Thomas & January (Sleepless #2)

Thomas & January (Sleepless #2) Page 10

“I was. I can’t believe you recognize me.”

“Yeah, I didn’t really like ya’ much.” How comforting, I thought as the ruddy, large Irishman eyed me like piece of meat. He smiled after a moment, making me nervous. My hand formed a fist in preparation. “It was my lady! Agh! Did she have it bad for ya’!” I tensed nervously. “What’s the matter with ya’! Loosen up, man! What’s ya’ drink?”

The guy was all over the place. “What the hell!” I said, “I’ll take a scotch, McEwan's.”

“D’ya’ hear this, boys? The Yank drinks scotch! ’Round here, them’s fightin’ words!” He said, pinching my shoulder hard. I tensed again. “I’m just joshin' ya’, boy!” He laughed heartily and slapped me once more on the back.

I downed the scotch in one gulp, wincing as it burned its way down my throat.

“Another?” he asked.

“No, thanks. I’ve still got a pint at the table.”

“That’s not your table there, is it?”

“Uh, yeah, it is.”

“No, it’s not, mate! You’re drinkin’ with us tonight!”

I peered over my shoulder at January who had arched her back and leaned toward us, trying to listen in. When I caught her doing it, she righted herself, resting her chin in her hand on the table and pretended to be interested in Ailin’s boring ass conversation.

“Is she with you?” The guy asked when he caught sight of January.

“Uh, yeah, that’s January, but we’re here with those guys,” I said, though I don’t know why I even mentioned it. This guy seemed infinitely more interesting than dumbass Ailin.

“They can come along then. Shane,” the guy said, offering his hand.

“Tom,” I answered, swiftly shaking his hand with enough grip to let him know I wasn’t the type to take crap. This made him smile.

I tossed my head toward Shane’s table, gesturing for January to follow and she stood. Ailin grabbed her wrist and for a split second I almost cocked back and hit the guy square in the jaw. She played it off with all the Southern charm I didn’t know she possessed, picked up our pints and followed me over, making me feel smug and a little bit stupid all at the same time.

“Ailin’s angry,” she teased with a knowing smile.

“Is he?” I asked.

“Who’s this guy?” she asked, nodding toward Shane.

“Apparently not a fan of The Ivories,” I answered vaguely, making her brows furrow.

When we reached the table, Shane introduced us to his friends. “Tom, January,” he said, smiling at her by way of introduction to which she beamed back, “this is Cillian, Douglas, Niam, Rowan, and,” he beamed, “my lass, Siobhan.” Together, these men were five of the most formidable men I’d ever come across in my entire life.

“A pleasure,” January said, immediately sitting next to Siobhan, an instant friend, it seemed.

I nodded my greeting. I sat next to January and we got to know those strangers better than I would have ever thought.

“So, you’re Irish, then,” Shane inquired of January after an hour of drinking. We were all warm and friendly by this time but I mostly observed...January.

“Yes’sir,” January slurred through a slight buzz. I was cutting her off.

“By what parts, miss?” Douglas asked.

“By Killarney.”

“Shut your hole!” Cillian said, slamming his heavy hand on the table, making January jump then laugh. “That’s me family’s town! What’d ya’ say your last name was?”

“I didn’t, but it’s MacLochlainn.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! I know your Uncle Donovan!”

“Get out of town!” January exclaimed, eyes bright, and leaned Cillian’s way.

“By the heavens, I knew you looked familiar. You’ve got your family’s eyes, lass.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“’Twasn’t meant as a compliment,” he teased but she slapped his shoulder in retribution, making him laugh.

“My head’s reelin’,” Cillian said, looking on January. “Donovan MacLochlainn’s niece in my very presence. By God, I’ve heard nothing but talk of your talent from here to kingdom come for years. The town’s sick of it, but he carries on and on.” He sat up and looked around. January grabbed my arm, making me wish I could glue her hand there, but I was too distracted to dwell because she appeared nervous. “James!” Cillian yelled across the room. “James! Have you your board tonight?” he asked one of the band members near the bar top.

“Aye!” James answered back.

“But I have a gift for you, James! A Yank! A bloody Yank who can play like an angel apparently.”

Cillian grabbed January’s arm and hauled her to her feet, the look of surprise on her face made my heart race. I stood and grabbed her other arm.

“Come, darlin’, none of us bite,” he said, smiling.

“But - I haven’t prepared anything. I haven’t played Maimeó’s songs in years!”

“It’s like riding a bicycle, lass. ’Sides, you’re Irish. It’s in your blood!”

I was right in step beside January. “Do you want to leave?” I asked, worried.

She sighed but smiled. “The worst thing that can happen is that I forget and they boo me, right? Not so bad,” she said, wringing her hands.

“Let’s go,” I said, taking her warm hand.

“No, no. I think I can do this. They don’t call it liquid courage for nothing, right?”

I smiled.

 January took the keyboards and began playing softly before winking my direction.

“An Irishman walks into a pub,” she begins and the bar went silent. “The bartender asks him, ‘What'll you have?’” Her Irish accent was spot on. “The man says, ‘Give me three pints of Guinness, please.’ The bartender brings him three pints and the man proceeds to alternately sip one, then the other, then the third until they're gone. He then orders three more.

“The bartender says, ‘Sir, no need to order as many at a time. I’ll keep an eye on it and when you get low, I'll bring you a fresh one.’ The man replies, ‘You don't understand. I have two brothers, one in Australia and one in the States. We made a vow to each other that every Saturday night we'd still drink together. So right now, me brothers have three Guinness stouts too, and we're drinking together.’

“The bartender thought this a wonderful tradition and every week the man came in and ordered three beers.” January’s playing and voice became more solemn, dramatic. “But one week, he ordered only two.” The crowd oohed and ahhed. “He slowly drank them,” she continued darkly, “and then ordered two more. The bartender looked at him sadly. ‘Sir, I know your tradition, and, agh, I'd just like to say that I'm sorry for your loss.’

“The man looked on him strangely before it finally dawned on him. ‘Oh, me brothers are fine - I just quit drinking.’”

The pub erupted in laughter as January played briskly through their whoops and hollers and when they’d quieted down, she stopped only to immediately start a heart-stopping rendition of Cooley’s Reel. The pub kept beat on the wooden bar tops with their fists and the drummer joined in on the bodhrán.

I watched her. God, how I watched her. She was in her element, totally immersed in her playing and from the look on her face, probably didn’t have any idea people were even listening. I knew that feeling. I reveled in that feeling when I was with The Ivories. She was amazing, breathtaking, actually, and that’s when the realization hit me like a two-ton bomb. I was in the deepest of troubles.

Chapter Five

One Foot

January

When Cooley’s Reel came to an end, I awoke from my piano-induced stupor to shouts and applause. I was rushed in that moment, not really even aware what people were so happy about. I searched the crowd for Thomas to see what he thought of my performance but came across Ailin’s face first. He gave me a thumbs-up, so I smiled back. I continued my search but fell upon the wrong person’s face again in Cillian.

“By heavens, lass! You are everything your uncle claimed you to be and more! I will never give him shite again!” He kissed the top of my head in drunken amazement before turning to talk to James, the Alba whistle player.

I searched the crowd again, almost frantic this time, for no real reason I could fathom other than I just wanted to see Tom’s face. I smiled and shook hands politely, scanning the crowd until I caught his face in the back, standing by the tables we’d sat at earlier with Shane’s friends.

He grinned softly at me, making my heart palpitate in my chest, my blood boil. No one and nothing had ever made me feel the way he did every time he looked upon my face. I felt the warmth of his gaze from the tips of my hair to the tips of my toes. My smile pulled on one side as I lifted my shoulders softly in a shrug. His grin got bigger and he shook his head at me. My nose crinkled and my smile began to match his, reaching both sides of my mouth. He gestured toward the door and we moved in unison until we met at the entrance. I pushed through the doors first and spilled out into the late night air.

Outside, I stood underneath the soft lamplight, reminding me of the scene from New York, the one where he thought I’d played him but, in truth, hadn’t. I’d been just as surprised by his confession as he was. I just chose to let him think I wasn’t. In hindsight, knowing how cynical he was, I shouldn’t have done that. I was new to flirting and obviously so terrible at it he mistook my playfulness for cruelty. I was too embarrassed to correct the misunderstanding.

Tom approached me slowly and met me under the light on the stone walkway. He leaned over me so closely, my neck craned to see his face. His expression was one of confusion as he studied my own.

“What is it about you?” he asked me.

I gulped. “What do you mean?” I whispered, closing my eyes and swallowing again, my breaths becoming labored.

He lifted his hand and dragged the backs of his fingers across my jaw so lightly I barely felt them, but they made me feel dizzy all the same.

“How can you be this extraordinary, January MacLochlainn?” He leaned closer, a look of pure frustration and anger lit his eyes and pressed his lips. “And why couldn’t I have met you before I realized I didn’t want anyone...ever?”

“What?” I asked, astonished.

“Come on,” he said, jerking me down the walk, but I pulled back.

“Stop!”

“I have to walk you back to the inn,” he said, with no feeling at all.

“No, stop. Just, stop for a second,” I said, feeling like crying but not really sure why, I had no real reason to. I laid my hand over my pumping chest. “What did you mean by all that?”

“Nothing,” he said, coldly staring right through me.

“Nothing,” I said, searching his face for something more. “Nothing,” I repeated.