Page 102 of On The Rocks

I ran my hand down my stubble and checked for wrinkles in my shirt and pants. Then, finally satisfied that I looked the part, I turned for the door, moved through the apartment, and jogged down the stairs to the bar.

Showtime.

Maeve was getting ready over at the salon with the girls—and knowing Tristan, they were all consuming copious amounts of wine.

It was okay; I would’ve rather had her at the apartment with me, but I knew she’d want to look her best. Maeve would need some help, seeing as she readily admitted she wasn’t good with girly stuff, although I thought she was naturally pretty without all the makeup and shit anyway. She was also more confident since she’d had the treatment done on her hair, though I sometimes missed the old crazy curls.

Still, as long as she was happy, I was good, too.

I hit the bar and began to move around the room, testing the new lights. I switched the wall lamps on, followed by the ones we’d built around the bar and fireplace that looked much like twinkling Christmas fairy lights. The stage was next, and I adjusted the brightness to a golden glow that gave the place a warm, inviting, sexy, dark vibe.

The atmosphere needed to be perfect.

Walking behind the bar, I grabbed a bottle of our new beer, popped the top, and headed to one of the big, dark brown leather armchairs next to the brick fireplace. Placing my bottle on theside table, I undid my top button, rolled up my sleeves, and brought a hand to my head while I surveyed my little kingdom.

The place put me in mind of an old nineteen-twenties speakeasy. Dark wooden floors, chairs, and tables matched the glossy, square-shaped, dark oak bar and were set off by the mix of browns and olive green of the leather-covered seats and the buttery cream of the walls. The different shades of sage and olive dotted around the room tied everything together, giving it the Irish vibe we wanted in the branding without being gimmicky.

The lights cast a warm, golden hue over the joint, giving it a sexy but classy atmosphere. It looked rich and expensive but still felt homely and comfortable.

My chest filled with a mixture of warmth and pride, and the back of my throat burned because I knew my da would’ve loved the place. I ached with the knowledge he’d never see it, but then maybe he did; who the fuck knew? If there was a way to be here in spirit, my aul fella would surely find it. Of that, I had no doubt.

The echo of footsteps sounded from the back of the bar, and Donovan appeared.

He looked dapper as fuck in his black pants and dark blue button-up, which he’d opened at the chest to show off his myriad of tattoos.

My brother immediately headed toward the fridge and grabbed a beer, popping the top off before striding over to join me. He slumped down into the seat beside mine, cocked his foot up until it rested on one knee, and cast his eye over the place.

“Looks fuckin’ amazing,” he muttered. “Our da would have loved it.”

My mouth hitched. “Funny that. I was just thinking the same thing.”

He paused for a few seconds, and I knew he was working up to say something. His grief-stricken eyes met mine, and he rasped, “I’m still so fucking mad at him, bro.”

My heart lurched, and slowly, I nodded. “Yeah, Don. I know.”

He took a swig of beer and declared, “Miss him, too. Every minute of the day. It’s crazy.”

“He wasn’t an easy man,” I admitted. “He expected a lot from all of us. Sometimes, it was hard to be everything he wanted.”

“It seemed easy for you.”

My lungs burned, and I took a swig of beer, willing the cool liquid to extinguish the fire inside. “It wasn’t. Da was old-school, and so was his parenting style. He was taught that kids should be punished physically. It was all he knew, and with me being the oldest, I got the brunt of his temper.”

Donovan’s face twisted. “I’m sorry, dude. Never had a clue.”

I smiled humorlessly. “Luckily, by the time you were old enough to cause the same havoc I did, the aul fella had chilled out some. Mam caught him backhanding me when I was twelve, and she went fucking loo-lah. He never did it again after that.”

Donovan’s eyebrows pulled together. “Can’t believe that fucker beat you.”

“It wasn’t a regular thing.” I took another swig of beer, hoping the lubrication would help me get the words out. “I’m sure people would say a man like Da hitting his wayward son was just a way to keep me in line, but it screwed with me. I grew up worshipping that man. He was my hero, so whenever it happened, the marks ran deep, so deep that I still feel it to this day, and I don’t mean the bruises.”

“Sorry, bro,” Donny muttered. “I had no idea. You always put him on a pedestal.”

“That’s my point.” I shrugged. “I idolized our da. He never had to hit me ‘cause I hung off every word he said. He only ever needed to talk to me. I’d have done anythin’ to make him proud.”

“You did make him proud, Cal.” He let out a humorless laugh. “Prouder than I did. I was always the fuck-up.”

“You were never that, Donny,” I croaked, emotion filling my throat.

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