Stay the Night (24 page)

Happy to help him out, Niamh turned to the other side of the room. At the bar, Cormac sat, looking self-satisfied. Smug bastard. But she loved him. When she’d called him the night before to tell him she was going to this audition, he’d insisted he was coming to hear her play. She was tempted to play Darth Vader’s theme song for him.

Something pulled her attention, and she turned and almost stalled when she saw Robert sitting at a table in the corner, alone.

She swallowed. She hadn’t talked to him since their last fight at the Red Witch. Pierce must have told him she’d accepted the audition.

She closed her eyes. She’d deal with him—there were things to be said—but it’d have to be later.

Pierce had told her to play a short set, take a break, and then play another short set, all totaling an hour. But once she started, the audience was so responsive she couldn’t help playing through the entire time. She ended on a happy song, because she wanted to leave people feeling as buoyant as she felt. She played her last note triumphantly.

The crowd erupted into thunderous applause. She bowed to everyone and tipped an imaginary hat to the old boys.

Pierce came back on stage and hugged her lightly. “Well done. Robert always did have impeccable taste.”

At his name, her gaze flew to him. He stood, clapping as enthusiastically as everyone else. His face was in the shadows, though, so she couldn’t see what he thought.

“Go to him.” Pierce pushed her to the steps off the side of the stage. “We’ll discuss details later, but I assume you’re in?”

“I’m definitely in.” Grinning, she saluted him with her bow and hurried offstage.

Waving at the old boys and the Summerhills, she stopped first at her brother.

Cormac stood and hugged her tightly. “
That’s
what I was talking about. When are you going to learn that I’m always right?”

She punched his arm. “So you came all this way to gloat, did you?”

“Of course.” He grinned, but then his expression became serious. He took her free hand and squeezed it. “I only want you to be happy, Niamh, and you’re never as happy as you are when you’re playing.”

She glanced at Robert. She was pretty happy when she kissed him, too.

Her brother noticed the direction of her gaze and raised his eyebrows. “Or perhaps I’m wrong.”

“Didn’t you just tell me you were always right?” she asked, facing him.

“Yes, but there’s always a first time.” He looked over her head, obviously appraising the other man. Then he nodded. “I wouldn’t mind being wrong in this instance.”

Reaching on her tiptoes, she kissed his cheek. “I love you, even though you’re from the Dark Side.”

“Brat.” He swatted her bum. “Go to your man, already. He’s getting impatient. I’m going to want to interrogate him about his intentions, you know.”

“I’m sure they’re completely dishonorable.” She saluted Cormac with her bow and made her way to Robert, but her happy smile dissolved into trepidation the closer she approached. There was still the matter of the Red Witch and him turning it into a nightclub.

His hands were in his pockets, and he watched her warily as though he thought she might strike him.

That made her sad. “You have every reason to expect that I’ll throw something at your head,” she said as she stopped in front of him, “but I won’t.”

His shoulders relaxed. “You sure?”

“I’ll do one better and apologize.” She stepped right up in front of him, her violin and bow in one hand, lowered to her side. “I haven’t treated you nicely in the past week.”

“Maybe two,” he corrected, humor lighting his face.

“Well, I care about the Red Witch. I know I don’t have a say in what happens to it, but turning it into a nightclub will kill it.”

He nodded. “You’re right.”

“I am?”

“I amended the original idea.” He took her hand, like Cormac had, only this felt
so
different. Robert’s touch made goose pimples rise on her skin. “I still want to revamp the space. It needs a facelift. But I’m going to keep it casual. A few signature cocktails, but mostly the way you’d envisioned it, with a solid music program three nights a week.”

She gaped at him. “That’s what I had in my plan.”

“Yes.” He stepped closer. “Ask me what I’m going to call the bar.”

“What?” she whispered, mesmerized by his gaze. When she was a child, her grandmother had told her the devil had blue eyes. Niamh only saw heaven in Robert’s eyes.

“Goddess of the Night,” he said, lowering his lips to hers.

Their kiss was brief but potent. She listed forward, losing her balance, falling into Robert literally.

“There’s one more thing.” He tucked one of her curls behind her ear, caressing her face. “I know you’ll be busy here with Pierce, but I’d love it if you’d come to play occasionally. Maybe you’d even help me audition the bands.”

“I—” She shook her head. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’re happy.” He touched her lower lip with his thumb, his gaze heating her from the inside out. “Say you’ll go on a date with me, a real date. Say you’ll give us a chance and that the pub won’t come between us.”

Feeling full of everything, she exhaled. She needed to speak the way she played music—from her heart. “Do you know that I love your eyes?”

Said eyes narrowed. “My eyes?”

She nodded. “I want to see them darken with passion, and crinkle with laughter. I want to see them burning with desire while I play my violin for you naked. I even want them to spit fire at me, but not too often.”

He reached out and twirled one of her curls around his finger, using it to draw her nearer. “I get to see you play naked?”

“You get to
play
with me naked.” She frowned. “If you want to.”

“Niamh.” He drew her close, wrapping his arms around her and enveloping her in hope and affection. “I’d like nothing more.”

Smiling, her heart happy, she stretched up to place a kiss—a promise—on his lips. “Neither would I.”

Chapter Twenty-six

“Are you ready to win?” Rowdy asked, clapping a hand on Ian’s shoulder as he sat on the bench next to him.

Sliding his socks over his shin guards, Ian took a deep breath before he answered. “I’m ready to vomit.”

“Nerves.” Rowdy chuckled. “I get them every time before I step on the pitch. You know what helps me get rid of them?”

“Yes, but I don’t want any strippers.”

“Dude, that was just one time, and she wasn’t a stripper.” At Ian’s disbelieving look, Rowdy pursed his lips. “An exotic dancer isn’t the same thing. There’s skill involved in one.”

Ian shook his head, feeling the hint of a smile at the edges of his face.

“See?” Rowdy pointed at him. “I knew you had it in you somewhere. Don’t worry, Mac. You’ve got this.”

“Do I?” He strapped the knee brace in place, flexing his leg a few times to make sure it was in the right spot.

Rowdy leaned in and whispered so Ian’s teammates wouldn’t hear him. “You’re as good as you’ll ever be. The brace will help with extra stability. Just stay clear of other players’ feet. As long as you avoid injury, you should be fine. You’ve played practice games. This is the same.”

It wasn’t, but he appreciated Rowdy’s effort. He put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “My parents?”

“In their seats. Donald said break a leg, but I told him that was the last kind of encouragement you needed to hear.”

He and his da had talked late into the night, about all sorts of things but mostly about distributing his whiskey. His da was excited. They were going to try it on a small scale. Truthfully, Ian was excited, too. “The kid?”

“Outside, waiting to say a word to you.”

He winced. “Now? Before the game? Couldn’t you have told him he could give me his
mea culpas
later?”

Rowdy gave him a flat look.

Ian sighed. “Fine. Send him in.”

His friend got up but after three feet he turned around, hands on his hips and a look of outrage on his face. “Aren’t you going to ask me about Goldie?”

He’d been afraid to ask about Titania. “Is she here?” he asked in a low, reluctant voice.

“Of course she is.” Rowdy threw his arms in the air. “She loves you. She wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

He froze, staring at Rowdy as he stormed out mumbling about idiots. She loved him?

Not the thing to think about right now. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the game, but all he saw in his mind was Titania’s adorable smile.

He missed her
.

“Mr. MacNiven?” a warbly voice said from behind him.

Sighing, he opening his eyes.

Stanton Frank stood off to the side, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot. His hands were shoved in his jeans’ pockets, and he was more pale than usual, his freckles in stark relief.

Ian’s teammates looked at the kid in question. Ian could tell a couple of them realized who the kid was by the way they started to bristle. Not wanting any more blame to fall on the boy, Ian stuck his hand out. “Thanks for making it, Stanton.”

The boy paled even more, but he stepped forward and shook his hand. “Thank you for letting me be here, sir.”

It’d been Rowdy’s idea. Ian still had moments of bitterness about the kid and his recklessness, particularly when his knee hurt, but he was letting it go. Life happened. You moved on.

The letter Stanton had written went a long way toward helping him heal psychologically. Ian had been devastated physically, but the kid was obviously in a worse place. Reading the remorse and angst that Stanton expressed, Ian knew he had to do something.

For a minute, it’d annoyed the hell out of him that
he
was the one who had to save the kid. How was that fair?

But life wasn’t fair, Rowdy kept reminding him, and a hero had to rise to the occasion regardless of how he felt. Ian didn’t want to be a hero, but thanks to Titania’s photos that was how everyone saw him now. Courageous. A man who overcame the odds.

He’d invited Stanton to lunch and they’d talked. Ian wasn’t going to absolve the boy of his sins—what he’d done was careless. He didn’t want Stanton to ever put anyone’s life at risk like that again. So he’d told the boy that they were tied—that Stanton owed his life to Ian now, and that Ian expected that Stanton was going to do good things. Ian told him that very few people were given second chances, but Stanton had one, and he expected the boy to make the most of it.

The boy had almost cried with relief. Ian knew he’d done the right thing.

Rowdy had posed the most persuasive argument though: without the accident, Ian wouldn’t have met Titania. Ian may hate the condition of his knee, but he was grateful for having met Titania. A world without her would be—

Well, he was hoping he’d never have to find out.

Eyes wide, Stanton lowered his voice and whispered. “How’s your leg, sir?”

It already ached, as though it knew Ian was going to overwork it and it wanted to protest. “It feels great,” he said with a smile as he stood. He paused and then carefully put his weight on it, relieved when there wasn’t an abnormal amount of pain.

“Good.” Stanton nodded, obviously relieved. “I’ll be rooting for you, sir. I’d tell you to break a leg, but that wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“It wouldn’t, would it?” Ian patted the boy on his shoulder. “Thank you for stopping by and checking on me.”

“I’m tied to you,” the boy said, his gaze earnest. “You said that, and I’ll always make sure that you’re taken care of.”

He nodded, walking the boy out. Then he walked into the center of the locker room and faced his team.

They grew silent without him needing to do anything, their attention on him. “I don’t need to tell you what this game means to me,” he said quietly. “Regardless of how it ends, I want to thank you.”

A few of the men nodded. A couple wiped their eyes. Emotions always ran high before a big game.

Ian looked each of them in the eye before he said, “It’s no secret that I want to win. We have a good chance. It’s a decision, and I say we decide to be victorious right now.”

A cheer went up, loud and forceful.

George clapped his back. “You good?”

“Yes.” Ian nodded firmly.

“All right then.” George turned to the men. “Let’s win this thing,” he yelled.

The entire locker room erupted in a roar Ian was sure could be heard in the stands.

“Let the games begin,” he murmured, leading his team out onto the field.

The game had been tied for the better part of eighty minutes. Nothing they tried made a difference. The other team’s goalie seemed to have a force field around the goal area.

Ian jogged down the field, gesturing to George to run ahead. He was tired, the kind of fatigue that was so deep that he kept waiting for his muscles to fail. With every step, his knee protested.

But he kept fighting. They were going to win this, he reminded himself.

The ball came at him, and he stopped it with quick footwork, reversing course to take it home to the other side’s goal.

He had it in sight. It was just him and the goalie. The goalie wasn’t good at stopping the ball if it went high and left, so Ian planted his foot to aim—

Out of nowhere a leg slid between his.

“
No,
” he yelled, seeing it all unfold before it actually happened.

The other player’s momentum and the pitch carried him forward. Unable to stop, the man slid onto the ground.

But it wasn’t enough. If Ian had been whole, he might have been able to jump to get his leg out of the way. But his knee refused to go anywhere, and the other player’s leg leveraged Ian’s.

He fell backwards, his knee twisting as he hit the ground. He winced as his hip hit, sliding to a stop.

He swallowed, his hand gripping the turf because he didn’t want to let on that his knee wasn’t right. They’d take him out of the game, and then it’d be over.

He wasn’t ready for it to be over, damn it
.

He wanted to shake his fists at the sky, to curse whatever god was responsible. Instead he focused on managing the pain so he could stand.

George was the first one to reach him. “I saw him going, but I couldn’t make it to intercept him,” he said as he kneeled. “Mac?”