Breakaway (4 page)

But there was a difference between achievement and contentment. Rory wasn’t content, and the worst part was that it was his own fault. He wasn’t used to making major mistakes. But that was precisely what he’d done in his personal life.

Rory finished his bread, wiped his mouth, and, to satisfy his grandmother, drank down his tea in one go before rising from the table and kissing her on the top of the head. But before he could leave, her bony hand shot out and she grabbed his wrist. “Don’t go swanning into the Oak acting like you own the place. You’ll be lucky if they don’t break pint glasses over your head.”

“As if that’d hurt me,” Rory scoffed. “I’m a professional hockey player.”

His grandmother released his wrist and, with a disapproving shake of her head, waved him off.
She never changes,
Rory thought, as he started for town.
And thank God for that.

Erin arrived at Sandra’s a few minutes early to find her friend settled in nicely on the couch, watching
Top Gear
. Sandra was all dressed up, her makeup flawless. Oona was bent over the refurbished laptop Erin had given her for Christmas; Larry Jr. was watching TV with his mother; and baby Gina, it appeared, was already upstairs asleep.

“There you are,” said Sandra with a relieved smile. “I thought you might not come.”

Erin was puzzled. “Why wouldn’t I come?”

“Thought your mam might have you of slave hours.”

“Who’s a slave?” Larry Jr. asked.

“Never you mind.”

Erin looked at Larry Jr. and Oona, both mesmerized by the respective screens in front of them. “They’re turning into zombies, Sandra.”

“You ’n’ me parked our butts for hours on end in front of the telly and we turned out all right. At least one of us did.”

Erin ignored Sandra’s self-deprecating remark. “Where’s Lucy?”

“Out with her new boyfriend,” Oona supplied, her eyes still glued to the computer.

“The last one didn’t last very long, did he?” Erin said to Sandra quietly.

“And thank God for that.”

“You like this new one?”

Sandra looked appalled. “Bite your tongue. He’s a bag o’ bones and his head’s as empty as a pint glass at closing time.”

“He’s got a silver skull ring,” said Oona, sounding impressed.

“And you, my love, have big ears,” Sandra reprimanded affectionately, gesturing for Erin to follow her into the boxy kitchen.

Sandra had never been a great one for cleaning, but in Erin’s estimation, it had gotten worse over the years. It wasn’t that her house was dirty, per se. It was just overwhelmingly untidy and cluttered.

Erin more than approved of her friend’s smart outfit. Sandra was always moaning on and on about how having the kids wrecked her figure, but it wasn’t true: she looked fantastic, curves in all the right places, her bobbed brown hair gleaming. Erin hadn’t seen her friend turned out like this in a very long time. “You look great.”

“Thanks,” said Sandra, beaming as she put up the kettle.

Erin was going to ask who the lucky guy was, but noting that Sandra’s wedding ring was still on, she realized the only person it could be. “You’re not going out with Larry, are you?”

Sandra’s smile disappeared. “I knew you’d react this way.”

“What way? Shocked that you’d go out with the man you’re separated from, who calls you every foul name in the book when he’s belted down a few?”

“We’re trying to patch things up,” Sandra insisted. “Get back the old magic, you know? Rekindle the romance.”

Erin stared at her. “I love you, San, but you’re an idiot.”

“He’s the father of my children,” Sandra reminded her, smoothing the front of her dress. “You’ll understand when you have a family of your own some day.”

“And he takes care of his family so well. You’ve been trying to get out of this poky little place for ages. I don’t see how you’re going to do that when he can’t even hold down a job.”

“He’s trying. It’s not his fault the country’s in a recession!”

“I guess that’s true,” Erin reluctantly conceded, even though she thought it likely that Larry’s idea of looking for a job consisted of skimming the want ads while sipping his first beer of the morning.

“Where is Dapper Dan, if I may be so bold as to ask?”

“At his brother, Lance’s. He’s been living there the past few weeks, trying to get his act together.” Sandra looked Erin dead in the eye. “And he has.”

Erin counted on her fingers. “I can’t keep track now: is it the tenth time he’s gotten his act together, or the twentieth?”

“Shut up, Erin.”

“At least tell me he’s not going to move back in.”

Sandra’s response was to rattle two boxes of tea. “Barry’s or Earl Grey?”

“Barry’s.”

“So predictable,” Sandra teased. “We’ve not had a good long talk in a few days, you ’n’ me.”

“I know.”

“Fill me in, then. How’s Jake?”

Erin sat down, cradling her head in her hands. “I feel terrible. He’s such a nice bloke. He helped me out so much after Rory kicked me in the teeth. But I just can’t feel anything beyond friendship for him, you know?” Erin looked up at her friend. “What if I’m looking a gift horse in the mouth? What if he’s as good as it gets for me?”

Sandra sat down at the kitchen table. “He’s not, for the simple reason he wants to live here the rest of his life and you’re gettin’ your degree and you’re outta here, yeah? So it doesn’t really matter.”

Sandra wet her thumb and rubbed at a smudge of dry jelly on the table. “You know I love Jake to death, but I can’t picture ever having sex with him. Can you?”

“I’ve never really thought about it,” said Erin, who was trying hard not to think about it now that Sandra had brought it up.

Sandra glanced furtively toward the living room, then back to Erin. “I know he’s good-looking and that, but I bet he’s the selfish sort who heaves himself on top of you like a great walrus. Then it’s a few pokes and he’s done, rolling off you with a burp and a fart until he falls asleep.”

“That’s not what you thought he’d be like when we were at school!”

“That doesn’t count; it was a hundred years ago.”

“Well, for all we know, he might be great between the sheets.”

“I bet he’s no Rory Brady,” Sandra said slyly.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I’m just sayin’ Rory probably ruined you for anyone else. The things you told me—”

Erin could feel her ears turn red. “Shut up, Sandra.”

“True love,” said Sandra. “Too bad he turned out to be such a shite.”

“True love…Isn’t that what you have with Larry?” Erin lobbed back.

“Yes. But sometimes the flame flickers out for a bit, especially after you have kids. I told you: we’re trying to rekindle the romance.”

“I hope that means you’re going to burn him alive in bed after he falls asleep,” Erin mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Sandra looked dubious. “If you say so.”

Erin took the opportunity to change the subject. “D’you know what I heard?”

Sandra’s eyes lit up. “What?”

Now we’re talking
.
Cut through the everyday dramas and there was nothing better than a good old chin-wag
.

“Grace Finnegan has a boyfriend.”

Sandra looked appalled. “What? Fintan’s body is barely cold!”

Erin frowned. “It has been a year, Sandra.”

“She’s too old to have a boyfriend. She’s sixty-five if she’s a day!”

“Well, he’s no youngster himself.”

“Do we know him?”

“Well, we’ve seen him. I wouldn’t say we know him.”

“Quit teasing me!” Sandra begged as she hustled to the whistling kettle.

“It’s Wayne Mallory—you know, the fella who supplies her store with produce?”

Sandra’s hand flew to her mouth. “Him? Oh, God. The bastard must single-handedly be keeping Viagra in business.”

They both laughed.

“I do feel glad for her, though,” Erin continued. “Those last years with Fintan’s cancer must have been hard.”

“True. Grace deserves a healthy man with a big working willie.”

Again they were swept away on gales of laughter, same as they’d been doing since they were kids.

Oona popped her head into the kitchen. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” said Sandra, swiping her eyes. “Go back inside.”

Oona opened her mouth to protest, then thought better of it, disappearing with a frown.

“I have some dirt of my own,” Sandra confided, pouring the boiling water into the teacups. She was just about to dish when the sound of someone leaning on a car horn pierced the house.

“That’ll be Larry,” Sandra said, all flustered.

Erin was incredulous. “He’s honking for you? He can’t even come in and escort his own wife out to the car?”

“He doesn’t want to get the kids all worked up.”

“Like honking a horn outside the window won’t?”

“I told you: if he walks in here, it’ll do their heads in.”

“When did he get a car?”

“It’s not his. He’s borrowing it off Lance.” Sandra smoothed her skirt, licking her lips nervously. “Do I look all right?”

“Perfect.”
Better than that loser deserves
.

“We—I shouldn’t be too late.”

“I have to be at the B and B by six in the morning, San. If you’re not home by then, I’ll murther you, as my granddad used to say.”

“I’ll be home, don’t worry.” She smiled devilishly. “At least I think I will.”

“Have him wear a condom, please,” Erin requested as Sandra hustled toward her to give her a kiss on the cheek.

“’Course. Thanks for helping me out in a jam. If Lucy gets in after one, tell her she’s gonna get a mouthful from me.”

“Will do.”

Sandra flew out of the kitchen. Erin heard her hurriedly say good-bye to the kids, and then the front door slammed and she was away.
Please, God, let her come to her senses one of these days,
Erin prayed. She finished her tea, then joined Oona and Larry Jr. in the living room. She had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

*   *   *

Rory took his time sauntering down to the pub. His grandmother was worried about the rest of the town jumping him when he walked in, but that was the furthest thing from his mind, probably because it was so ridiculous. Four of them could try to take him down, and they’d be the ones to wind up in a ditch moaning in pain, not him. Not only that, but any choice words they threw his way would be a piece of piss compared to the trash talk he’d gotten on the ice. He knew he was a shit for dumping Erin. But at the time, he felt cornered. Never in her life had she given him an ultimatum, and it caught him unawares. It was the first time she really pushed him, and he reflexively pushed back. And then it was over, all eight years of it.

He was on the High Street now. He remembered walking hand in hand down the street with Erin, proud as could be because the brightest, most beautiful girl in town was his, and always would be. He was suffused with tenderness as he pictured Erin’s face: the light splash of
freckles across the bridge of her nose that she’d had since she was a child, the long raven black hair, the green eyes flecked with the tiniest bits of gold. He hadn’t thought about what he’d do if she were in the pub, but then again, he didn’t have to. He was Rory Brady. They’d been through thick and thin for eight long years. The force of history was behind them, shared memories that only the two of them knew. He’d win her back. He just had to be patient.

He’d only been with two women since he and Erin split, neither relationship serious. Not that he didn’t have lots of opportunities. It was unbelievable, the way the women flocked to him just because he was a professional athlete. It was the same with footballers in Ireland. When he was younger, he’d seen guys in pubs who lied through their teeth, saying they were about to be traded to Real Madrid or Man United; the girls were on them faster than crows on roadkill. It had always mystified him—until he made it into the NHL. Now he understood: it was about power and status, with a big, heaping side dish of wealth thrown in. But for all his machismo, meaningless sex had never appealed to him.

Four years, and nothing in his hometown seemed to have changed. The rhythm of life was slow; there was never anything so important that you couldn’t stop and make a cup of tea. He chuckled; that would never happen in New York. New Yorkers might find it quaint for a minute, but then they’d see it as counterproductive. You can’t do that! You’re wasting time! Valuable time where you could be working and making lots of money! To which Rory thought,
How much feckin’ money do people need?
He was grateful for his salary, but to him, income wasn’t the yardstick by which he measured his success. He measured it by the fact he’d made it into the NHL. He’d started playing late in life—when his family had moved to the States—and yet he’d done it. And now that he was back in Ballycraig, there was only one other way to measure success: getting Erin back.