Off Course (Off 4)

Renner

Cillian is taking me away for the weekend. He actually asked me if I would take a few days off from The Hibernian, rather than demand it of me. And there was no way I could say no. Not after what he shared with me. Not after the leaps we made in our relationship that night when he told me all about his painful past.

His revelations have led me to a deeper understanding of what drives him. I understand his need for control, although I won't always bow to it. I also get why the situation with Maeve is so difficult. Cillian has a greater understanding as to the depths of hell an alcoholic can journey to. He has a need to help Maeve through this that I can now appreciate on a new level.

It doesn't make me like her anymore, but at least I have a better awareness as to where Cillian is coming from. I vow that I will do whatever I need to do to support him.

I take my eyes off the majestic Irish countryside and glance at him. He looks so amazing, with a pair of Ray Ban Aviators perched on his nose. His hair is all stylishly mussy and he's chewing on his lip rings. My heart swells and I think about the fact that I may be falling in love with this man.

It started happening the night he told me about his family. My heart opened up, poured out my grief for him, and then sucked all of his goodness inside. I wanted to hold him, to stroke him, to make love to him. I wanted to do all of those things over and over again until I banished all of the tragedy from his memory and only had good things to remember.

When my tears had dried, I kissed him. Hotly, passionately. I crawled on top of him and pushed him backward on to the bed. I kissed, nibbled and licked all over his body, causing his hips to jerk off the bed in rapture. I took the lead and stripped his boxers off, pulling my clothes off as well. I scrambled to get to the condoms in my bedside table and with calm, sure motions, rolled it onto his throbbing length. I lowered myself onto him, groaning at the invasion, reveling in the way his eyes closed and his fingers dug into my ass. I rode him slowly, lovingly, hoping to pour every bit of comfort I could into my actions. I looked him in the eye the entire time, never once letting my gaze wander, even when he closed his eyes as he climaxed.

He pulled me to him after, stroking my skin everywhere, murmuring "cailin alainn " over and over again until we fell asleep.

***

I step out on the porch of Cillian's small cottage in Oughterard. We've only been here a few hours and already I feel relaxed and peaceful. The first thing we did when we got here was break in his bed.

We had stepped out of the car and he walked over to me. He hauled me over his shoulder, marched me into the house, and stripped me naked. He grinned at me like a devil the entire time he had his way with me and I could see the triumph in his eyes glow brighter and brighter every time I called out his name.

We had collapsed onto the bed in a big pile of heaving chests and entwined limbs, where we cuddled for a long time, talking about life. It was a perfect start to our weekend holiday.

Cillian steps out onto the porch behind me and takes my hand. "Want to take a walk?"

I shake my head. "No. Let's just sit out here a while. I'm feeling lazy and for someone who works on her feet all the time, I just want to be a slug."

He laughs at me and kisses my hand. "Sounds like a plan. Let's slug out."

We sit in the side-by-side wicker chairs, and gaze out over his front yard.

"Did you do all of this landscaping?" I ask, soaking in the beauty of the English cottage gardens.

Cillian snorts. "Fuck no. I'd kill a plant if I looked at it for too long. The couple I bought the house from did all of this and I pay someone to maintain it. It's nice, huh?"

"Nice? It's gorgeous. So many colors. It must make you happy to have this."

He looks over at me, his eyes serious. "I thought I was happy to buy it, to have something that I owned. It was a sign of my success. But no, I've not been truly happy I had this until I had you sitting on my front porch with me."

I swallow hard over the lump that forms in my throat. A pang strikes through my chest, in a deliciously painful way. It tells me that Cillian has burrowed deep in my heart. It's a feeling I've never felt before. Never even came close to it with Cormac.

And I realize, with sudden clarity, that I have no room in my life to worry about the things that had happened to me with Cormac. I couldn't let his actions rule my life, nor could I make decisions based on what had been done to me. Clearly, my "formula" for the perfect relationship was fucked up, and as I look over at Cillian, I understand that there is no formula.

There's only Cillian.

Standing up, I walk to him and drape myself over his lap. Laying my lips against his, I sink my fingers into the hair on the back of his head. "You overwhelm me. But in the best possible way. Don't ever stop overwhelming me, okay?"

His smile lights from within and he nods. "Okay."

Then he kisses me and something unique happens. Whereas there is normally a hot unfurling of lust that courses through me when Cillian touches me, now it is something more. Oh, it's still just as electric, shocking to my senses. But it's also different. There is a settling quality to the feeling he is invoking. It's like two halves being made whole. I feel a completeness.

Our kiss deepens, sucking me in further. I want to shout out to this man that I'm falling in love, but I'm too scared to take that next leap. Cillian is multi-faceted and complex. I don't have a complete handle on him and so I do the only thing I'm sure of. I continue to kiss him.

We are so lost in each other, I vaguely process that Rock the Casbah is blaring. It's only when Cillian curses and pulls away from me that I realize his phone is ringing. He lifts me up slightly to pull his phone from his pocket, shooting me an apologetic smile.

"Howeya, Maeve. What's up?"

He's silent for a long time as he listens to her. The smile on his face falters and then disappears altogether. I get worried when his brow draws inward, and finally my gut clenches when he stands up from the chair, gently setting me down. He walks a few paces away, to the edge of the porch, his back turned to me.

After several moments, he says, "Okay. Just please stay where you are and I'll be there in a few hours. I'm packing up and leaving now."

He says a few more words of encouragement to her.

Don't do anything rash.

Just take a deep breath and calm down.

&

nbsp; It will be okay, I promise.

Then he hangs up and turns to me.

"What's wrong?" I ask, worried sick that Maeve may have done something really bad.

He shakes his head in consternation. "Maeve's having a rough time. She's thinking about drinking and wants me to come back."

Fear and anger well up in my stomach. Fear, because I don't want Maeve to backslide because I know it will be devastating to Cillian. But anger, because I can't help but feel that the timing of her call is a little too contrived.

"Did she know where you were?" I ask casually.

He walks by me to head into the house, distracted. "Yeah, I emailed her, Sean, and Daniel that we were coming here in case they needed something."

I want to give Maeve the benefit of the doubt, but the things she said to me in the bathroom that night keep echoing off the inside of my skull. She told me she plays dirty, and I feel so guilty wondering if this is dirty play, or a truly legitimate cry for help.

There is no choice though, but to consider it a true need on her part for Cillian.

Swallowing my negative thoughts, I tell him, "Well, let's hurry up and get back so you can see her."

He stops and turns to me. "Thank you. For being so understanding. I'm sorry this weekend is ruined."

"No problem," I assure him. "There will be others."

***

I'm getting ready for bed. It's nearly midnight and I can barely keep my eyes open. We had made it back to Dublin in good time and Cillian dropped me off at my flat with a quick kiss to my forehead and a promise that he would come back over to stay the night with me.

That was over six hours ago and I have heard nothing else other than a brief text from him almost two hours ago that said, "Making progress. Hope to see you soon."

I debate over what to do for a few moments, and then decide to call him. I have every right to check in and see how he's doing.

The phone rings several times and I am convinced it's getting ready to go to voice mail when he answers. His voice is whispered. "Renner. What's up?"