Always and Forever (2 page)

“I assume you’re eating right. Sleeping enough.”

“Again, yes. But my stomach’s always
queasy.”

“After the first trimester, you’ll feel better. I always did.”

Rachel shook her head. “I worry about the pregnancy in general, Brie. There’s a history of miscarriage in my family.”

“As Liam always says, don’t buy trouble before it comes your way.”

“I’m trying.” She nodded to Brie. “I can’t imagine having four.”

“Huh! By the last one, I worked full-time, up until five
hours before the baby was born.” And Pat had had a fit. “However, I don’t recommend that.”

“I haven’t missed any of my cable shows yet, except to come down here for the inauguration. But right now the thought of facing a camera at night is overwhelming.”

Brie crossed her legs, enjoying the slide of silk over her bare skin. “Can you take some vacation?”

“I could, but it would be inconvenient.
Getting this orphanage off the ground is a challenge, even though Bailey has the White House behind her. And I need to promote it on my program.”

Picking up Rachel’s hand, Brie said, “Rach, one thing I learned in all these years of motherhood and marriage to an O’Neil, is to take help when you need it. We’re all here for you.”

“You’re probably right. If I’m not feeling better when we go
back to New York, I’ll take a few days off.”

They chatted about babies and balance, about the O’Neil brothers until Dylan returned.

“Are the guys okay?” Rachel asked.

“Yeah, after they beat me up—metaphorically—for not telling them.”

Brie stood and kissed Rachel’s head, said, “Call if you need me,” and left the two alone. As she walked through the corridors of the White House,
Brie once again marveled at the path an O’Neil marriage had taken her on. She hoped Rachel’s was a lot less rocky than hers had been, and still was in many ways.

Patrick stared at the White House kitchen, which was equipped with every gadget and appliance known to man. Even the arch overhead and the island where they sat were stainless steel. Still, he said, “I like ours better
at the pub.”

Liam chuckled from where he sat across from Pat. He picked at the remnants of a leftover cake that had been bigger than Mars. Its sweet scent filled the air, masking the stronger smells of their earlier meal of filet and lobster. “You kidding? I’d give my right arm to work in a space like this.”

“We aren’t good enough for you anymore?” Pat asked, trying to erase the bite from
his tone. Apparently he was unsuccessful.

“Whoa, big brother. What’s gotten into you?”

One thing Pat had learned in the past few months was to not keep so much inside. “I hate that the women all knew about a new baby and we didn’t.”

Dylan rolled his eyes and sipped his Guinness, which the White House staff had brought in just for them. “I told you that we wanted to wait until the first
trimester was over.”

“Why?” Aidan asked.

“The women in her family have had some miscarriages.”

“He’s entitled to wait, Paddy.” This from Liam.

“I guess. Let’s change the subject.”

“I got the best bedroom.” Aidan was trying to perk up the conversation by starting a bout of their perpetual one-upmanship. “C.J. knew which one to pick because she’s been here so many times.” C.J.
had been Bailey’s Secret Service agent.

“Yours has too much yellow,” Liam retorted. “We like the Lincoln bedroom best because it’s original. Sophie got a kick out of the carved oak bed.”

Pat snorted. “Mine’s got pink walls and a canopy bed. Enough said!”

“You mockin’ my house?” They all looked over and saw their sister standing in the entryway to the massive kitchen. Behind her, a
night-time agent hovered just outside the entry.

“Nah. Come on over, girl.” Pat studied Bailey as she approached him.

Her hair was a mess after the fancy curls she’d worn today, and he remembered brushing tangles out of the heavy mass for her when she’d been little. She wore a demure bathrobe, but he could see a Syracuse jersey peeking out.

“We were just sayin’ how we were glad you
made us stay here instead of across the street at Blair House.”

That guesthouse had fourteen bedrooms; all the visiting children—and Rory—were staying there, under supervision. Sinead, Hogan and Cleary had been thrilled by one of the rooms’ electronic setup.

She walked to the island. “I like breaking protocol.”

“We know you do.” Patrick remembered when she’d gotten into all kinds of
trouble for breaking the rules during her anti-gang activities. “We thought you were asleep long ago.”

“I was. But I woke up and had a feeling you guys were down here.”

That brought a chuckle from Pat. “Remember how Mama used to put you to bed, but you’d always sneak out and find me and Dylan watching TV or playing
Sorry
or
Battleship
?”

Bailey giggled. “You taught me how to play.”

“We should’ve made you go back to bed.”

She took a sip of Pat’s beer. “I loved that you let me stay up.”

Pat kissed her head. “And now here you are, First Lady of the good old USA. Who would’ve guessed?”

“Yeah, who would’ve?”

Frowning, Pat caught Aidan’s eye, then Dylan’s, then Liam’s. “Something wrong, lass?”

“What could be wrong? My husband just got sworn in as the president.”
Bailey held Dylan’s gaze a little too long, and Pat caught the nod he gave her.

“You didn’t want this,” Aidan said. “Did you?”

She scanned her brothers. “No. I wanted to be home in New York with you guys and Ma and Pa. But I knew what I was getting into when I married Clay.”

Pat shook his head. “Honey, nobody knows what they’re gettin’ into when they marry.”

The remark made everybody
laugh.

“Seriously, Bay, you wanna talk about it?” Aidan again.

“Nope, but I know what I
want
to do.”

The boys spoke simultaneously.

“What?”

“Oh no.”

“Geez”

“Here we go.”

As a young girl Bailey had a penchant for getting them all in trouble. “Anybody up for bowling?”

Pat stood. “Me! We might as well take advantage of this mansion.” Putting his arm around his
little sister, he said, “Lead the way.”

“I hate to hire a stranger.” Pat spoke to his brothers as he stared down at the list of people who’d applied for the waitressing job at the pub. The family had been home from the Washington
celebration for almost a week. They’d had to make some business changes because Bailey’s new notoriety had brought more people to the pub. Though they were still open for breakfast, they’d agreed to serve only the firefighters. Lunch and dinner would be for the throngs of people who stood outside the door every day waiting to get in, and they’d extend those hours but still close between meals.

About ten feet away, Sinead was bussing tables. He resembled Pat, particularly when he wore the pub T-shirt. He must have overheard Pat’s comment about hiring strangers and now headed toward them. Just the sight of him warmed his father’s heart. The boy and he were tight—always had been, always would be. “I can help out more, Dad.”

“You’re already scheduled to work with Mom. And you gotta
have some free time. It’s your vacation from school.”

Sinead went to Fordham, as his mother had, and was majoring in business, again like her. But he was Pat’s boy, through and through.

“I like being at the pub, Dad.”

“I know. And you can work here twenty hours a week. But we still need somebody else.” He scanned his brothers, who sat around a table by the windows. They nodded. Mostly
they were on the same page in business matters and particularly in not burdening their kids with work. They did let Hogan and Cleary cleanup for extra money sometimes.

Dylan socked Sinead in the arm. “You gotta make us O’Neil men proud, kid, and start dating a redhead.”

Sinead blushed. He’d had a steady girlfriend in high school, but they broke up after they’d left for different colleges.
The two teens had been close for four years. But both sets of parents hadn’t been happy about their relationship because they were so young. Their split had been amicable and that had eased Pat’s fears. As far as he knew, Sinead wasn’t dating anybody else.

When his son left to finish his job, Liam leaned forward. He’d cooked an Irish breakfast that morning, and the scent of eggs and meat still
hung in the air. “I don’t like hiring strangers, either, Pat. But we got no choice.” Liam pointed to the list of applicants. “Besides, other people might bring some new blood to the place.”

Pat grunted, “We don’t need new blood. I like things just the way they are."

From his seat across the table, Dylan shook his head. “Here we go again.”

Ignoring the comment, Liam said, “I’ll set
up the interviews with the cooks. Pat, you do the waiters/waitresses. Dylan, contact Sweeney and see if he and his son can take some more bar time.” Sweeney had closed his place a while ago, sending business the O’Neil way, but he’d told them if they ever needed help, to contact him. He’d subbed several times.

“Fine by me.” Dylan rose. “I’m hanging around for a while. After I call Sweeney,
I’ll be in the office, working on my book.”

Pat wasn’t keen on the idea of Dylan’s new venture—the sensational story of how he and Rachel Scott, the O’Neils’ nemesis, had fallen in love. But Pat kept his mouth shut. Two months ago, they’d had a hell of a brawl over Dylan’s relationship with Rachel, and Pat was trying to avoid another. It had been a painful, dark time in the family. Nobody
had gotten back to normal yet.

After Liam took his names to the kitchen, Pat glanced at the list of waiters. Five people. Two men and three women. He’d start with the latter. There was enough testosterone in the bar as it was. He took his phone from his pocket and punched in Jamie Ralston’s number. Waited. Then a soft, “Hello.”

“Hello. I’m lookin’ for Jamie Ralston.”

“I’m Jamie.”

“This is Patrick O’Neil. You applied for a position at Bailey’s Pub.”

A little intake of breath. “Yes, yes, I did. I really want a job at your place.”

“Why is that, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“For one thing, I live within walking distance of the pub and work at Patty-Cake Day Care right down the street.”

“My daughter goes there sometimes. It’s a great place.”

“I’m glad
you think that. My son comes here with me.”

“And you want a second job?”

“I do.” She sounded confident. “So, do I get an interview?”

“Sure. When can you come in?”

“I can be there at one.”

“Could you make it three? We extended lunch for an hour.”

She hesitated.

“Is that a problem?”

“Um, no. I just don’t like to leave Ben in the day care too long.”

That didn’t
sound good. “Are you sure you have time for another job?”

“Yes, my grandmother lives with me, and she’ll watch him at night, which are the hours I applied for.”

Something about the surety in her voice, the lack of self-consciousness appealed to him. And he couldn’t very well reject her because she had a kid who might interfere. That wasn’t the O’Neil way. “Bring the boy along with you
today. We love babies here and have a stock of toys to amuse him. How old is he?”

“Three.”

“See you then.”

Patrick hung up. He had a positive feeling about Jamie Ralston and wouldn’t mind helping out a single mother. At least he thought she was single. One thing Patrick had learned that his instincts about women weren’t always right.

Dylan sat at the computer as
he reread his description of the beginnings of his relationship with Rachel. It made him smile to think how far they’d come. After making a few changes, he decided to take a break. He found Pat in the pub, just disconnecting his phone, and dropped down across from him. “Sweeney and his son Joey will take any shifts we need them to cover. Did you make any appointments?”

“Yeah. Three people.”

“Good. When?”

“They’re all comin’ in after three."

“Damn. I thought I could help you interview.” Pat took on too much responsibility here and now that Dylan’s life was on track, he was determined to help out more. “But we have a prenatal appointment at three. I promised Rachel I’d go to every one of them with her.”

“Huh.” Pat got a faraway look in his eyes. “I did that for two of
our kids.”

“Yeah? Lost interest by the last ones?”

His brother scowled. “No. We weren’t together the first few months of Isabella’s conception.”

“I forgot about that.”

“It was the same with Sinead. Worse, really.”

Usually they didn’t bring up Pat’s rocky start with Brie, but Dylan broached it now. “You still feel bad about the early days, Paddy?”

“Rejection’s tough to take.
Even more back then. I had girls galore after me, but the one I wanted took her sweet old time.”

“I’m glad it worked out.” He’d never seen two people more in love than Pat and Brie, but the tension between them seemed always ready to spring up and bite them in the ass.

“I try not to think about the bad times. I’m nostalgic now because we were talkin’ about the pregnancies.”