He chuckled. “Kieran Walsh.”
My mouth curved into an involuntary smile. “Well, that’s a good Irish name if I ever heard one, Kieran Walsh.”
“My grandparents came over from Dublin in the sixties,” he confirmed. “Gramps was a mechanic, and Grandma was an elementary school teacher. My dad was born here, but he’s still a proud Irishman, and passionate about instilling that same Irish pride into me and my sister, which he tries on the daily.”
I gave him big eyes. “Sounds like my mammy. She moved over from Roscommon when she married my da. There’s nobody more Irish than Maureen O’Shea.”
“What about your dad?” he asked.
My heart jerked.
It was weird how out of nowhere I’d remember that my daddy had passed and feel his loss like a punch to the gut again. Some days, I wondered if the pain of remembering would ever pass or if it would always be as raw as the day he died.
My eyebrows furrowed. “He passed a few months ago.”
Kieran dipped his chin. “I’m sorry.”
My mouth quirked tightly, and I took in the kindness behind his eyes, and it struck me how it was such a stark contrast to the storm that raged in Pagan’s dark stare. For a fleeting moment, I liked the comfort Kieran offered because it warmed me, and these days, I didn’t often feel warm. I felt as if I were made of ice.
Maybe that was why I was so fascinated by Pagan. I’d been cold for so long, but he radiated fire and thawed out all the partsof me that froze the day my da died. I thought I’d be at least partway over it by now; it had been months, but I felt suspended in time.
When Da was alive, I loved life and lived it to the full, but now I just felt lost.
Maybe if I pursued someone like Kieran, who was safe, I’d eventually come out of my fog of grief and also stop obsessing about Pagan Sinclair.
But then, maybe not.
“Are you okay?” Kieran asked, his voice gentle. “Did I bring up bad memories?”
I forced a smile and shook my head. “No. Not at all. I just miss my da sometimes. It hasn’t been long since he died, and I’m still trying to find my new normal.”
He knocked his shoulder into mine, which was oddly comforting. “Well, if you need a distraction...” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
I couldn’t stop a sudden bubble of laughter escaping, and without a thought, I rolled up on my toes, planted my hands on Kieran’s broad shoulders, and kissed his cheek, whispering, “Thank you.”
That was the moment the atmosphere in the bar changed.
It felt tangible, like somebody had sucked all the heat out of the room, leaving the air frigid. The buzz of chatter and soft laughter died down as Kieran’s eyes fell on something over my shoulder and froze, all color fading from his face.
“Aislynn,” he began quietly. “Why is there a big, bald, angry-looking motherfucker heading toward us looking like he’s about to rip my head off?”
My heart leaped into my throat, and slowly, I craned my neck. My body locked when I caught sight of Pagan making his way through the crowd, shouldering people out of the way in his haste to get to me.
Pagan’s gait was pure threat. His shoulders were bunched angrily, and his black stare was fixed on me with laser-sharp focus. His eyes dropped to where Kieran had a hold of my waist, then sliced back up to meet mine while his lip curled into a snarl.
Kieran dropped his hand, and I tore my gaze away from Pagan to glower at him.
Pussy.
Pagan jerked his chin toward the door, his stare holding mine, and he barked one word at me.
“Out.”
A bad feeling slid through my chest, and suddenly, I struggled to breathe.
Oh shit.
CHAPTER 4
