Page 9 of Taming the Beast (Fairy Tales of New York)

She hadn’t wanted his help anyway. He’d discovered that swiftly enough. The one time he’d been to see her in the clinic Mercy had told him about, Zel had yelled at him that it was way too late to suddenly care and so he might as well just piss off. Which was what he’d done because she clearly hadn’t wanted him there, and that was just fine with him because he didn’t care.

Now his sister still was a virtual stranger – even though she’d moved back into this house months ago – because he’d made sure their paths rarely crossed. He still didn’t have anything to say to her, even after all these years. Oh, he was aware she’d stayed clean since coming out of rehab and he knew she’d turned her back on the relentless partying she used to do, but she still shirked her responsibilities. Only three weeks ago she’d just not shown up at a Foundation gala at which she was supposed to be representing the family. And then this morning he’d looked out of the window to find the house surrounded by the paparazzi for the second time in as many weeks.

Stranger or not, though, Zelda had always been her own person, even when they’d been children. As a younger sister she’d looked up to him, sure, and sought his approval, but she’d known her own mind and she’d acted on it. As a teenager, and then as an adult, she’d made her choices and they might not have been the right ones but they’d been hers. She’d known the consequences. She was responsible for what she did. Not him. Her.

So hot, sexy little Miss Mercedes Hernandez, with her eye-popping cleavage and her fiery, wild, wince-inducing passion, with her unwanted, unwelcome interference and her insidious insinuations, was wrong. Downright wrong. She thought she knew him but she didn’t. Nightmare or no nightmare she didn’t have a clue. Not a fucking clue. If she really knew him, if she was able to see inside him, into the black, gaping hole that took up so much of him, she’d never have dared confront him. She’d have run a mile.

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She’d certainly never have looked at him the way she had all those years ago when she and Zelda had been at school together. There’d been such adoration in her gaze, such yearning on her face back then. He’d seen it the Christmas she’d come to stay and then again that morning they’d been sitting outside the Mother Superior’s office at St. John’s. Her crush on him had been so damn obvious. She’d looked at him like she could slay his demons. Like she wanted nothing more than to look after him.

At least she didn’t look at him like that now. She looked at him as though she hated him and that was fine with him. Hatred was infinitely preferable to adoration. He didn’t want adoration. He didn’t deserve it. He never would.

So it was good Mercedes was no longer attracted to him but loathed and despised him instead. And it was good that she believed he’d taken her to bed to distract her. Far better that than her knowing the truth: that he’d slept with her simply because he hadn’t been able to resist. He didn’t need her knowing she had that kind of a hold over him. She couldn’t slay his demons anyway. No one could. Besides, he didn’t want them slain. He needed them to remember that he’d destroyed everything he’d ever cared about. To remind him that Hell would freeze over before he risked doing it again.

So he didn’t need to sort himself out. Yes, he’d screwed things up, but he was OK with that. He didn’t need therapy, despite what his sister had suggested when she’d cornered him earlier. He didn’t need anything. He wasn’t wallowing and he wasn’t a coward. He was fine.

Chapter Three

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What with the amount of time her MBA studies took up and the even greater amount of time she’d spent thinking about that awful confrontation with Seb, wishing she’d handled it differently, fearing she’d gone too far and despairing that she’d ruined Zelda’s chances of ever achieving a reconciliation, it had been one hell of a few weeks.

But as Mercy stood waiting for the drinks she’d ordered at Sully’s, the Brooklyn pub that had been in Faith’s family for three generations ever since they’d emigrated to America from Ireland in the nineteen fifties, she could feel the tension in her muscles and the nagging at her conscience melting away like butter off a hot knife.

There was something so warm and welcoming and cozy about the place. It wasn’t overly grand or anything, but it was homey and comforting and, well, loved, she supposed.

Pictures that had been collected over the years by Faith’s parents and grandparents hung haphazardly on the wood-lined walls. Lights turned down low cast flattering shadows over the old oak booths, cocooning them in privacy. Over the huge stone fireplace that was surrounded with tiles painted with shamrocks hung a portrait of JFK. Now the grate within lay unlit, but October through April a fire blazed every minute the pub was open.

On weekends Sully’s was packed, buzzing with conversation and laughter as the Guinness flowed, and more often than not jumping with live music, sometimes even supplied by the band that was made up of two of Faith’s four brothers.

Tonight, though, a Thursday, it was quiet. A handful of regulars propped up the wooden bar that ran the length of the far end of the room and surely had plenty of stories to tell, and maybe half a dozen of the booths were occupied.

With the drinks now served, Mercy thanked Megan, the barmaid, picked up the tray and headed for one of those booths, the one that contained her three best friends.

“Here we go, girls,” she said, smiling broadly because the novelty of having everyone in one place after ten years of being scattered across the globe would never wear off and setting the tray carefully down on the table. “Round one. Virgin mojito for you, Zel,” she said, handing a high-ball glass stuffed with mint and slices of lime to Zelda, “and Guinness for the rest of us.”

She distributed the pints to Dawn and Faith, kept a half for herself, then slid along the red leather cushion of the bench into the space beside Dawn. “Salud,” she said, as they all raised their glasses and clinked them. “Have I ever told you how lovely it is to see you guys again?”

“Only every time we meet up,” said Zel with a smile and her accent that was so like Seb’s, not that Mercy was supposed to be thinking about him, the stupid, infuriating boludo.

“Well, I missed you. Ten years…” Mercy shook her head and wiped Seb from her thoughts. She’d kept up sporadically with her friends over that period but it hadn’t been easy and it hadn’t been the same. “Too damn long.”

“We’re making up for it now,” said Faith.

“We certainly are,” said Dawn, lifting her drink and downing a good portion of it.

“Bad day?” asked Mercy, when Dawn sighed in appreciation and put her glass back down.

“Not particularly. Just long.”

Dawn, beautiful Dawn, who’d turned from a gangly duckling into such a swan, owned a medical research company and had a boyfriend – one of Faith’s gorgeous brothers – who’d recently moved in. “Finn keeping you busy?”

Dawn grinned. “That too.”

Mercy took a sip of her beer and turned to Zelda. “And how’s Ty?”

Zel smiled a wicked smile, as well she might seeing as how she and Ty had dramatically got back together the night of the slumber party and were now an item. “Oh, he’s just fine.”

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