Page 13 of After Indigo Irish Nights
“I know you just bought Summercrest Manor, but I’d work with you as best I could—if you had the mind for taking over.”
His bank account was as light as a feather right now. “I’d find a way to pay you what it was worth.” He braced his knees and said what needed saying. “If you wanted to sell the shop to me.”
“It’s been my dream to turn it over to you since you first started working with me,” Seamus said, gripping his shoulder. “It’s proud I am to do so, you being like a son to me.”
His throat clogged with emotion. This was really happening.
“I’ll find the money, Seamus. That’s fair. You think up a price.”
The man nodded, his round face split with a wide grin. “Good, good!” He paused, giving him a sly glance. “You know… I was chatting with Cormac earlier this week.”
Declan waited. There was nothing unusual in talking to Cormac. Only he wasn’t just a villager. He was the local bookie.
“He mentioned the county boxing scene could use a fresh injection of competition.”
Declan’s heart about exploded in his chest. Jesus, to step into the ring again. It had been right for him to stop at the time, but he’d missed it something fierce. At first, he’d planned to give it up for Morag and the family they’d spoken of. After, he hadn’t wanted to face the ring or Jimmy, or all the chattering about his humiliating loss. Things like that tended to stick for a time.
But Jimmy was still in Dublin, so they wouldn’t meet. If he only did it awhile, strictly local matches…that would be like heaven. He missed it, so much so he’d wake from dreams of being in the ring, expecting to have his boxing gloves on.
Nothing satisfied his body in the same way, except sex.
Seamus clapped him on the back. “A few good purses—”
“Would give me enough—”
“To buy my shop.” He gripped his shoulder. “You think on it.”
Seamus had worked this all out, the whole angle about the boxing. Emotion clawed hard at Declan’s heart. Even in this, Seamus was helping him find his way.
But by God, was he crazy for thinking he could fight competitively anymore? He was thirty-three now. He hadn’t fought in five years. He hadn’t even worked out beyond some running and lifting sides of beef at the shop and punching them when no one was around.
“Maybe I’ve been out of the game too long,” Declan said, all while his heart drummed in his chest.
“The club will get you ready with a fierce training regimen, don’t worry. We’ll all take part.” Seamus steered him toward the table where his parents and their friends sat. “How about we start tomorrow? Five o’clock suit you?”
He said it as if the others knew what he meant. Had the older crowd had a meeting with him as the main agenda?
Declan’s dad looked up and grinned at him. Yes, he knew. From the smiles on Killian’s and Donal’s faces, along with some of the others, he was sure they were all co-conspirators.
“Why didn’t you just put your gloves on and knock me out, Seamus?” Declan managed with a laugh. “My God, man!”
Seamus’ mouth twisted. “When I saw the way your face lit up at the mention of fighting again, I knew you still loved it. Come. Let’s have a whiskey.”
“I probably shouldn’t have more. I’ll be training.” And just like that, he was a boxer again.
Seamus grinned and then shouted for everyone to hear, “Declan’s going back to boxing. And the lot of us old bastards are going to help him train.”
“Hurray!” a number of patrons called out.
“Cormac,” his father called, loud enough to be heard over the hushed conversations, “I’ll be making the first bet on my son’s first boxing match.”
Someone took Declan’s hand and pressed a whiskey into it—Liam, wide-eyed and smiling. “Jesus, Declan, when you jump into it, you do so with both feet. First Kathleen and now this? You’re in for a wild ride of transformation, my friend. It’s lucky I am to be alongside you for it.”
Oh, Yoda,he thought.I might end up in your meditation room at this rate.
“Here’s to Declan taking life by the horns,” Seamus said, lifting his whiskey. “Slainte.”
Declan’s eyes tracked to Kathleen. She lifted hers—a trace of amusement and admiration in her gaze—and finished her drink. He couldn’t ignore the toast or the challenge. Bad luck came from such things. He downed his whiskey.
