Last Call: Love At Last, #1

By A. S. Kelly

Allow me to introduce myself.
My name is Niall Kerry. I'm almost forty years old, and I'm drowning in something that begins with 'S' – it doesn't quite seem appropriate to write it down here.

After a lifetime out on a sports field, living as a champion – as someone who never had to ask for anything – I've suddenly found myself starting from scratch. I'm living in the middle of nowhere with my parents, I'm jobless, and I have a teenage daughter who hates me. Oh, and I have to try and regain the trust of everyone I know.

It's not easy to convince people that, deep down, you're not so bad; that you're no longer that troublesome kid they once knew. It's not easy to work my way into the heart of my favourite headmistress, Jordan.
It's especially difficult when she wants nothing to do with me.

But you know what? I'm not the kind of guy who just sits back and accepts defeat, or who stops at the small print at the bottom of the page. I'm someone who plays right until the final whistle.
And when her heart is on the line, I'm ready to make my strict, sexy headmistress an offer she can't refuse.

Each book in the Love At Last Series is standalone:

 

- Last Call
- About Last Night
- One Last Kiss
- The Last One

• Language: English
• Publisher: A. S. Kelly
• Release date: Nov 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215549445

Book preview

ONE

NIALL

Can you please get out of the car?

Skylar crosses her arms and looks away.

They’ve heard us. They already know we’re here.

Do you think I care?

At least give them a chance.

You told me it was a city! she yells, glaring icily in my direction.

It is a city.

We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere!

Don’t say that word.

Fine, we’re in the arse end…

Or that one. Please, not in front of your grandparents.

She opens the passenger door suddenly, slamming it purposefully against my knee.

Fuck!

"Oh! So you’re allowed to say it? She throws the door shut behind her, lifting her chin towards me, challengingly. Good to know. It’s now my favourite fucking word."

I’m already losing my patience, and we haven’t even stepped through the doorway yet.

You should’ve thought of that before you dragged me here! She stamps her feet onto the gravel of their driveway.

And you should’ve thought before throwing yourself out!

It would appear that our mental ages are roughly the same right now.

You’re here! The front door opens behind us. We didn’t hear you pull in.

Seriously?

Skylar rolls her eyes and stomps towards my parents’ house, dragging her heels deliberately through the stones.

Honey, you’re… You’re… My mother tries, but I don’t think she can find an appropriate adjective to describe her once-adorable granddaughter. So colourful.

Wow. I couldn’t have done better, myself.

My mother wraps her arms around her affectionately, but the gesture isn’t mutual. Skylar stands there, stock-still, with her arms clamped rigidly to her sides and her head turned away. She isn’t a huge fan of public displays of affection – or private ones, to be honest – and she especially hates hugs. They’re off-limits.

Granddad is inside, waiting for you. My mother loosens her grip and smiles at my daughter. He’s in the living room. Do you still remember where it is?

Sure, Skylar mumbles, without making eye contact, before stepping past her and into the house.

It’ll take some time, she says, looking at me. She stretches her arms out and approaches me. It’ll all be fine, you’ll see. You’re home now.

My mother hugs me, and I let myself sink into her arms. I don’t have the same problem as Skylar – lately, hugs haven’t seemed long enough.

We’re so happy to have you both here, she says once again, as if all her reassurances on the phone weren’t enough.

Thanks, Mum. I pull away from her with a heavy heart. Just for a few weeks, until I can sort everything out.

Stay as long as you need.

I don’t want to take advantage of you.

Don’t be silly. This is your house, too. Both of yours.

I didn’t know where else to go. I’m so exhausted.

Come on, let’s go inside. Dinner’s almost ready, and your dad will have run out of jokes by now.

I follow her inside, and the smell of burning wood wafts immediately into my nostrils, catapulting me back in time. I used to breathe in this smell every evening before I went to bed.

Have you already got the fire on? I ask, realising that autumn has only just begun, and that in the city, no one has turned on the heating yet.

Have you forgotten how cold it gets here at night?

She leads me into the living room, which is empty, apart from the crackling fire and the flickering TV.

Where the hell are they?

My mother shrugs, heading into the kitchen. She wanders around the island and steps towards the back door; as her gaze lands outside, she throws the door open suddenly.

What do you think you’re doing?! she yells into the garden.

I quickly catch up with her and freeze in the doorway at the sight of Skylar and my father smoking on the porch.

Have you lost your mind?! my mother screams at him.

What? he asks, innocently.

Skylar, honey, my mother says, trying unsuccessfully to soften her tone. That stuff isn’t good for you.

He gave it to me. She points to my father.

Fionn. My mother glares at him interrogatively, her arms crossed tightly.

She asked me if I had any smokes and I said I only had cigars, my father says naively.

So you thought it would be a good idea to give a cigar to a little girl?

My dad shrugs. I decide to intervene before my mother gets even more pissed off with him.

Give me that thing. I turn to Skylar.

But I’m not finished, she protests.

Give it to me, right now, or I swear I’ll make you eat it.

Oh, yeah? she asks, challenge etched onto her face. How can I do that when it’s still lit? Or did you plan to put it out, first?

Don’t be cheeky with me, I warn her.

And you can fu—

Okay! my mum jumps in. She snatches up the ashtray from the table and holds it under Skylar’s nose. She scoffs, but stubs out the cigar, muttering something we all pretend not to hear from between gritted teeth.

You, too. My mother moves the ashtray in my father’s direction.

What have I got to do with this?

That stuff is bad for you.

My father scoffs – in exactly the same manner as Skylar – then does as she says.

Now I’d appreciate it if everyone would go and wash their hands before dinner.

Are she serious? Skylar asks me, gesturing towards my mother.

It’s best not to argue with your grandmother, my dad advises her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

Skylar glances up at him, a look of disgust on her features, but she says nothing.

Come with me. I’ll show you where the bathroom is.

I’m not senile, I remember where the bathroom is, she snaps, making something burning and unpleasant explode in my stomach.

Skylar and my father step back into the house, as I patiently wait to hear my mother’s final sentence.

You should’ve come here sooner.

She isn’t accusing me. She seems more concerned than pissed off.

The situation is worse than I’d feared.

I can’t do anything but hang my head and agree with her.

Everything seems a little better once we’re sitting at the table; Dad eats, one eye occasionally darting over to the flickering TV in the living room; Mum talks, although no one is listening; Skylar scoffs, her mouth open as she noisily chews her food; and I’m enjoying the quiet, until the next storm breaks.

So you still haven’t heard anything from school? My mother turns to me. She must have realised that Dad has been sucked in by the second half of the match.

I have a meeting with the head teacher on Monday.

And he hasn’t told you if…er…

If she got in? You can say it out loud, Mum.

Yeah, we have no secrets here. Especially not when it comes to blurting out everything that goes on in my life.

They’re your grandparents. They have a right to know what you’re up to.

Oh, really? Then where have they been, these past few years? Her sharp, accusatory tone reaches my father’s ears, piquing his interest.

We’ve always been here, honey, my mother responds, calmly. Ready to welcome you at any point.

So you’re telling me it’s his fault? Obviously, she’s pointing at me.

Your father works very hard…

"He used to," Skylar points out.

You lived in Dublin, you both had your own lives…

Which we don’t have anymore, she concludes darkly. "Because he, she says, raising her voice, practically handcuffed me and dragged me here, to a place I don’t know, with people I don’t know. I have no friends, I have no…" She stops herself, suddenly; she never wants to put her true emotions on display. She shakes her head for a few seconds as we all wait in silence, hoping that she’ll open up, say something that will let us help her. We want her to yell at us, tell us to go to hell, spit out my mother’s cooking. She needs to cry, to let it all out.

She jumps up, the chair screeching back behind her as she slams her palms down on the table.

I’m not hungry, she announces. I’m going to bed.

Of course, honey. Your room is…

I can find it on my own, she snaps, turning on her heels and storming upstairs. I sit there, waiting for the too-familiar sound of a door slamming. I let go of the breath I was holding.

She hates me. I let my fork clatter onto my plate.

She’s angry, but not with you. She’s angry with the entire world right now.

Maybe, but I seem to have the starring role in this shitshow.

My mother smiles gently, resting her hand on top of mine. Just give her some time and space – especially space. She isn’t used to you.

I should’ve brought her here more often.

That’s true, my father adds. Last time she was here, your mother hadn’t even gone grey yet.

Mum glares at him, and he shovels a generous forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

She was only five. I lean my elbow on the table, rubbing at my forehead. Or maybe six. It was Christmas: the first one we’d spent together. And the last, I say, guilt washing over me immediately.

Don’t do it. My mother squeezes my wrist. Don’t place all the blame on yourself. Don’t drag up the past. Now you have time to make things right.

She’s fifteen, Mum. She hates me.

All teenagers hate their parents.

I don’t remember ever hating you.

Not now, she adds.

I just really hope we can sort things out with the school.

What about work? Dad reappears in the conversation. What are you going to do?

I’ll work something out.

But you only know how to play.

I’ll find something. There are gyms, courses. People in this godforsaken town must play sport, right?

You could always help out around here, Dad says. We recently hired quite a few people, but I’m sure I could find you something.

I don’t want you to find me anything, Dad. I can find myself a job.

Don’t you remember what it’s like to work out in the countryside anymore?

Not really, but that’s not why I’m doing this. I’m doing it for me and Skylar. I want to show her that we can do it: that we can have a life together, that she can trust me.

I don’t think she thinks any differently.

I don’t know what she thinks, because she only opens her mouth to yell at me or insult me. Or to ask for money.

She’ll like it here. You’ll see. She’ll make friends quickly.

Only if they let her into that fucking school. Otherwise I’ll have to home-school her – and I don’t think that would help anything.

You can be quite persuasive when you want to be, my father comments. You’ll find a way.

Until now, I’d never been able to persuade anyone of anything – and they were all women. I’d have no chance of convincing a guy, unless maybe he were gay. I guess if that were the case, I’d have no choice but to sacrifice my needs for Skylar’s sake…

I’m sure you’ll manage. Even without your usual moves, my mother says, suggestively.

I’m sure you’ve got something up your sleeve. My father waves his fork around in the air, before sliding it into his mouth.

I’m not sure I agree with him on that one – but it wouldn’t be the best idea to make them panic, too. My own sense of panic is definitely enough for us all.

I’ll do my best.

I take a sip of beer to drown the absolute crap that just came out of my mouth, and start to eat again, if only to avoid saying anything else. I’ve already fed Skylar enough bullshit – despite the fact that she wasn’t listening to almost any of it, with her ever-present headphones firmly stuffed into her ears. I don’t know if she’s ever actually listening to the deafening noises coming from those things, or whether she only does it to drown out the sound of my voice. Or, worst of all, whether she does it purely to piss me off.

I told her that we’d be coming to live in a beautiful little city in the north, by the sea, with a school full of students for her to befriend, a huge shopping centre down the street, and a world of possibilities. I maybe failed to mention the fact that we’d have to live with her grandparents for a while, because I still don’t know if I’ll be able to find a job here, and I’m in desperate need of some help. But, hey – if I’d mentioned it, would she even have listened?

This is only a temporary measure. We moved quickly, with half our stuff still in a storage unit in Dublin, waiting to be shipped. Let’s just say that I didn’t exactly have time to sort everything out properly. We needed a change of scenery – she needed it – and this seemed like the best place for a broken teenage girl who needs a little peace. She needs to realise that she’s not alone in the world: that there are people who are ready to welcome her into their lives and love her.

TWO

NIALL

I sink onto the stool by my parents’ kitchen counter as my father places a glass of whisky in front of me. I thank him with a curt nod and clasp my fingers around the glass, swirling the liquid. My father sits down next to me as my mother places an apple tart on the counter.

I hope this is still your favourite.

Always.

It’s actually the only dessert I eat. I don’t even know if I really like it, or whether it’s just one of the many memories that I have of this place. Maybe it’s because, until a few months ago, I would never have been allowed to eat this much sugar.

My mother cuts me a generous slice and pushes the plate towards me. It’s enormous – but why the hell do I care? I don’t have rules or diets to follow anymore, no health programmes, no training. And with a permanently pissed-off teenage daughter, and the fact that, at my age, I’m living with my parents again, no woman will want to come near me, let alone jump into bed with me. Well, into what is, technically, my mother’s bed.

You didn’t tell her that you’d be staying here, did you? my mother asks, sipping at her tea.

Not exactly, I admit sheepishly. "I may have skipped the part where I told her we’d be here while we were waiting for a new place.

Do you think you’ll find one soon? My dad presses, pouring himself two more fingers of whisky and earning himself a glance from my mother that says: if you fall asleep on the sofa again, I’ll leave you there for a week.

I hope so. I throw down the rest of my glass – and the lie I just told.

There’s no rush, you know. It’s a big house.

We can’t live with you.

Why not?

Well, firstly, because I’m thirty-eight years old. I moved out twenty years ago. What kind of example would I be for my daughter?

Someone who loves his family?

I glance at my father, raising my eyebrow.

It’s just nice to have you here, my mother says, resting her hand on my forearm.

I smile guiltily at her. I left so long ago, without looking back. I came back home maybe once a year, despite living only a few hours away. I wasn’t exactly in another country – even though, for most people around here, living in Dublin is like living on another continent. But that’s an entirely different issue.

"How come Rian isn’t here tonight?

She works late on Fridays. She’ll be here for dinner tomorrow.

Apparently, my eighteen-year-old sister is doing better than me. She has a job, she lives on her own, and she has a raging social life. And she doesn’t give a damn about coming to see her thirty-eight-year-old older brother, who’s come crawling home with his tail between his legs and a teenage daughter in tow.

I can’t blame her. Rian and I barely know each other. We’re almost strangers – and that is completely my fault.

I shove the last piece of apple tart into my mouth, staring disappointedly at my empty plate; I’ve polished off my dessert without even realising. When my mother offers me a second slice, I take it, my mind wandering sadly to my hard-earned abs.

She smiles kindly as she scoops another slice onto my plate. I watch her gratefully; but before this second wave of saturated fats and sugars can plunge into my stomach, someone knocks at the door.

Who’s that? It’s so late. My father gets up to go and check.

I’ll do it, my mother says, stopping him.

We both glance at her suspiciously.

Are you expecting someone?

What? Me? No, of course not. She paces quickly into the living room, disappearing from our eyesight.

You don’t know anything about this, do you? I ask my father.

And I’d like to keep it that way, he says, sinking the contents of his second glass.

Oh, shit! So you weren’t kidding!

I turn suddenly at the sound of an all-too-familiar voice.

Our little lost lamb has found its way home!

I’d say he’s more of a goat. It gives you a better idea, my father says from beside me, earning himself a glare.

What the hell are you doing here?

Your mother told me you’d come back.

Oh, really? When?

Yesterday morning over breakfast at my mum’s house.

My father glances questioningly at her.

I don’t owe anyone an explanation, she says, defending herself. Anyway, I happened to mention that you were arriving today, so…

You told me he was like a stray dog with nowhere to go. You asked me to come and play with him.

I stare incredulously at my mother.

I didn’t say it exactly like that…

That was the main gist of it.

Tyler steps towards me, his hands on his hips. His expression is hungry: he has the face of someone who can’t wait to get his own back.

Good to see you, Kerry.

I wish I could say the same.

Tyler laughs. You never change, you old bastard, he comments, in my parent’s house: and no one objects. Come on, come here. He stretches his arms out, waiting. Give your buddy a hug.

If I have to. I reluctantly pull myself to my feet and let myself be hugged. I still have no idea why he’s here, I say to my mother as soon as Tyler releases me from his clutches.

I thought it might be nice for you to see some of your old friends, to get back in contact with some people around here.

And by ‘old friends’, she just means me, Tyler says. You know, the others…

I scoff. Let’s just say that I don’t have many fans around here anymore – yet another reason to avoid slinking back. But hey, I have a daughter to raise and a life to put back together. I have to start somewhere, right?

Why don’t you two go out, maybe get a drink? my mother suggests.

Why should we?

A little fresh air will do you good.

I don’t think that’s true. I’m pretty tired from the journey, you know…

Three hours in a car? my dad asks.

And then there’s Skylar…

We’ll be here with her.

Do you really think it’s wise for me to leave my daughter on her own on our first night here, just to go to the pub?

I don’t want to be rude, honey, but your daughter told you exactly where to go.

"Well, she didn’t say it exactly…"

She told us where to go, too – implicitly, my father adds.

Go on, have fun.

My mother pushes me towards the living room. I don’t really understand her hurry to get rid of me – I’ve just got here. Didn’t she say she was happy to have me here?

Skylar will be fine. And, with a little luck, so will you.

What should I do, then? Shall I go? I ask my father, who currently seems to be the more rational of the two.

You’re no use moping around here.

Come on, Kerry. A few pints in the pub, a quick game of darts, Tyler encourages. What could go wrong?

Nothing? I say, hesitantly.

I’ll have him home before midnight, he says to my parents, almost dragging me towards the front door. I can’t do anything but hope that he’ll stick to his word.

Is it just me, or does this all seem a little weird to you? I ask Tyler as we walk towards his car.

What are you talking about?

You, here, at my house. My mother inviting you over. The two of us.

He shrugs indifferently.

Come on, Tyler. We haven’t seen each other for…how long?

I have no idea.

Exactly! I throw my arms into the air, exasperated.

What’s the problem, Kerry?

We’re not even friends anymore, I say sincerely.

We used to be.

It’s been ten, maybe fifteen years since the last time we did something together.

So what? We grew up together. My house is right over there. He points down the road that leads to his house, which snakes in the opposite direction to the city centre. We were classmates, teammates.

Years ago!

What’s changed?

Everything?

He leans his arms onto the roof of his car and looks at me. His face hasn’t changed much as all – neither have his mannerisms.

I don’t know how it works in big cities, Kerry, but here, things don’t change. Whoever we were fifteen or twenty years ago is exactly who we are now.

I’m not convinced.

Just relax, okay? You’re home now, with your family. With your oldest friends.

Which friends, Tyler? I ask with a heavy sigh.

Well, start with me. Then we can see how the rest goes.

You know full well that I don’t have a great reputation in this place.

Then let’s change that, mate.

When we step foot inside Dom’s, one of the longest-running pubs in town, looking out onto the bay, I realise that I’ve made a huge mistake. Even though no one is staring at me – a fact Tyler has repeated multiple times – I can’t help but feel uncomfortable. He was wrong: I’m not at home, with my oldest friends. To be honest, I’m not the same person anymore. Maybe, for everyone who stayed here, that’s what happened: time stood still. But my life moved on, and I can’t help but feel like an outsider here.

I sit at a table, hidden from the rest of the pub, and keep my eyes glued firmly to the wooden surface, my cap pulled down over my eyes, as Tyler heads up to the bar to order two pints. I glance quickly around the room, without lifting my head, and realise that everyone is minding their own business, and that they’re all probably too drowsy by this point in the evening to notice yours truly.

Relax. Tyler sits down, sliding a pint across the table towards me. I look at it, and tell myself: why not? You’re not on a diet anymore – the same logic I used with the apple tart. So I grab it and lift it to my lips.

To old friends.

Tyler lifts his glass and takes a few sips. I throw back a little more, then lean exhaustedly against the backrest of my chair. I start to relax, just as Tyler told me to.

So have you really given up everything?

Did my mother tell you that?

No. Your mother told mine that you were going through a bit of a shit time, and that you’re here to sort everything out.

Interesting…

Word around town is that they kicked you out because you slept with the captain’s daughter – a minor.

I spit my beer across the table.

What?!

Hey, I didn’t start the rumour.

Who the fuck did, then?

He shrugs. Not everyone believed it.

Did you believe it?

Maybe when I first heard it, I thought there might be some truth in it. But looking at you now…

What’s that supposed to mean?

You can see that you’re not taking it so well.

Wow, aren’t we observant.

There’s another rumour, too, going around the field.

Field?

Sports field.

Oh yeah? What are people saying?

They’re saying you gave up everything for a daughter who fell into your life.

I smile sadly.

That’s the rumour I liked best.

How come? Don’t you love gossip?

Like I said: I know you.

I lift my eyes towards the ceiling and finally take off my cap, ruffling my hair with one hand.

You know what else I know?

Let’s hear it… I challenge him.

He leans back, taking a sip of his beer, before gesturing towards something over my shoulder. I turn slowly, curious; I recognise her just from the way she brushes the hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. I start to think that this arsehole might not be all bad, that maybe time really has stood still. That maybe, after everything, something inside me stayed here, even when I left.

THREE

JORDAN

When I asked if you wanted to go and get a drink, this wasn’t exactly the place I had in mind.

"Why? What’s wrong with Dom’s?"

Nothing really, but it’s two doors down from my house, and there are only ever two customers – both of which everyone already knows, apart from the occasional lost tourist.

So what?

Weren’t we supposed to celebrating something important? Anya says, stepping towards me, as if she had a secret to tell; as if she were worried someone might hear us, or as if someone in this tiny city – or even the entire county – might not have already heard about my recent life events.

That’s what we’re doing, I remind her, waggling my empty glass in her direction.

This wasn’t what I had in mind.

Me neither – even though my idea was distinctly different to hers.

Look, we’re here now. Let’s have a look around, scout out the talent. Come on, peel your eyes away from the table and take a look at all the possible candidates.

Do I really have to?

Would you rather I did it for you?

I empty my glass and take a deep breath. I know she’ll never give in. I lift my gaze and let my eyes roam around the semi-darkness of the pub. There are the usual locals sitting at the bar: I can’t see any new faces, or anyone under the age of fifty. I shake my head and turn towards the other side of the room. Almost all the tables are full: it’s Friday night and it’s still fairly early – at least, for them. For me, the evening is already starting to dwindle away, probably due to my terrible mood. Or maybe I haven’t drunk enough to help me forget tonight, or the last ten years or my life; or the only man I’ve ever loved, who’s now busy loving someone else.

Just when I’m about to beg her to give in and let me go home, she elbows me sharply in the ribs.

What about him?

Who?

Third table from the left.

Oh, please, I say, following her instructions. Tyler Hayes?

"Not him – who do you take me for? she responds in mock outrage. No, I meant the other guy."

I glance back at the table just as he takes off his cap and runs his fingers through his hair. Tyler says something to him and gestures vaguely in our direction. I quickly tear my eyes away before he can see me staring at him, feigning nonchalance as I tuck my hair behind my ear.

Do we know him? Anya asks immediately. Never one to be discreet, she continues to gawk at him.

I don’t know. I didn’t get a proper look at his face.

You could get a proper look now.

I don’t think so.

He’s not looking this way anymore.

I trust her, allowing my eyes to flicker in his direction. Tyler’s gaze is still fixed on us, but the stranger has turned his back. From this distance, I don’t recognise his shoulders.

No idea.

Well, that’s better, right?

Better for what? I turn to Anya.

You need a handsome stranger.

Do you really think I can do it?

Is that not why we came out tonight?

Not exactly.

You promised.

I scoff. I’m not going home with a total stranger.

"No, of course not. So