The Aces MC Complete Collection

  “Ach, I wanted to. It’s the day of yer birth, the day God saw fit to put ye on this earth so seventeen years later ye could make yer way to me. It’s worth celebratin’, and it’s worth a gift.” She handed me the squishy parcel and stood, expectantly waiting for me to open it.

  I couldn’t help the look of confusion or the emergence of a grin that hit my face.

  “An apron. Did you make this? It’s beautiful!”

  “Aye, I did. It’s time for ye to start learnin’ a little more in the kitchen. We’ll start lessons after school tomorrow. Yer an adult, ye need to be able to feed yer family more than spaghetti and stew… not that those are anythin’ to be ashamed of.”

  “I love it.”

  “Really? Yer sure?” she asked nervously.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Right. Well, then, one more gift for ye.”

  “Peg, you shouldn’t have got me—”

  “Oh, this one’s not from me,” she replied with a sneaky smile, handing me a thin envelope. “Ye go on into the livin’ room while I clean this up. Have a bit of privacy, eh?”

  For Amy on her Birthday was written on the front of the envelope in familiar messy cursive. I barely made it to the couch before I carefully opened it, loathe to ruin even the envelope.

  Amy,

  How far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss...

  I’d like to credit those words to myself, but I’ll be honest and tell you they come from W.B. Yates. Don’t try to find the rest of the poem, it’s a bit of a depressing thing. Only these few words seem to remind me of you.

  I hope you’re doing well. Mum says you’re spending a lot of time with her. That’s good. Spend as much time with her as you can, it’s good for her and it keeps you away from those parents of yours.

  I hope you have a wonderful birthday, sweetheart.

  I wish I could write you pages and pages, but if I begin to do that I know that I will not be able to stop. I’d never get any work done that way.

  Know that I am thinking of you constantly, especially on your special day. I wish I could be with you to celebrate.

  Stay safe, darling.

  Patrick

  I read his letter over and over again, letting it seep into my brain until I could recite it word for word. He called me sweetheart again, and darling. My heart raced as I imagined him sitting at a small desk somewhere, finding just the right poem to quote and words to write. He hadn’t crossed out one letter, as if he’d painstakingly chosen every word before he wrote it down.

  “Amy, it’s almost five,” Peg warned me as she laid her hand on the top of my head. “Best put that away for now and head home.”

  “I wish I didn’t have to,” I mumbled, folding the paper back up and slipping it into its envelope.

  “I know ye do. Do ye have special plans tonight?”

  “My parents are taking me to dinner,” I answered as I grabbed my bag and stuffed the letter inside.

  “Well, I’m sure it will be lovely.” It sounded as if she was trying to convince both of us.

  “Probably not. I doubt I’ll be over tonight, though. Even they wouldn’t have people over on my birthday.” I leaned down to hug her slight frame and inhaled deeply. “Thank you so much for my cake and my present.”

  “Yer welcome.” She patted my back twice and then shoved me away gently. “Go on with ye then. Ye’ll tell me about dinner tomorrow.”

  I left the house with a knot in my stomach that even thinking of my letter couldn’t chase away. I didn’t belong with my parents anymore. Peg knew it, and I knew it. Yet I kept having to go back to them, and each time it became harder for me to do.

  By the time my parents picked me up for dinner, the letter stuffed under my mattress had become yet another thing that depressed me. I loved it, every sentiment and curved letter… but it made me miss Patrick even more. I wanted to hear his voice. I wanted to smell the scent of cigarette smoke and feel the callouses on his fingers brushing against my face. And I hated that I was spending my birthday dinner with two people who hadn’t given a shit about me for as long as I could remember.

  “Why so glum?” my mom asked as we sat down in the fanciest restaurant in Ballyshannon. I hated that they’d taken me there. It was more for show than anything else. They wanted to see and be seen; the doting parents who took their daughter out for an expensive dinner for her birthday. It was disgusting.

  “No reason.” I smiled at the waiter as he left, then fiddled with my silverware.

  “Well, cheer up! You’re eighteen! Doesn’t every girl wait impatiently for the day she turns eighteen?”

  I smiled thinly in an effort to make her stop talking. Her voice was loud and obnoxious in the quiet room, the American accent she’d so painstakingly developed causing people to glance at our table. Exactly the reason she’d done it.

  “A legal adult now, huh?” my dad asked in a voice appropriate for the restaurant we were sitting in. “How does that feel?”

  “Pretty much the same as yesterday.”

  It didn’t take long for the waiter to come back for our order, and soon after we were eating our meals silently, the requisite question and answer session over. It wasn’t as if they ignored me, they just didn’t have anything else to say. When you have little interest in the person across the table from you, it makes small talk virtually impossible.

  It wasn’t until dessert had been served that my father once again began to talk, and the ground seemed as if it was falling out beneath me.

  Chapter 12

  Patrick

  “I made a mistake,” Robbie told us, sitting heavily in Amy’s vacated chair. “I’m not sure it happened, but de lads…”

  “What de hell did ye do, Da?” My stomach was churning at the sight of my father’s hunched shoulders. I’d never seen him less than completely confident, no matter the situation—even the day my mum had kicked him out after she’d found out he’d been spending time with the O’Halloran brothers. He’d argued then, sure in his path even as she’d packed his suitcase.

  He could have stayed. I’d seen it on his face that he knew he could get Mum to change her mind, but he hadn’t. His respect for her and a goodly dose of pride had forced him to leave the house that day, and I’d only seen him sporadically through my childhood. It wasn’t until I’d began at Uni that I began to see him more often, our paths crossing in a way that I knew hadn’t been by chance.

  I was now regretting ever laying eyes on him again.

  “I had a job, it was simple, eh? Go in, do it and get out. But it didn’t happen dat way. Got out, alright. But fuck if dose slimy bastards hadn’t made me look like a fool.” He rested his elbows on the table, clenching and unclenching his fists as he glared at them. When his eyes rose to meet Mum’s, I knew that it was even worse than I’d imagined. “I’m no longer trusted,” he whispered.

  Mum made a mournful noise in her throat and raised shaky fingers to rest against her forehead. My body suddenly felt as if the muscles would burst, my skin too tight for my body.

  “What does dat mean?” I asked, slamming my fist on the table. “What have ye brought down on us?”

  “I’ve not brought anyt’in’ to de two of ye,” he replied calmly, raising his hand to my mum, who’d begun to cry. “I’m not certain what will happen now. I’ve got to find a way to make me way back in. If I don’t… well, I wanted to see me wife.”

  Mum sniffled and rounded the table, letting my Da pull her onto his lap. As she continued to cry, she pulled his head to her breasts and his whole body seemed to wilt into hers. I couldn’t watch it.

  I stood from the table quietly and they didn’t notice as I left the house.

  I thought about my Da’s words as I nursed a Guinness in a pub near my house. I’d been there a while, just having finished my exams with what I was sure were barely passing marks. How a lad was supposed to focus on coursework when so many other things were happening around him was a mystery to me, but I’d continued on until
the term was finished. I’d not have to take the classes over, at least that was something.

  I should have been celebrating, but fuck if I could celebrate anything at that point. I’d seen my Da a few times since the day in my mum’s kitchen, but we’d barely said a word to each other. Mostly we just passed each other in the street near the university. He didn’t belong anywhere near there, but I never mentioned it. I knew he was making himself visible to assure me that things had not changed. He was still alive. For how long? That was anyone’s guess.

  I didn’t want to know what was happening. I was glad, of course, that he was still alive, but I didn’t want to be pulled into his life and the shadow that loomed above him. I was a scholar, for Christ’s sake. I believed in a unified Ireland, aye, but fighting amongst ourselves was getting us nowhere. I believed things would change when we began to use our words instead of our fists, an ideal my mum had ironically beat into me when I’d fought with Kevie as a child. Brute force could change a man’s mind, of course it could, but when two opponents were so clearly matched and unwilling to give up? It made for a long, bloody and unnecessary battle. One I wanted no part of.

  My body felt languid as I tipped the last of my drink against my lips and I was relaxed for the first time in months until three men entered the pub. My back straightened at their arrival and every muscle bunched in preparation. I knew of them. The smallest of the three was the leader, higher in the ranks than my Da, but not at the top. His two followers were larger, muscled and stupid looking, and as I peered closer I realized the blonde one was from Ballyshannon. Kevie’s older brother.

  I’d been in that pub more times than I could count, but I’d never seen them there before. I’d idiotically thought that I could avoid it all there, that the tiny pub only two streets away from the university was somehow shielded from the things I tried to ignore. Naïve, perhaps, but I’d been frequenting the place for over two years and it was the first time I’d seen anything that would keep me from coming back.

  My body grew more tense as the small guy leaned down behind a slight blonde woman who was laughing merrily with her friends.

  She froze with one hand in the air as she heard his voice. She knew him, but it was clear she didn’t like him. Her eyes went wide as she faced my way, but I knew she wasn’t seeing me. I was tucked back at the end of the bar, and her eyes were unfocused as she began to nod at whatever he was saying. When his fingers began to dig into her shoulder, it took every ounce of restraint I had not to stand from my stool.

  Instead, I watched as he let her go and went to a separate table with his men. As he got comfortable, ordering a pint loudly enough for the entire place to hear him, she began making excuses to her friends with a small, uncomfortable smile on her face. She left just minutes later, and in a moment of absolute stupidity, I followed her.

  “Miss, are ye alright?” I asked quietly when I’d caught up to her a few blocks away.

  She screeched in reply, swinging around to meet me with her hands held up in a defensive pose. I’d scared her… and Christ, she was gorgeous.

  “What de hell is de matter wit’ ye?” she scolded, her arms dropping as she looked at my face. I’m quite sure I looked like an idiot as I stared at her. She was flawless. Honey colored curls were wild and untamed around her heart shaped face and partially covering wide brown eyes with long curled lashes and a little bow mouth with a fuller bottom lip. Her thick sweater hid most of her torso from me, but it couldn’t disguise her high breasts and slim waist that tapered down to an arse that seemed too wide and round to match the rest of her. Perfection. She was absolutely perfect in a way that stopped men in their tracks and caused women to scowl defensively.

  “I know ye,” she said. Then all of a sudden, she was blushing. Her blushing face was even better.

  “Huh?”

  “We have a few classes toget’er. I’m Moira Murphy.”

  “Sorry, beautiful, it’s not ringin’ a bell.” Her face fell and I could have kicked myself. Fuck. I should have lied.

  “Oh, well…” She ran a hand over her curly hair and laughed uncomfortably. “Right, well, yes, I’m fine and t’ank ye for askin.’ I’ll just be headin’ home now.”

  She spun away from me and began walking briskly down the dark street before I pulled my head out of my arse and stopped her again. I couldn’t let her get away. “Me flat’s just around de corner,” I told her, tilting my head to the side and giving her my most charming smile. “If yer not ready to go home just yet.”

  Things were a bit fuzzy as I waited for her answer. I’d been so fucking tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop, I’d had more than I should have at the pub. I knew I was playing with fire, but the thought of fucking with that man in the pub—the embodiment of every reason I’d not had a father as I grew, was too delicious to resist. I wanted to lash out. I wanted to fuck her so well that I ruined her for that asshole who’d ruined her night out. And frankly, I wanted to forget for a while that the shit around me was getting thicker and I was so goddamn homesick that I could barely follow through with the plans I’d had since primary school.

  She was built for sex and the way she’d told me she knew who I was made me confident. She’d seen me, and she’d liked what she saw.

  Moira looked back the way we came for a moment, then sniffed defiantly. “Alright,” she answered, her voice confident.

  Soon the only thought running through my mind was the unlikely chance that my level of consumption would hamper my ability to perform. The longer we were outside, the more fuzzy my head became, the last few Guinness’ I’d consumed finally catching up with me. I wasn’t even sure how we made it back to my flat with the way I was feeling. I’m sure it had been sheer will on my part. The woman had curves in all the right places, and a way of moving her body that assured me that she knew exactly how she looked.

  I was so hot for her by the time we got inside, we didn’t even make it to the bed before I was inside her. I was frustrated and angry and looking for anything that would make me feel better. We were ravenous, the both of us, and I was just drunk enough to think that she found me as appealing as I did her. It never once occurred to me that she’d have a different reason for ripping the clothes from my body.

  I’d find out later that we’d both been running from things that night—the heavy weight of responsibilities, fear, threats, worries, and in her case, oppression. We explored each other long into the night, the need arcing between us leaving no room in our brains for anything beyond the ache for satiation. Exactly what I’d hoped for.

  It wasn’t until the next morning as I awoke to the telephone ringing on my counter, that the crushing weight of my responsibilities and unspoken promises broke through the haze of lust and alcohol. She was already gone, but my sheets smelled of sex and the perfume she’d been wearing, a reminder of what I’d done.

  As I climbed naked from the twisted bedding, I rubbed my hand down my face. The interaction in the bar had been a clear indication that she was somehow connected to the life I was trying so fucking hard to stay away from, and the new worry was like a weight in my gut. She was a nice girl, the few times we’d spoken when our mouths were not otherwise occupied led me to believe she was intelligent, and she had a dry sense of humor that was at odds with her sweet face. If life was different, there was a good chance I would have pursued her. Her personality, however, didn’t change matters. My only recourse was to refuse to acknowledge that it had even happened should I run into her again.

  The decision made, I stumbled to the phone. I’d come too far to let heavy breasts and a warm cunt fuck up my life.

  “Yeah?”

  “Patrick, it’s yer mum.”

  “Mum, why are ye ringin’ me at…” I turned to check the clock on the crate next to my bed. “Seven in de fuckin’ mornin’?”

  My breath paused as she remained silent, not even chastising me for my language.

  “I think there’s somethin’ wrong with Amy.”

  Chr
ist Jesus. In all my recriminations that morning, I’d not once thought about the girl waiting for me in Ballyshannon. This would destroy her. I’d not made any promises, but Christ, I’d implied plenty. It was one more reason on top of an overwhelming list that convinced me I had to forget the night before had ever happened.

  Suddenly, the flat felt as if it was closing in around me.

  “Exams are over, I’m on me way.”

  Chapter 13

  Amy

  Time was passing at an alarming rate no matter how I tried to slow it, and I was sure that hiding out in my bedroom wasn’t helping. I’d spent more time than usual with Peg, too, but that seemed to make things even harder, so I’d stopped making an effort. She was worried, but she didn’t push me for answers.

  I wasn’t ready to talk about it. If I didn’t say it out loud, I could try to pretend it wasn’t happening.

  My parents were too busy for their usual social calendar, which meant I was sleeping at home every night. I hated it and loved it at the same time, wishing I was at Peg’s while still clinging to my small bedroom like a piece of driftwood in the ocean. I couldn’t see my way out of the situation, there was no way out, and yet I continued to pray every night for some sort of help.

  And then suddenly, help arrived.

  I woke up that morning after a restless night of sleep to my bed tilting as someone sat down next to me. This was becoming familiar. The scent of mint, cigarette smoke and something unfamiliar hit my nostrils before I’d even opened my eyes, and I felt a lump grow in my throat. I recognized that smell.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered, brushing my hair away from my face. “Time to wake up.”

  My breath caught at the tenderness in his voice, and my heart started thumping hard in my chest. Embarrassment that he’d found me unwashed and sleep tousled warred with overwhelming relief that he was finally there. I’d missed him so much.

  It was odd, really, how one weekend had completely changed the way I viewed things. I no longer went along with the feeling of apathy I had developed over the past few years. When your life changes so often, it’s easy to stop caring about the new people you meet and the new places you go. If you know that sooner rather than later you’ll have to leave somewhere with no choice as to when or why, you learn to see everything in a fog, easily changeable and forgettable. It’s a defense mechanism—if you don’t fall in love with a place, you’re not sad to leave it.