Breakaway (13 page)

“I do, yeah.”

“Good on ya.”

“Hello, Sandra,” Rory said, striving to sound friendly. Maybe she wasn’t going to ball him out. Maybe it would be the deep-freeze treatment.

Sandra barely looked at him. “Hiya, Rory,” she replied
apathetically. She eyed Jake. “You two patched it all up, then?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Jake replied obliquely.

In a manner of speaking?
Rory puzzled. What the fuck did that mean?

“These things take time,” Rory explained. “I was a right prick. I don’t deserve his trust right off the bat.”

“The only thing you deserve is to be run out of town on a rail,” said Sandra.

“Can I get you a drink?” Jake asked politely.

“Erin and I already ordered, thanks. That’s why I’m here. Waiting on two Black Velvets.”

Rory smiled to himself. Erin had always loved Black Velvets.

“Maybe I’ll go back to the table and sit with you two,” said Jake.

“I’m sure Erin would love it,” said Sandra, “especially since you two haven’t been able to spend any quality time together as late.”

“Maybe we could get a table for four of us,” Rory suggested smoothly.

Sandra looked at him with contempt. “What’re you going to do? Muscle those four fellas over there out because you want their table?”

“You know I’d never do that.”

“All I know is you’re a swine, Rory.”

“I’ll second that,” said Liam, delivering Erin’s and Sandra’s drinks.

Sandra smiled. “What do I owe you, Li?”

“I’ve got it,” said Rory.

“Sure, why not?” Sandra sniffed. “You’ve got the money.”

“I’ll get your next round, Sandra,” Jake offered, in an effort to keep up.

Sandra smiled at him affectionately. “Thank you, Jake.”

Before Rory even had a chance to lay his money on the bar, Liam pinned both he and Jake with an intense glare of displeasure. Sandra stood riveted to the spot. She had an
avid look in her eyes that Rory knew oh too well: her gossip radar was on full blast.

“Listen to me, you two douche bags. I know there’s nothing Ballycraig loves more than a juicy drama. But I’m here to tell you I’ve got about this much patience”—Liam pinched his thumb and forefinger together—“for cock blocking here at the bar. So do it somewhere else.”

“Can we cock block over a game of darts?” Rory asked, tilting his head in the direction of the board. “The Yanks over there just finished up.” He sipped his Guinness. “You up for a little game of darts, Jake?” he challenged.

Jake laughed. “You couldn’t hit a cow’s arse with a banjo!”

“What are we wagering?”

“The one who wins gets to take Erin to the fair in Omeath,” Sandra blurted.

Jake regarded her with astonishment. “Don’t you think you should check with her first?”

“She’ll be fine. Everyone knows that Rory can’t play darts worth a damn, Jake. And seeing the best man win will make me and everybody else in the pub happy.”

Rory slid off his bar stool. “Bring it on.”

*   *   *

Sandra was all hyped up when she returned to the table with Erin’s Black Velvet. Erin assumed the crazed look on her friend’s face was the result of her tearing Rory a new one in full view of half the village. But that wasn’t it.

Erin leaned back, taking the first delicious sip of her drink. “Don’t get cozy,” said Sandra. “We’re going over to the bar pronto.”

“What for?”

“Rory’s challenged Jake to a game of darts!”

“So what?”

“The winner gets to take you to the Omeath Fair.”

Erin cupped her ear. “Say again? Because I could have sworn you just said the winner is taking me to the fair in Omeath. I must be going deaf, because that can’t possibly be what I heard.”

“It’s true,” Sandra said excitedly, oblivious to the displeasure in Erin’s voice.

“And whose brilliant idea was this?”

“Mine.”

Erin stared at her in disbelief. There were only a handful of times over the years that Sandra had done something that really cheesed Erin off. This was one of them.

She gulped her drink, more out of fortification than thirst. “You want to tell me why you’ve humiliated me in this way?”

“Hear me out!” Sandra guzzled so much beer Erin was afraid she’d choke. “Rory and Jake were trying to outman each other, and
Rory
is actually the one who issued the challenge.”

“Rory couldn’t play darts if his life depended on it.”

“I know. Let me finish.” Another long excited gulp had Sandra finishing her drink. “Rory wanted to know what the prize would be. And that’s when I said the winner could take you to the fair.”

“I see. So you just volunteered me up like some prize calf.”

Sandra clucked her tongue in frustration. “You’re not getting it. There’s no way Mr. Cock of the Walk will win, and it’ll bug the hell out of him being bested by Jake. He’ll also hate that everyone will be rooting for Jake. It’ll be good for him to eat a slice of humble pie.”

“But then I still have to go to the damn fair with Jake!”

“Big deal,” Sandra replied dismissively. “Tell him it’s just as friends. But Rory won’t have to know that, will he?”

Sandra’s enthusiasm was not infectious. “How would you feel if I did that to you?”

“I’d be on the moon if two fellas were warring over me, and in public, too,” Sandra retorted.

Erin felt guilty. “You think that, but—”

“No, I know it. So quit lookin’ like a misery guts and let’s go over there.”

“Ah, the fair princess hath arrived!”

Rory noticed the deadly look Erin gave Old Jack as she and Sandra joined the small crowd gathering to watch him and Jake throw darts. He’d never been great at darts, but he was confident he could hold his own. Knowing Erin was watching would sharpen his concentration and push his adrenaline to the point of victory.

He caught Erin’s eye. She was sober as a judge. He checked to see if she looked at Jake with the same indifference. She did. Thank God. Jake looked smug and relaxed.
I love you mate,
Rory thought,
but you’ll be running back to cry into your mam’s skirt tails when I’m done with you
.

Sandra sidled up to him. “This was a risky suggestion for you, Rory, knowing how much you suck. I admire you for that.”

Rory was skeptical. “Really.”

“No. I think you’re a shite.”

“Thanks, San.”

Rory picked up a dart, feeling its weight as he pointed it between his thumb and forefinger in throwing position. In
his mind’s eye, he saw himself throwing darts again and again, each one hitting the bull’s-eye. His aim would be fine.

Jake sauntered over to him. “Just in case you’ve forgotten, throwing an imaginary dart isn’t like throwing a real one. Not only that, but you’re not behind the ochre.”

“I know I’m not behind the ochre,” said Rory. He took a hearty slug of his stout. “What do you want to play? Around the Clock or Five-oh-one?”

“Five-oh-one,” Jake replied with a smirk. “Seeing as that’s the simplest.”

Rory shrugged. “Fine.”

Jake looked irritated. “You really think this is going to be no sweat, don’t you?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Jake shook his head, but there was a trace of affection. “Smug bastard.”

“Have you ever known me to be any different?”

“Come to think of it, no. But things have changed round here. You’ll see.”

*   *   *

“C’mon, Jake! C’mon, Jakey!”

What had gone from a small crowd watching the darts match had become the night’s entertainment for all as word quickly spread that the competition was for time with Erin. The excitement of the locals piqued the tourists’ interest, even though none of them knew the backstory that made things so dramatic.

If one more person comes up to me and asks, “What if Rory Brady wins?” I’ll scream,
Erin thought. She’d always found darts boring as sin, but not tonight. Tonight, she was completely invested in the game, though for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why; neither of those two lunkheads were a prize to spend time with. Jake would try to get all wooey and she’d have to fend him off, and Rory would be all triumphant and smug. Forget Sandra’s twisted logic: Erin knew that the big loser in all this was her. She glared at her friend, but Sandra was oblivious as she gabbed away
with Bettina. Erin’s eyes searched out the cricket bat. It was safely ensconced behind the bar.

“Way to go, Jake!”

Claps and whistles brought Erin back to the moment. Jake was kicking Rory’s ass.

Rory looked unfazed, but Erin knew it was just a facade: beneath his unflappable exterior, he was annoyed.
Well, that’s what you get. You screwed Jake over, and now he’s going to get his own back, and in public, too
.

Erin took a sip of her second Black Velvet. Maybe the game would go on and on, and they’d wind up calling a tie with no definite winner.

Sandra was back, bumping her shoulder against Erin’s. “This is getting painful to watch,” she said gleefully.

“I’m not talking to you, remember?”

“C’mon, Er.”

“Seriously.” Erin was still peeved. “I can’t believe you put me in this position. I don’t want either of them and you know that.”

“It’ll sort itself out,” said Sandra, her catchall phrase to soothe Erin. “Just look around you: people are lovin’ it. I told you they would. Rory Brady brought low.”

There was something satisfying about it, Erin had to admit. But at the same time, she found herself thinking: too bad his gran isn’t here; at least then he’d have one person in his corner. She had to be getting tipsy, because if she were in her right mind, she’d never feel sorry for him.

The competitors took a much-needed break. Jake grinned at Erin, giving her a thumbs-up before heading to the bar. Rory was still standing behind the ochre, closing his right eye, then his left. He took a step back. He took two steps back.

“You’re going to lose,” Erin said, unable to stop herself from puncturing his ego just a tiny bit. “You know that, don’t you?”

“It’s not over till the fat lady sings.”

He closed his right eye and extended his right arm in front of him.

“What are you doing?”

Trying to figure something out,” he said distractedly. “I think…maybe…”

“You were standing too close? Too far? Rory, you’re a terrible darts player. Face it.”

“It’s not over till I say it’s over,” he repeated stubbornly.

*   *   *

Ten minutes later the game resumed.

“I’ve fortified myself at the bar,” Jake boomed, “so this’ll be quick and painless for you.”

Rory had the first go. Two steps back, right eye closed, throw. Rory reveled in the chorus of
ooh
’s as his dart hit the double ring, instantly doubling his score.

He turned to Jake. “Your go.”

“Watch and learn, son,” Jake sniffed cockily, downing a shot one of his admirers had bought him.

He picked up a dart and, without any contemplation at all, hurled the dart at the board. Triple ring. Triple his score.
Fuck,
thought Rory.

Jake accepted another congratulatory shot. “Your go.”

Rory weighed the dart in his hand, then held it properly, stabbing the air with it a few times. One step back, right eye closed, throw.

Bull’s-eye.

The atmosphere in the pub became charged. What had seemed a foregone conclusion now looked like it might end up being a real contest. Rory fed off the crowd’s intensity. He kept thinking of what his first coach in juniors told them before big games: will beats skill.

“Don’t get all puffed up,” Jake warned before he downed the shot.

“Back at you, mate.”

Once again, Jake took no measure as he tossed the next dart. Outer ring. Only twenty-five points. “Shit.”

Rory pressed himself against the ochre, squinting hard.

“What are you doing, you eejit?” Old Jack snorted.

Rory didn’t look at him. “Winning.”

“Don’t count those blessings before they hatch, boyo,” Old Jack replied.

Rory threw and hit the twenty-five ring right next to the bull’s-eye. Not bad, considering this wasn’t his game.

“He must have put a curse on Jake when he was in the loo,” Teague said to no one in particular.

“Could you stop being a moron for just once in your life?” Fergus replied.