Chasing River (Burying Water 3)

I wasn’t the only one to notice the changes. But she stayed unavailable to everyone, thanks to her father’s strict rules about dating.

Her father was my rugby coach.

That November, I was riding my bike home after school one afternoon when I found Katie standing beneath a tall tree, her arms stretched high in the air, crying over the kitten that dangled from a limb, mewling. I climbed the tree—not an easy feat—and rescued her pet, earning myself plenty of scratches and nearly falling on the way down. But I also earned Katie’s adoration, those doe eyes glued to me during mass the following Sunday.

I loved the way she looked at me, as if I could do no wrong. I would have rescued that mangy cat a hundred times over again if it meant she’d always look at me that way.

Her father’s rules hadn’t changed but something had for Katie, because she started seeking me out between classes and during lunch hour. We’d see each other in the library. I started walking her home from school. She’d hold my hand until we got closer to her house, in case either of her parents were home. It was months before she let me kiss her. The horny teenager that I was, I wanted more, but I held back, not wanting to risk chasing her away.

And then one day after class, biting her bottom lip nervously, her voice a low whisper, her pretty hazel gaze darting this way and that, making sure no one would hear her, she made plans to sneak out with me the coming Easter break.

I pulled up outside her house after dark in my father’s Astra, my belly full from the Sunday dinner feast, after Ma had gone to bed and Da was passed out in the recliner from drink. Therapy for his pain, he’d always say. I waited for twenty minutes before a slight body slipped out from a window at the side of the house and rushed toward my car. She hugged her black knit sweater tight around her body, her pale white legs stark in the night. I remember thinking she’d be cold in that flowery dress.

It turns out that Katie Byrne had developed strong feelings for me and, having just passed her sixteenth birthday, she’d suddenly been bitten by the rebellious bug, a fact I discovered not long after we pulled up to the O’Hanlan farm—a property long since abandoned and left derelict. A great place for young people to get together and have some fun without responsible prying eyes watching over them.

I made to open the car door but Katie grabbed my hand and asked me to stay, waving a flask of whiskey that she’d magically produced. We sat for a good half hour—her taking three shots for every one that I downed—and shared idle, slightly awkward conversation, then a few kisses.

Then she boldly climbed into the backseat. Of course I followed, quickly finding a new appreciation for her choice of clothing. When she slipped her knickers off, her fingers trembling, I didn’t balk. I was almost seventeen and quite happy to be rid of my virginity. I sure as hell didn’t need any mental preparation.

We joined the party after. Rowen and a bunch of kids from school, and even Aengus—visiting for the holiday—were already tucked away between the house and the barn, keeping warm with a fire and beer. Katie kept drinking until she was tipping the flask upside down to get a drop into her mouth, her eyes half-shuttered, her words incoherent. I didn’t know what to do with her.

Aengus is the one who helped me bring her back home, lifting her body through her bedroom window. He’s the one who ventured into the Byrne house to find a large bowl to set beside her in case she vomited. And, when I wouldn’t leave because I was afraid she’d choke to death, he’s the one who banged on the front door until her father answered, telling him he had just dropped off a drunk Katie—who he had found stumbling along the side of the road—and he was worried. I watched from the shadows, terrified that her father might figure out what I’d done with his daughter. The age of consent was seventeen, and Coach Byrne was the kind of father to not only kick me off the rugby team but also press charges.

Now, it wouldn’t be me they’d be blaming. It would be the twenty-one-year-old Delaney on their doorstep. Aengus would get into a boiling pot-full of trouble if the Byrnes decided to accuse him of something. The kind that could put him in prison.

Katie was admitted to the hospital for alcohol poisoning, and spent the rest of the break recovering. I spent the rest of the break waiting for a knock on the door, afraid she’d confess to what happened. Luckily, nothing came of it, her parents too mortified to say anything. She transferred to an all-girls secondary school after that, but I’d still see her in church on Sundays. That look in her eyes was gone. In fact, she wouldn’t even meet my gaze after that. I never did find out if it was embarrassment over her drunkenness, fear of her father’s wrath, anger that we’d ratted her out, or plain regret that she’d give something so valuable to me. The possibility of the last one bothered me most.

What I did know is that I would miss feeling like I could do no wrong.

I haven’t thought about Katie Byrne or that night in years, but I’m remembering her now, as I watch Amber lock her front door and stroll down the concrete walkway, her hip pushing the gate closed behind her.

I’ve had plenty of birds after that, but not since Katie has one looked at me the way Amber does—like I’m some sort of hero. I don’t want to do anything to fuck it up. Amber may be leaving soon, but for these next six days, I want to live up to everything she thinks she sees when she looks at me with those adoring eyes.

I slip out in time to come around to her side. “I would have met you at your door.”

“I don’t mind. I was ready.”

“You look nice.”

She stretches the skirt of her flirty little dress out between her fingers. A white one with big, bold green flowers, too short to ever meet Ma’s approval but it certainly meets mine, showing off those thighs. “You didn’t tell me what we were doing. I hope this works.” Her eyes skate over my dark jeans and black collared shirt. An upgrade from what I wear to work but by no means upscale.

“It does.”

She flashes one brilliant white-toothed smile just before ducking into her seat. Her sexy green heels have my blood flowing already.

“How old is this place?” Amber asks, her fingers pressed against the rough stone wall to brace herself, taking each of the uneven steps down with caution.

“Old.”

When we reach the bottom, she peers over my shoulder at the narrow staircase, just wide enough for one person to pass at a time. “That would never pass fire and safety codes in America.”

I laugh. “Who thinks about things like that?”

Even in the poor lighting, I can see the flush of her cheeks, and I realize that I’ve embarrassed her. Reaching out to squeeze the side of her slender waist playfully, I add, “It’s charming.” I slip a hand in hers and lead her farther in, ducking slightly to get through the stone archway.

“Wow. This place is . . . medieval.” Her words drift as her gaze takes in the low, stone-carved ceiling of the intimate cellar.

“Let me guess. This wouldn’t pass code either.”

Her lips twist into a smirk, and I can’t help myself. I lean in and steal a quick kiss, surprising her. The sparkle in her eyes tells me it’s a good surprise.

“Come on. Our seats are ready.” I lead her to the rickety old table in the corner. Rowen’s already there, pint in hand.