* * * *
Brogan walked into the suite. There was Nevan lounging on the couch. He had mixed feelings about having anyone from the family here. He was even more vulnerable, if it were possible. Growing up in Dublin, the Byrnes didn't have much. His father, Seamus, was a laborer, who barely kept the wolf from the door. In a family of seven children there wasn't much privacy either. The five boys were in one room and the two girls in another. Stacked like bleedin' cord wood. They had hand-me-down clothes, and it was a struggle to keep food on the table. With his first big royalty check, Brogan bought his parents a good-sized home on Marrowbone Lane. He gave all his siblings money. He brought Nevan and Reese over to the States and gave them high-paying jobs as his assistants. Times were tough in Ireland, so he was glad to help. Say what you will, he loved his family.
Brogan's thoughts drifted back to his parents. To this day they still loved each other deeply and made sure their home was alive in laughter and affection, then and now. So what was wrong with him or Nevan, for that matter? Neither of them had any lasting, meaningful relationship like their parents.
Nevan, who was eighteen months younger, never let anyone get close. He still didn't. Maybe Brogan should take a page from his book, but really who had he let close lately? Not even Abbie had understood him. He kept a part of himself removed from her and from everyone. The closest he'd come to opening his heart was when he kissed Carly on the beach. He thought about the devastating kiss constantly and thought about her. She acted as if the whole incident didn't happen. The women on the beach—what possessed him? He knew. The demon. He took a seat opposite Nevan.
"So, my brother, how's it been going? Able to keep sober?" Nevan asked pointedly.
"Barely. I'm on some prescriptions to help deal with it."
He wasn't telling anyone about the VD. He was shocked he'd told Carly. Abbie was ashamed, so she wouldn't tell. Frankly, he was a little ashamed himself. He certainly did not want to hear "I told you so, brother" from Nevan. Not today. Did anything rattle Nevan? Well, one thing he would tell him about was his brush with death. He wanted to talk to someone about it even though he had tried to put it out of his mind.
"I almost died in New York." He said the words in a firm strong voice. "Wasn't my intent, I just… Abbie broke up with me and I didn't take it well. I drank, swallowed down some pills, and almost choked to death on my own vomit. Carly saved me with CPR."
Nevan kept silent, but his steady, assessing gaze did not waver from Brogan.
"You think me a stupid wanker, don't you, Nevan? You always did. I can see the disdain in your eyes."
Nevan shrugged. "No more a wanker than the rest of us. But lately, aye. Do you blame the lass for giving you the kick? I don't. And Reese? You did some damage there. I'm not sure he will forgive you anytime soon."
Reese. God knows what he said in Philly. It had to be bad. Reese could be slow to anger, but once he was riled it would take the devil's own shoulder to shift him. "I'm a feckin' mess."
"Aye, my brother, you are. And the mess is not of a recent event, I'll wager. Whatever is smashed inside you manifests itself with this destructive behavior. I thought your music would be a productive outlet for whatever damage, but it seems to have made things worse."
Before Brogan could answer there was a sharp rap on the door. Carly entered, teetering precariously on red and orange platform shoes through the long shag carpet. Brogan's face lit up like the boardwalk in Blackpool at her appearance. The flush spread to his entire body.
"Nevan Byrne, you made it. Do you like your room? Only the best for the brother." She smiled warmly.
She sat down next to Nevan on the sofa. "You must join us for dinner tonight, Nevan, I hope you like steak. Let me know your preferences, food- and drink-wise, and I'll see it done."
"You make a bloke feel welcome, Carly. Thank you."
"I'm looking forward to some conversation. Your brother isn't much of a talker," Carly teased, glancing briefly at Brogan.
"Well, lass, I'm not much better, but for you I will try."
"Tell me, are there more brothers besides you two and the younger one—what was his name—Reese?"
"Aye, there's Brogan, myself, Reese, and two in their late teens, Barry and Shane," Nevan replied.
"Wow. You have sisters too? You have a big family. I always wished I had siblings," Carly replied, her tone friendly.
Brogan watched the conversation and byplay between Carly and Nevan and his heart clenched in his chest. She hardly glanced his way. She didn't speak to him. He might as well not even be in the bleedin' room. Since the night on the beach she only spoke to him when needed, or she sent Gio with her orders. He let her walk away from him. He should have gone after Carly on the beach, but he was stunned by the feel of her lips and her body on top of his. Brogan nearly came right there when she pushed him down on his back. He ached for something and someone he had never ached for before in his life. Not even Tarrah. He knew nothing, nothing at all. And Abbie? He loved her in his way, but she didn't move him like this. How quickly he seemed to have gotten over her. Not much substance there at all. Not much substance in himself, truth be told.
Carly stood. "I'll check on dinner. Also don't forget the sound check is at eight, Byrne. Bring Nevan with you." She headed for the door without a backward glance at him. His eyes scanned those sexy platforms all the way up those gorgeous legs to the tight denim skirt. Shite, he was getting hard. He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. The door closed softly behind Carly.
"All right, what in the feck is going on, Brogan? You could cut the bleedin' tension, sexual and otherwise, in here with a knife. You got over Abbie quick enough."
Brogan glanced at his brother. "Aye, I guess I did. Makes me a prat, I know. I can't help myself. You're right, I'm smashed, a mess, and I don't know how to fix it." He paused, trying to steady his voice. "Can you stay for a few days, Nevan, please?"
Nevan remained quiet for a few moments. "Aye. Until you leave for Canada. I'll stay, my brother."
Chapter Six
Carly couldn't believe this. The customs officials had their luggage torn apart and the guitars out of their cases. They were fondling her panties, for God's sake! Gio seemed amused, but she wasn't. God, it was only Canada; why all the fuss? Well, since Hendrix was caught with drugs back in 1970 they were cracking down on anyone who even had a whiff of rock star about them, or so Carly assumed. Byrne looked the part in his trademark leather pants, boots, black silk shirt unbuttoned to his waist, and leather vest. Carly frowned. Hendrix again. The parallels were spooky. Be damned if Byrne would die in some anonymous hotel room. She would make it her mission to keep him safe, from himself most of all.
"Whose luggage is this, Mr Byrne?" the officer called out.
"Mine."
The officer reached in between the lining and pulled out a small plastic bag. Byrne groaned aloud.
"This appears to be cannabis, around fourteen grams, which is about an ounce. You are aware this is an illegal substance, Mr Byrne?"
"Yes."
Carly snarled. "Gio, I thought you checked his luggage!"
"I did! I wasn't aware I had to cut the damned lining and check there!"
Carly's stomach did cartwheels. They were in deep shit. Again, the headlines rolled through her head. Nigel would be livid as he hated scandal and drama.
The customs officer approached the trio. "If you'll take a seat, I'll call the police. You've broken a federal law, and it has to be reported. We will be here some time, as we will be going through everything again, and we may insist on a strip search."