The Collection (Contemporary Reverse Harem 5)

Chapter 22

SHANE

The only way I could describe how I felt when I saw Kealy across the bar was soothed. That’s what it was. Seeing her was soothing.

Christ, I was turning into a sap. But after the day I’d had, I was desperate for her. I wanted to touch her, hear her voice, smell the crook of her neck while running my lips along her soft skin…

“Hey, baby,” I said, sliding into a booth next to her at our usual dive bar. She was a down to earth kind of girl, so I had a feeling she would be fine with it. But I still had to test her. It’s what we guys did.

And so far, she’d passed every test with flying colors.

She planted her lips on mine, and there was an immediate stirring in my pants. Her fingers ruffled through my hair.

I liked that.

“Great place, Shane,” she said, looking around. “I love a scruffy bar and a cheap beer. Look, we can carve our initials in the table.”

She shot me a look. Was I being tested, now?

“We can do that. But what about the other guys? You know, Rand, Cross, and Marlon? Remember them?”

She blushed ever so briefly and shyly looked down at her beer. “I haven’t forgotten them. How could I?”

She lifted her head to peer at me and perhaps make her point.

Which was good news. She was thinking of us all. Because we were all thinking of her.

“How was basketball tonight?” she asked.

It was an innocent question and sweet that she was asking after my day, but in spite of my best effort, my spine stiffened and my fingers tightened on my beer bottle. I started picking at the label with my other hand.

She seemed not to notice, and when the waitress lowered chicken tenders and fries before us, she eagerly dove in.

“God, I love fried food. I wish I didn’t, but what’s better than greasy saltiness? Mmmm,” she murmured as she poured more salt on a piece of chicken and popped it into her pretty mouth.

“Fried food reminds me of Ireland.” Funny how we Irish loved fried fish, and Americans loved fried chicken. They were both damn good, if you asked me.

“So…basketball…the community center? Remember?” She took a swig of her beer to wash down her fries.

God, I could fall for this woman.

“Yeah,” I started, “it was a good practice. The kids worked really hard. Even made a couple of baskets.” My gaze returned to my beer.

And she stopped chewing. “Are you okay?” she asked slowly.

I could see the concern on her face. To be honest, there was plenty to be concerned about. And it was high time I told her why.

“Did you notice that when you came down to visit me at the community center, I got us out of there in a hurry?” I asked.

She frowned. “Um, no. I didn’t notice. Not at all. I thought it was just time to leave.”

I nodded. “Yeah, it was time to leave. But there are good reasons. Once it starts getting dark in that neighborhood, I usually hightail it out of there. Actually, I always hightail it out of there once night falls.”

“Oh. Well, I know it’s not the best neighborhood, but I thought you felt comfortable there.”

She was partially right. I had felt comfortable there. For a time.

“A few months back, I was heading out kind of late. I’d hung around with a couple other volunteers after our kids had left. On my way to the subway, I was jumped.”

Kealy’s eyes widened, and she sucked in her breath. “Oh, my god,” she said softly.

I didn’t want her feeling sorry for me. But she had to know about what had defined my nearly every waking hour since that dark night.

“They were kids. Well, not kids, but teenagers. I think it might have been a gang initiation type thing. There was a group of them. They took my wallet and then egged on a smaller guy.”

“Egged him on to what?” she asked.

“Stab me. In the chest. They ran off, leaving me bleeding on the sidewalk. I am pretty sure they thought they’d killed me.”

Kealy’s voice caught, and her eyes got glossy.

Shit, the last thing I wanted to do was upset my girl, but she needed to know.

“Some passersby found me. Called the cops and got me to the hospital.” I took her now-shaking hand and ran her fingers over the raised scar on my chest.

She smoothed her fingers over my shirt, and when she felt my scar, jerked her hand back, covering her mouth. Two heavy tears fell down her cheeks.

“God, I’m so sorry, Shane,” she whispered. “And yet, you go back there. You’re there all the time.”

“I do. You’re right. I didn’t want to let them chase me away, and I didn’t want to desert the kids. They already have enough challenges.”

“So were they caught? Did the police find them?” she asked, dabbing her eyes with a napkin.

I looked across the bar, where I was always so at home. A shiver ran down my spine, anyway.

“Nope. But today, I saw them again.”

“You what? You called the cops, right?”

“I didn’t.” Saying that out loud made me realize how crazy my choice to not call had been.

She looked at me like I was out of my mind.

I guess on some level, I probably was. “I didn’t call,” I continued, “because I want to take care of them myself.”

Now, she’d really think I was out of my mind. Maybe I was.

She shook her head, “No, no, no. You can’t do that. You have to call the police.”

“I know you’re probably right. But where I come from, you settle your own scores.”

“Shane, you’re not in a small town in Ireland now. You’re in New York City. We have police and detectives to mete out justice. You should have called the cops. They could have arrested them.”

“Yeah. I know. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was so angry they stole my health, my time, and my mental well-being. I was in bed for a month, first healing, and then having flashbacks, reliving it.” My voice caught. Goddammit. But it felt so good to tell someone. And not just anyone. But my Kealy.

“You want to get out of here, sweetie?” she asked.