Hooked: A Christmas Romance: The Doyles, Boston Irish Mafia Romance Page 6

  No thanks to thinking about Kieran right now. Then again, maybe that’s the boner killer I need. “Yes, but in a very different package.”

  “Exactly,” Danny says. “She was a small girl in a family of mostly big, loud men. She tried her best to fit in, but even with her bubbly charm she was easy to overlook. She and Drew were close, though.”

  “She’s mentioned him a few times,” I say cautiously.

  Danny runs his hands through his white hair and looks up at the ceiling. Sia did the same earlier when she was trying to get control of her feelings. Do they know they have this in common?

  “She stood by him, even when he started hanging out with a bunch of arrogant losers. They gave him hell for letting this sweet young girl hang around, so he shut her right out. I’d see her painting by herself on the front porch like she was waiting for him to change his mind. And I didn’t go sit with her, Vinny. I just tsk tsk’d and went back to whatever drama of the moment I was obsessed with.”

  Danny gets up and grabs some coffee, pouring some for me as well.

  “I figured it was kids’ stuff, right? It’s not unusual for teenagers to stop hanging out with friends or even family of the opposite sex. Then she tried to tell me that he’d gotten into harder drugs with these idiots. I didn’t believe her, of course. Figured she was just out for the attention she wasn’t getting from him.”

  I’m uncomfortable hearing Danny’s confession, but it helps me understand Sia’s habits a little better.

  “And then he was gone. It was too hard to see her, Vinny. I couldn’t look at her without thinking of him—until he’d met those losers, you never saw Sia without seeing Drew, too. And I should’ve believed her. I think maybe part of me did and seeing her reminded me of how I was complicit in my boy’s death. So I shut her out. When she got older, she started hosting these big family parties over with the Doyles. I’m surprised you never were invited.”

  “Kieran knows better,” I reply.

  “Or maybe he doesn’t,” Danny says, crooking a hairy eyebrow. “Anyway, she was trying to create a tradition to bring us all together.”

  Or trying to create a place where she wouldn’t be shut out.

  It doesn’t seem to have worked very well, but I don’t say that. He’s getting to the thing he doesn’t want to say, based on the heavy sighs and his silence. He wants me to fill the void, but I don’t. Finally, he relents.

  “Anyway, last time she was here, she begged me to come to Christmas, said my son wouldn’t want me to waste away here alone.” He takes a big swig of hot coffee and flinches at the burn. “I yelled at her, Vinny. Told her she had no idea what Drew would want or how I felt. Told her she should’ve tried harder to convince me that he was on drugs. Asked her why she hadn’t been there with Drew when it mattered, when he was overdosing, when they’d always been inseparable before. I screamed at her for being alive when he wasn’t. I blamed her for his death, but after she left, I excused what I’d done because I’d done it out of grief. My wife had just drank herself to death and I was a mess. I figured Sia would get over it and come back—she always had before.”

  He sighs. “But she didn’t. And I was too ashamed to reach out to her. And then you showed up at my door with her half dead in your arms. Scared the shit out of me.” His voice cracks, and then he laughs.

  Jesus. Even through the haze of grief, that’s a heavy thing to lay on someone. From what she’d said, Sia was just a teenager when he died. I’d had to be an adult before my time, and it seems like she had to as well. It suddenly strikes me that no one has reached out to her even though she could’ve died in that storm. Maybe she hasn’t told anyone because she’s not someone people think to worry about? I don’t understand that. Where are her parents?

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be all sentimental on you, Vinny. Just because you’re quiet doesn’t mean you want to listen to the ramblings of an old man.”

  “I don’t mind,” I say, finishing my coffee. “But I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.”

  His head bobs forward in agreement. “I figured helping her with her party would be a good start. And then Christmas here will be nice. First time I’ll be celebrating in years.”

  Sia will need a little more than that, but it’s not my business. But thankfully my hard-on is gone. I’m done with feelings for the day and it’s not even noon. I get up to put my mug in the dishwasher and grab two muffins from a bowl on the counter. Blueberry and something unidentifiable from the outside. Surprise muffins can go either really well or really badly. I break a chunk off the top and eat it.

  Cinnamon swirl. An excellent surprise.

  “Vinny,” Danny asks as I polish off the muffins. “Could you help me with something while you wait on your roof parts?”

  I toss the muffin wrappers in the bin and sweep the crumbs off my hands into the garbage as well.

  “Yeah, no problem.”

  “We have a bunch of old cocktail tables and some high back chairs in the basement that Sia will need for her party. I can’t carry them myself.”

  He has to be in his seventies at least.

  “Of course. Happy to.”

  There’s something else. He looks guilty.

  “I know the holidays aren’t your thing, but I told Sia I’d help her pick out some Christmas trees and…” His shoulders deflate. “I can’t. I never did that with Drew because I was always too busy with work. I can’t pick out trees and then decorate them with my dead sister’s ornaments so her soon-to-be dead husband can enjoy one last Christmas. It’s too much.”

  Kieran’s father, Murphy Doyle. His cancer is terminal. Kieran told me. We don’t talk about feelings, he and I. We’d never had to.

  “I feel like a goddamn coward, Vinny. I don’t want to let her down again, but I don’t want her to see me bawling like a doddering old fool.”

  I wouldn’t want to look weak in front of her either.

  “Sure,” I say. “I’m guessing the trees will be heavy?” I want to offer him an out. “It’d make more sense for me to go and help carry them.”

  “You’re a saint, Vinny.” Danny sags with relief. “I’m so lucky Kieran brought you here.”

  If he’d known how I’d been fantasizing about his niece just now he might feel differently.

  “Nah,” I say, going for a third muffin. Going to need the calories for all the manual labor. Banana nut. “I’m in it for the free muffins.”

  He chuckles at my joke but pats me on the shoulder. “I’ll let her know when she gets back from her errands. Thank you.”

  I have some errands of my own to do. Get her stuff to the cleaners, take her portfolios to the historical society. One of the archivists must know how to either restore or reproduce them.

  After a quick shower, I’m out the door, sneaking Sia’s suitcases into my truck. I don’t want anyone to get any ideas—I’m doing this for Oscar. Mostly. I hand off her clothes and the suitcases to Mrs. Swenson. She waves off any concerns I have—she’s well versed in saltwater damage, thank you very much. She can take care of the clothes and the suitcases. They’ll be done by Christmas Eve. Next, I drop off her shoes with Aristos. He’s an old-world cobbler, but he’s used to the fancy shoes of the rich residents by now.

  “Not your size, Mr. Esposito,” he says, looking at the pile.

  “I try to avoid heels even though they make my ass look great,” I say. “Bad for my knees.”

  Aristos guffaws. Teasing only gets worse if you don’t lean into it. More skills learned from my very special childhood.

  “Okay, well, I don’t have a lot here right now, so I can probably have them cleaned up for you just in time for Christmas. You can show off those calves at the dinner table.”

  “Thanks, Aristos.” I pay him in advance. It’s a smart business move to require payment up front when your rich clientele will often have you do work and then forget the shoes entirely. Aristos sells anything that gets left behind but getting the money up front and also being a
ble to sell the forgotten shoes is far more profitable.

  I won’t be forgetting them.

  Sia would look incredible in the black ones with the red soles. Those and nothing else.

  Shit. I have to stop this train of thought.

  Especially since I’m finding that she’s not as bad as I originally thought. I still think she’s wasting her talent, and she’s fooling herself if she thinks her parties are going to solve any of her family’s issues.

  But she’ll be gone soon, and my roof will be repaired even sooner. I just need those supplies to come in.

  Then I can retreat to the solitude of my fish shack, away from all the drama. I’ve spent the entirety of my adult life so far keeping clear of other people’s bullshit, and I don’t intend to get in it now. Even if it means missing out on incredible sex with Sia.

  I’m not having a fling with Danny’s niece. She’s not the kind of woman who’d be satisfied with a fling, and the fish shack isn’t exactly the level of glamor she’s used to. It’d never work.

  I head over to the historical society. Their archivist is excited to see the portfolios, not because of what they contain but because of the challenge of the repair. The older woman flips through, marveling over the art before she closes the cover with a sigh.

  “We can clean up spotting, and press the pages, but they’re still going to be warped.” She taps the back of a pen on the counter, still thinking.

  “I’d recommend doing a multi-layered scan, adjusting for warping in photoshop and then reprinting and recovering them.”

  “What’s the timeline on something like that?” I ask.

  She runs her hands over the books. “A month, I’d say? Even with our intern scanning, the editing will slow things down.”

  Not ideal. She could probably reproduce these far more quickly at Kinkos if she had the original artwork scanned and stored elsewhere. It’s probably a waste of time and money.

  “What about just one, to start with?” I ask. “My friend’s birthday is on Christmas.”

  “We’ll give it a try.” She grins, moving the books onto a wheeled cart. “I’ll work with my digital restoration guy to figure out which will be the easiest to get done in that timeline.”

  I thank her. “I know it’s not the best time of year to get a big project. I appreciate your expertise.”

  She chuckles. “It’ll be fun. She’s a lucky lady, Mr. Esposito.”

  The assumption that Sia is my girlfriend rankles me. At the bar it was different. I’d been protecting her from idiot drunk men. Here I was just doing a simple favor. For Oscar.

  I don’t let my irritation show, though, and thank her again, leaving my phone number before heading out the door.

  Sia’d saved Oscar from drowning. And besides, it’s not like I was doing much other than handing things off to the right people.

  Nothing to get all worked up about.

  What I need is a long drive around the island to clear my head. It’ll be quiet when Sia goes, and the fact that I’ll probably miss her chatter annoys me. It’s why I don’t waste time getting close to people. It either goes badly, or it never lasts. They always leave, so what’s the point?

  Best to go it alone.

  11

  Sia

  The reindeer family fits in the ballroom’s bay window perfectly. They’re made of logs, with moveable heads and cute stick antlers. I’d put down some cotton batting to look like snow, and they seem happy enough here.

  It’s been a productive afternoon. I squared away the catering, which thankfully comes with dish and flatware rental. Luckily, folks need the winter income, so everyone has been excited rather than annoyed at my last-minute requests, even this close to the holiday. The food would be simple—whatever’s in stock—but that’s less important since the drinks will be good.

  Normally my anxiety would be skyrocketing. After all, my guests are used to a level of polish that just isn’t going to happen here. I’m still positive that we’ll be able to get some professional-looking photographs to publish on the inn’s website. I wish I had my pretty brocade tree skirts for the photos instead of the ugly ones I’d picked up with the tree stands at the hardware store, but those were in my bags. I had asked Kristi about the salvage, and whether anything was recovered, but she said unfortunately not. The bags had probably gotten loose with all the tossing and were hurled into the sea. Thinking about that experience makes my stomach lurch. Better focus on affixing the garland I’d found in one of my uncle’s boxes to the molding. The molding that Kieran and Vinny had masterfully installed.

  Vinny.

  I’ve been so busy that it’s been easy to avoid thinking about him. About how strongly my body had reacted to his touch. About how I’d wanted him to touch me more intimately. I flick a glance over to the mistletoe I’ve hung in the entryway to the ballroom. I’ve put some up around the house.

  To help Kristi and Sven out, I tell myself.

  When I’d returned, my uncle let me know that Vinny would be bringing up tables later. He’d sheepishly followed with “and he’ll help you get your trees, sweetheart. I’m not strong enough to carry them.”

  I’d said that I could do that, but he just shook his head and insisted on Vinny’s help.

  Honestly, I don’t know how I’ll face more time alone with Vinny. He’s closed off and cool, until he’s not. And when he’s not, I find myself wanting to stand too close to his flames. Logs on the fire and all that.

  I position a ladder against the wall. Normally I’d use a tape measure so I could spread the hooks evenly, but I’ll have to eyeball it.

  Vinny obviously has scars beyond his broken nose. But like Uncle Danny, he’s let the scar tissue grow thick and deep, blocking out any remaining feeling.

  No wonder he thinks I’m silly.

  It’s slow work, setting the hook, climbing down the ladder, repositioning it, climbing back up, setting the hook, ad nauseum.

  The motion was something I wouldn’t have been able to do a few years ago. When I was sixteen and Drew was eighteen, we decided to jump off Big Bridge on Seaview Avenue in Edgartown, or Jaws Bridge if you ask the tourists. The name is misleading. Big Bridge is not big at all. But I was afraid anyway and Drew held my hand as we made the leap.

  I hit my shoulder on one of the pylons on the way down.

  It hurt like hell, but I didn’t want to admit to Drew or anyone else that I’d made such a dumb mistake.

  After a few years, I’d developed so much scar tissue that it was hard to move my arm. My shoulder was nearly frozen. I went to physical therapy and breaking that scar tissue down was pure agony. I cried during most of the early sessions and was left with big, mottled bruises that took forever to heal.

  But they did heal.

  And eventually I could fully rotate my arm again.

  The pain was worth it.

  I finish sticking the hooks and start hanging the garland. It’s green ivy with bright clusters of red berries set in. Tinsel will give it a little extra sparkle once it’s hung.

  My thoughts wander back to Vinny and his scar tissue as I repeat my slow progression across the ceiling. His scars cut him out of so many experiences. But whether he’s interested in breaking through them, that is another question.

  Then again, if I’m being honest, maybe I haven’t worked through all of my scars either. My parents’ bullshit I certainly had, in private, but not so much with Drew.

  I hadn’t taken the leap with him into using. He’d convinced me to smoke pot with him and his friends once, to just try it, and I’d wanted to be a part of his life so badly that I’d agreed. But it made me paranoid and I’d embarrassed him when I’d begged him to take me home.

  “Jesus Christ, it’s just weed, Sia. You’re so fucking lame.”

  “Drew, please? I don’t feel good.”

  “Take the baby home, Drew. I thought you said she was cool?”

  Another of Drew’s friends looks at me in a way that scares me.

  “S
he’s not a baby,” he says, leaning forward and licking his lips. “How old are you? Sweet sixteen, maybe? Doesn’t look like a baby to me.”

  My heart slams in my chest.

  “Drew. Take me home. Now.”

  He shoots a glance at his friend. “Yeah. Okay.”

  He’d never invited me to spend time with his group after that. Partly I’m sure because he wasn’t blind to the implicit threat in his friend’s words, but maybe things would’ve been different if I’d been able to hold my own in that moment. Even if taking drugs wasn’t something I could do, or wanted to do, I wish I’d been savvy enough to fake interest so I could keep an eye on Drew. That way, like my uncle had said, I could’ve been there when he needed me the most.

  But I wasn’t there. And I’ll work hard for the rest of my life trying to create beautiful, warm, welcoming spaces where people can find safe community to make amends for that failure to Drew, and to Danny. I’m not naive enough to believe I can save everyone, but if I make a difference for even a few people, it’ll be worth it. Grind through that scar tissue in whatever way works.

  I’m about halfway through placing the garland when Vinny comes into the ballroom with one of the cocktail tables from the basement.

  “What are you doing up there by yourself?” he asks. “That ladder is rickety as hell.”

  I’m simultaneously pleased with his concern and annoyed at the condescension. Looking over my shoulder, I notice his eyes are glued to my ass. God bless yoga pants.

  “I do this all the time,” I toss over my shoulder, turning back to the garland. He puts the table down and holds the ladder for me. I climb down and stand in front of it.

  “Kieran almost broke his neck when he fell off that damn thing,” Vinny says. His voice is gruff.

  It’s real sexy.

  But seriously? Kieran?

  “I’m far more graceful than Kieran is, even with busted hands.” I can’t keep the haughtiness out of my tone.