Taming Irish Page 17

  “I think my mom’s trying to convince yers to move in with her?” Emer had told me a couple of days ago.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “It would be good for both of them.” There’s something almost devious in the way she says it. “Mom needs someone around to help remind her to take her heart medication. And she’s really enjoying the company. And from what ye’ve told me, yer mom could use a little Irish hospitality.”

  Emer wasn’t wrong. The two of them had grown close, and it would be nice to have her on the same side of the ocean as me.

  I watch them now, heads together, laughing, and a grin pulls at my lips. I’m glad she’s finally found some happiness.

  “Here,” Bree says, approaching and handing me a small green box tied with a white ribbon. “I had this made for you.”

  “What is it?” I untie the ribbon and open the box, pulling out the small, sterling silver bracelet with a small charm on it.

  “It’s the Dara Knot,” Bree says, taking it from me, then helping me place it around my wrist. “It’s represents family. Roots. Home. You’re part of our family now. I thought it was appropriate.”

  “Thank you.” I hug her, tears gathering in my eyes. “But I’ll never forgive you if you make me cry and ruin my make-up.”

  Bree laughs.

  “Neither will I,” Quinn says, looking terrified that I’ll spill a tear and ruin her handiwork.

  Both Emer and I chuckle.

  “I just got a text from Cillian,” Delaney says, handing Axel over to Agnus. “They’re ready. It’s starting.”

  I take a deep breath, and take my mom’s arm when she moves to stand beside me.

  “I’m proud of you,” she says when the others have gone, her brown eyes misty with unshed tears. “You really inspire me.”

  I furrow my brows at her. “Why?”

  “Because you faced something that would normally crush a person’s spirit. But you didn’t give up. You could have. And I wouldn’t have blamed you. But you had the strength to take another chance on love. On happiness. Knowing there was a chance your heart could be broken again. I wish I had half of your strength.”

  I squeeze her hand. “There’s still time to find love, Mom.”

  “Maybe,” she says, and there’s a flicker of hope in her eyes.

  A guitar begins to play as I exit the house and start down the petal-covered grass toward the man who gave me the courage to love again.

  He’s all rough edges, with a cocky, lopsided grin that promises trouble. Even in a tux, the man has a wildness about him, and I know he’ll never be able to shake that bad boy persona, even though I know his heart is mine, and mine alone.

  Dimples cut into his cheeks when he sees me, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

  “Gorgeous,” he says for my ears only when I reach him.

  My heart flutters again.

  This man. He’s everything.

  I say my vows, barely getting through the words that I wrote myself. “I promise you all of my tomorrows.”

  He kisses me hard then, even though he hasn’t said his own vows, resulting in laughter and applause, followed by the minister’s cough.

  Shane just grins down at me when he pulls back, not even slightly sorry for it, and I chuckle.

  He lets me slip the ring I had designed for him onto his finger, then takes my hand.

  “Makena.” He says my name like I’m the only one here, and my knees go weak.

  He still has that power over me.

  His gaze holds mine, and his expression goes serious. “I used to live my life like I wouldn’t get a tomorrow. I never believed anything could complete me the way music did. I didn’t know it then, but I was lost. Empty. Unsatisfied. I was always searching for the next high.”

  He shifts slightly, and takes a deep, steadying breath.

  “And then I met ye. And yer heart captured my soul. Ye soothed me, and burned through me at the same time. Ye made me realize that I didn’t have to be afraid of not getting enough tomorrows.”

  He slips the ring onto my finger, holding my hand in his large one.

  “Ye know I’m not good with mushy words. But I promise ye this, love. I’ll love ye to my dying day.”

  Epilogue II

  Shane

  Three Years Later

  I really am the luckiest bastard in the world.

  Makena is sitting on the floor beside our son, helping him stack colored blocks on top of each other. But Kieran seems more intrigued by tearing them down than building them up.

  I chuckle when he uses the mini-sized Ferrari I got him to knock down the blocks. He’ll be two next week, and even though he’s only been part of our family for a few months, I can’t imagine our life without him.

  I never thought I’d consider adopting. Hell, I never thought I’d be a father. There are some days, most of them, if I’m honest with myself, that I still don’t know what I’m doing. But Makena is a natural mother. And even though the first year and a half of our little boy’s life was less than ideal, he’s already starting to blossom under her care and love.

  “Crash, Mama,” Kieran says, clapping his hands when he knocks the blocks down again. “More. More.”

  Makena laughs and starts to build the tower again. She holds up a block and asks him, “What color is this?”

  “Blue.” Everything is blue to him.

  “Red,” she corrects, placing it on top of another block, then holding up a blue block. “This is blue.”

  “Blue. Blue. Blue.” He does a sort of squat-like jump, then wraps his arms around Makena’s neck in a bear hug.

  At the same moment, the front door opens and a clamor of people come sweeping into the house.

  Cadence runs ahead of Emer, who holds the newest addition of the Wild Irish clan, a little boy they welcomed into the world two weeks ago. Aiden follows behind, juggling the diaper bag and some type of contraption that looks like a cross between a bassinet and a swing in one arm, and their one-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Melody, in the other.

  I chuckle at the sight. Already, the noise level has increased ten-fold, and we only have half the clan here.

  Cillian comes in with Axel on his shoulders, and a very pregnant Delaney following behind him.

  Both of our moms, who’ve been here since early this morning preparing Christmas dinner, come out of the kitchen. They’ve been living together for a couple years now, and I’ve never seen my mom happier.

  I see the secret glance they give each other before going in different directions, and I let out a small sigh, glad that she’s found someone other than her children to finally share her life with.

  My mom takes Melody from Aiden’s arms, then starts around the room, inspecting the other younger members of our unconventional family.

  Owen and Bree are the last to arrive, which isn’t unusual these days, or unexpected. Their two identical three-month-old twin girls announce their arrival with matching high-pitched wails as they walk through the door.

  “Sorry,” Bree says, looking utterly exhausted, but at the same time never happier. “Do you mind if I use one of the spare rooms to feed them?”

  “Third door on the left,” I say, even though I know she doesn’t need directions. She’s here as much as Delaney and Emer.

  Owen follows her down the hall, returning a few minutes later and taking the shot of scotch I offer him.

  “How’s Bree doing?”

  “Tired. We both are. But the girls’ slept through the night for the first time last night. A whole six hours.”

  “I’m so jealous,” Emer says, rocking her little boy in her arms.

  The conversation continues. Diapers. Formula. Best and worst toys. Helpful baby books. All the things I used to groan about. But this life, while different from the world of screaming fans and paparazzi, has grown on me.

  Recently, the guys and I have found a way to still find time to make music.

  We sold the label a couple years ago. I used
my share of the profit to buy The Shamrock. Tommy had been wanting to sell for years, and I gave him a large chunk more than the decrepit building was worth. But I thought it was the least I could do for all the times he used to let us jam there when we were kids.

  I closed the restaurant down, but we do open on occasion for local bands to play, or put on a surprise show ourselves. But mostly we use it as a recording studio, and a place to work on new material.

  It’s enough. More than enough.

  I don’t know if we’ll ever go on tour again. But I’m okay with it. I’ve got my music. But, more importantly, I have Makena.

  And now Kieran.

  I glance at my son, who’s currently in a tug of war with Axel over one of his mini cars.

  Cillian steps in before I have to, and it only takes a few seconds before they’re jumping on him, tackling him playfully. Cadence, seeing an opening, jumps in.

  Cillian grunts at the impact, and I chuckle.

  A warm hand twines with mine, and I look down at Makena, who’s smiling up at me. “You seem pensive.”

  “Just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “How lucky I am.” I wrap my arms around her waist and draw her close, both of us looking over to where Cadence, Axel, and Kieran are begging Cillian for a turn to be tossed up in the air.

  The three of them together are already trouble. I can’t imagine what life will be like when the younger ones start walking and talking. Or, God forbid, when they’re all teenagers.

  I clamp the groan down that forms in my throat.

  “Could you handle another one?” Makena asks, her eyes glittering with mischief.

  I blink down at her.

  “Another kid?” We’d talked about adopting again, but we’d both agreed to give Kieran some time to adjust before we did.

  She nods, something flickering in her dark eyes. I’m struck by how beautiful she is. She still takes my breath away.

  “I’ll do whatever makes ye happy.” I pull her tighter. “Ye know that.”

  A grin tugs at her lips. “Good.”

  I raise a brow at her. “Good?”

  Her palms are on my chest and her eyes sparkle when she says, “I was thinking this time…a baby.”

  “A baby?”

  “Mhm. In about six months.”

  I frown down at her, because it took us over a year to be matched with Kieran. “I’m not sure that’ll be possible.”

  “There are a lot of things I never thought possible.” A tear slips down her cheek.

  I wipe it away with my thumb, suddenly worried. “What’s wrong?”

  She lets out a shaky little laugh, then places a hand on my cheek and goes on tiptoe to whisper in my ear, “I’m pregnant.”

  “Pregnant?” I must say it a little too loudly, because the room goes silent and even the kids look over at me. “But how?”

  “Do I really need to give you a lesson on how it works?” She laughs, clearly teasing me.

  “Ye’re pregnant,” I repeat, my chest swelling with emotion. I curl my fingers in her hair and crush my lips against hers, kissing her hard, until the room erupts in laughter and cheers.

  This is life.

  Living.

  Family.

  Looking forward to tomorrow, without any fears.

  We’ve found our happiness.

  Each one of us.

  And now the journey begins to make sure we spend each day savoring that happiness and never letting it slip away.

  Preview: Theo

  Chapter 1

  Theo

  My fist grinds into my opponent’s nose with a sickening crunch and the man falls, eyes rolling back in his head.

  “Shit, Theo, it’s just a practice match.” My trainer, Evan, jumps into the ring and crouches over the bloody bastard lying unconscious on the mat.

  “It’s not my fault he won’t keep his eyes up.” Sweat drips from my hair onto the new cage floor I just installed. An exact replica of the one in the MGM Grand. Cost me a pretty penny, but it’s not like I’m hurting for cash. Not after my last two sanctioned fights. Plus, the gym’s been doing well. I’ve got enough in savings to keep the place running, even if I decide to retire after my next match.

  It’s a possibility I’ve been mulling over.

  Twenty-five and retired. I grunt at the thought. Most men my age are just starting their career in the octagon, but I’ve got bigger plans. Plans that don’t involve having my teeth rearranged every couple of months.

  “Hey, boss.” Moody pops his head around the corner, his long hair pulled back in what chicks are calling a man-bun. There’s just something wrong about a six-foot-four, tatted MMA fighter wearing granny hair.

  “What is it?” I shout over the sound of fists smacking against leather and flesh.

  “There’s a pair of tits here to see you.” With a grin, Moody wiggles his brows.

  “You know the rules.” My girls know not to disturb me at my gym.

  “She’s pretty insistent. And hot, too.”

  If it’s the redhead from last Tuesday, I’m going to lose my shit. After giving her one hell of a ride, the chick had gone loco, stalking the gym, and calling my cell at all hours.

  I pull off my gloves and unwrap the bandages from my knuckles, then walk to the front, ready to give her an earful.

  When I turn the corner, I freeze.

  People talk about things knocking the breath out of you, and that’s exactly what seeing Mackenzie Brooks does. The fucking air in my lungs leaves me in a rush. Shock, anger, relief. Emotions flood through me like a tsunami.

  Three years. Three fucking years. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve seen that beautiful face. Not that I didn’t try tracking her down. She’d made it clear she didn’t want to be found. At least by me.

  When her gaze turns to me, her eyes widen and trail down my bare chest. Her lips part in appreciation, her pupils expand, and I hear her small uneven breath. I’ve seen the look countless times from other women, but not from Mac. Never from Mac.

  I take a step towards her, ready to scoop her up in my arms, then stop. I don’t know whether to hug or strangle her. My fingers itch to do both.

  “Hi.” Long brown hair rolls down her back in glossy waves. Soft, full lips that I’ve only dreamed of kissing open and close as if trying to decide what to say.

  An explanation of where the hell she’s been for the past few years would be a good place to start.

  “I…just wanted…” Her words come out in a stutter, and she tucks her hair behind one ear.

  She’s nervous. Good. She should be fucking nervous.

  I move toward her. The muscles in my jaw are so tight they feel like they’re going to snap. I can barely process the emotions that are slamming into my chest. But I can’t take my eyes off her. I’d almost forgotten how gorgeous she was. Hell, I’d tried to forget.

  Eyes the color of caramel, with flecks of amber and gold, stare up at me with uncertainty.

  Those eyes. They could pierce a man’s heart with a single look. And they had.

  I’d have given everything for her. Would’ve sold my soul to the fucking devil just to please her. All she had to do was ask. Instead, she walked away.

  The question that’s been raging inside my skull for the past three years screams out. Why?

  “What are you doing here, Mackenzie?” My tone is harsher than intended, but no matter how good it is to see her face, I’m still pissed. And I have every right to be.

  I nearly lost my fucking mind trying to track her down, imagining the worst case scenarios of why she’d run. For months, I thought something had happened to her. Even got the police involved. It wasn’t until her drunk of a mother called the whole thing off that I got any semblance of an explanation.

  Hiking around Europe.

  That was the bullshit answer she gave me. Which was a pretty shitty lie, since I knew Mac didn’t have a passport.

  “I…” She rings her hands and chews on her b
ottom lip, looking anywhere but at me.

  Bloody hell. I know that look. She’s in some kind of trouble. But what else is new? It’s what defined our friendship. Her screwing up. Me bailing her out.

  I’m done trying to be her white knight.

  Even as I think it, I know I’m bullshitting myself.

  “I wanted to let you know I’m in town for a couple days.” She shifts nervously from one foot to the other. “I should’ve just called.”

  “Yeah, one phone call in the past three years would’ve been nice.”

  “Theo–”

  “Save it, Mac.” I drag my hand through my hair and take a deep breath. “What kind of trouble are you in this time?”

  Her eyes snap to mine, and a look of hurt crosses her soft features. “I’m not in–”

  “Don’t play games. You at least owe me that. What do you need?”

  “This was a bad idea.” She takes a step towards the door.

  Sunlight streams through the glass, across her pale skin, and I see her for the first time. I mean, really see her. There are dark shadows under her eyes, and her cheeks are sunken in. I notice how her jeans hang loosely on her hips. Her oversized gray sweatshirt does little to hide the fact that she’s underweight.

  What the hell?

  “Mac?” I move towards her, and I see her physically pull into herself, like I’m some kind of predator and not the guy who was her best friend for ten fucking years. “What’ve you got yourself messed up in?”

  “Nothing.” Her fingers tremble as they reach for the door. She swallows hard and squints, looking out the window like there’s something interesting on the other side.

  “Is it drugs?” I can’t imagine Mac ever turning to that shit, but then, how well do I really know her now?

  “No.” Her voice raises an octave and she shakes her head. “You know I don’t do that stuff.”

  I believe her. But I can tell she’s hiding something. She’s always been a terrible liar.