, were like summer rain showering a dry place within her, and she looked over at him now, as she had when he’d called her “gorgeous, smart, and kindhearted,” and again when he’d said, “I care more about who you are than who you’re related to.”

  You deserve amazing.

  How was it that Rory Haven, whom she barely knew, somehow managed to say all of things she so desperately needed to hear? How was it possible that in just a handful of hours, she’d felt more emotionally nourished by his company than she’d felt in a long, long time?

  Maybe because so much of the time, she felt ornamental to Ben—like he didn’t see her, didn’t know her, and didn’t want to expend the time it would take to truly understand her heart.

  She clasped her fingers together in her lap, her heart racing and chest tightening as these thoughts crystalized in her head for the first time.

  Did she and Ben speak the same language? Did they understand each other? Or did they have a communication problem?

  Had she chosen to ignore the fact that she and Ben were lacking the emotional intimacy she craved in a partner? Instead of facing the weaknesses in her relationship with Ben, had she chosen to ignore them or gloss over them? Had she chosen to concentrate on the comforting strengths in their relationship—like Ben’s financial stability, occupation and role as a doting father—and ignore the fact that sometimes, being with Ben felt lonelier than being alone?

  It was frightening to suddenly realize that she was about to marry a man who didn’t really know her, especially because she’d convinced herself that she’d chosen Ben for all the right reasons. She didn’t want to be wrong about him. And she didn’t want to have to start all over again with someone new.

  She raised her chin, stepping back from the metaphorical cliff and talking herself down.

  Ben loved her, and she loved Ben. It’s just that they’d both been really busy lately. Maybe Brittany was just feeling some distance from him or the proverbial cold feet that preceded all weddings. Anyway, there were still a few weeks before her wedding—enough time to talk to Ben, to mend whatever wasn’t working between them, and get things back on track.

  But first and foremost, she needed to get back to Boston. She needed to leave Rory and go back to Ben.

  “You know,” she said, trying to keep her voice light, “I think I should head back to Boston today, after all.”

  “What?” said Rory, pulling through the Summerhaven gates before sto
pping his truck by the side of the road and putting it in park. He turned to her. “No. Wait—Britt, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked about Ben’s first marriage. I have no right to question you or judge him.”

  “It’s okay,” said Brittany, pasting a fake smile on her face. “Really. It doesn’t bother me that he made mistakes in the past. I know he loves me, and I know we’ll be happy together.”

  Rory winced. “I can’t help feeling I’ve upset you.”

  “You haven’t,” she insisted. “It’s been so nice visiting with you, and I definitely want to have my wedding at Summerhaven. If you’ll send me a contract, I’ll wire the deposit once I’m back in Boston. I’m just…there’s so much to do. Guest lists. Invitations. I really should be getting back.”

  “If you’re sure,” Rory said softly, sitting back in his seat, clenching his jaw as he stared out the windshield.

  “I am. But I’ll compare calendars with Ben and arrange a time to come back, okay? We can do the tasting then and visit the florist. And if you could get a new recommendation for a photographer, that would be great.”

  “Whatever you need,” he said, his voice flat and low.

  They rode the rest of the way to the office in silence and said a formal good-bye, shaking hands briefly before Brittany got back into her car and drove away.

  CHAPTER 8

  “A camp?” asked Ben, wrinkling his nose over shrimp linguine. “Two hours away?”

  “You wanted me to plan everything, right?” asked Brittany, spinning her fork around in her bowl. It had been a long time since she’d eaten something as carb-loaded as pasta, but she was in the mood for it tonight, so she’d ordered takeout from her favorite Italian restaurant.

  “Right, but I also asked you to keep it simple. I mean, I was thinking a justice of the peace with a few close friends and some lunch afterward.”

  “Well, then,” she said, taking a sip of wine, “maybe you should have said that.”

  “I did say it,” he replied, looking up at her in annoyance. “I said I wanted simple.”

  She thought about addressing their communication issues here and now, but Ben had only arrived twenty minutes ago and spent the first ten minutes griping about how pasta meant he’d need to put in an extra thirty minutes at the gym tomorrow. She didn’t think it was the right time to open the can of worms labeled “Communication.”