Sweet Days: Four Days, #2

By A. S. Kelly

Patrick Doyle is a rude, selfish, cynical man; but for his friends and family, he'd do anything. His dream of pursuing a music career came to an abrupt halt after a car accident involving those he loves most in the world. Instead, he dedicated himself to working full-time in the pub he manages with his childhood friends, keeping his distance from love, and from anything else that could bind him.
Erin O'Neill is a bright young woman with her future mapped out: she's about to graduate, she's got a part-time job in Patrick's pub and she has the perfect boyfriend. Suddenly, the unexpected happens, interrupting her life and spinning her well-laid plans upside-down, leaving her lonely and desperate.
Patrick isn't the kind of guy to get caught up in other people's problems – especially not when it involves a damsel in distress – but he can't help rushing to her aid, finding himself catapulted into her life against his will.
Even if, maybe, he'd like to be part of that life.
Even if that means getting hurt, and hurting her too.
Because Patrick destroys everything he touches.

Sweet Days is a complete standalone and a part of the Four Days Series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A. S. Kelly
• Release date: Sep 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227487964

Book preview

Chapter 2

Erin

Igo downstairs the minute the sun’s up. I spent the night in the apartment above the pub, following Rain’s advice. She kept me company until the first signs of daylight. She didn’t want me to go back home and have to face him again. I need some caffeine, or some kind of shot in the arm after staying awake all night, but there’s nothing in the apartment except basic furniture and a few sparse accessories. Nothing to drink or eat. It was empty for a long time before Liam moved in, after he came back from Dublin.

Liam is one of Aaron, Jay, and Patrick’s best friends. Collectively, they’re my bosses, and Liam is Rain’s boyfriend. They’ve been together for a few months now, since he came back to Ireland after two years in London. Liam was a famous singer in the UK, but he gave it all up to come back here and be with the woman he’d always loved. Rain is a sweet girl: we became friends right away. She was in an accident just over two years ago, where her boyfriend – Liam’s brother, Neil – lost his life. It not only took her memory, but caused a lot of other complications for her. She’s better now; she still has her issues, and hasn’t recovered all of her memories, but now she’s got Liam, who came back to take her heart and to give her his. They’re happy, in spite of everything that’s happened.

Rain was Neil’s girlfriend. They’d been together since they were teenagers, but she must have been subconsciously in love with Liam, who obviously reciprocated her feelings. And how could he not? They never told each other until a few months ago, when the truth came to light and Rain couldn’t help falling into his arms. To be honest, I can’t blame her. Liam can be dark and moody at times, but he’s good and sweet in his own way. Now he works at the pub too, and they all live together in one big house. They’re a great couple.

I live with Nate – or at least I did, until last night. We’ve been seeing each other for more than a year, and have been living together for four months, since my father decided to accept a prestigious teaching position in England: something that would make it easier for him to continue his research in genetics.

My parents separated ten years ago. My mum is American, and she decided to go back to San Francisco after the divorce. She wanted to take me with her, but my life was here – my school, my friends – so she and my dad decided that I’d stay in Dublin until I finished school, and then I could work out what I wanted to do. I love Ireland; America is too…American. Too much chaos, too many people. Too much everything. So, at the end of my studies, I decided to stay here with my dad and follow in his footsteps.

I’m at Dublin City University, studying molecular biology just like he did. He didn’t force me into it, but growing up surrounded by charts, graphs, research, and formulas, it couldn’t have gone any differently. When my father was offered a position in Liverpool, with a huge budget that meant he could carry out the most important research of his life, he didn’t feel it was right to ask me to follow him. I’ve got my whole life here. I had Nate.

I go to America to visit my mum at every chance I get. My dad is always willing to buy me a ticket, but between studying, working and my final exams, I can’t afford the time off as much as before. We talk on Skype a few nights a week and we get along, despite the distance. We’re like two friends, and I don’t mind that. I miss her, of course I do, but I never wanted for anything with my dad, and we have so much in common.

Nate and I met at university. He’s studying for his PhD in biology. We fell in love, spending nights at the library revising together and going to conventions. Ours is an intellectual love, if you want to know the plain truth. I went to live in his apartment when my dad decided to leave. We rented out our house in Malahide and I went to live with Nate in Whitehall, just around the corner from campus – but I kept working here three nights a week, despite the inconvenience of having to travel. It’s partly because I like being independent, having an income and showing my father I’m not the spoiled kid he thinks I am, and also because I guess I’ve grown to like this place: the guys, Rain, everything.

I open the pub door when I realise I’ve only got last night’s socks on my feet. I hope somebody cleaned up after I left. Trying not to think about it, I take a few steps towards the bar, where the coffee machine is calling me. I grab a filter from the top shelf and start up the machine, when I hear something banging against the back door. I jump, and the coffee pot clatters to the ground, shattering loudly.

Perfect. If I’d wanted to hide, at this point it would be impossible.

I take a deep breath and grab the first thing that I can, which happens to be an empty bottle of Jameson which was left on the bar. I slowly creep towards the door leading to the back, the bottle raised over my head, when I hear someone cursing. I peek out just as far as necessary to see a figure with his back to me. He’s wearing a leather jacket and has a shaved head and he’s rubbing the back of his neck. I let out a sigh and lower the bottle.

What are you doing here? I ask, coming out of the shadows with my hands on my hips.

Patrick jumps in the air and lands with his hand on his heart, shocked.

What the fuck are you doing here? he yells, his voice sleepy, bleary and a little tipsy.

A bit early to be opening, isn’t it? I ask pointedly.

Don’t you have a house? he retorts, eyebrow raised in challenge.

It’s always like this between us. We always bait each other and say the worst things, but working here with him is nice – even relaxing, somehow. When he’s working here, the nights pass quickly, and my head is free from heavy thoughts.

I slept here, I say, crossing my arms. Rain said I could stay.

He relaxes his stance just slightly.

I came to get my keys. Last night I went home with…well, I was out and I left my keys here. I didn’t want to go home and wake everyone up. It’s only six ‘o’clock for God’s sake.

And you couldn’t stay where you were and sleep a little more?

I never stay the whole night, he says, winking.

Well, I was about to put on some coffee, but I dropped the coffee pot when you made me jump.

There’s another one in the back.

I’ll buy another one.

Bullshit, he says, moving his hand as if to say ‘it’s nothing’. Who gives a shit about a stupid coffee pot?

Are you always so pleasant in the morning or are you just rude…

Cut it out, I didn’t have an easy night.

Oh, I can imagine, I reply, feeling hurt for no reason.

I just have a headache, and I took a taxi: I drank a lot last night and I didn’t feel like riding my motorbike.

I nod in approval of his choice. We all know how things ended up the last time one of the boys got behind the wheel after drinking too much. Neil died because of it.

I’ll go through the back and get the pot. Then I can make us both some coffee.

He tilts his head slightly, looking at me dubiously.

What? I ask. You look like someone’s hammering at your head. I almost feel sorry for you.

Thanks, he says, looking at me suspiciously.

Sit down, I’ll make the coffee and try to dig up those two paracetamols I saw knocking around somewhere. I think they’re in the First Aid kit in the staff toilet.

He nods and takes a seat at the bar, letting his head droop as I go to rummage around for the coffee pot.

The last thing I need this morning is a nasty, hungover Patrick.

Chapter 3

Patrick

D id he dump you? I ask to Erin’s back, as she makes the coffee.

Last night I really overdid it. I do it a lot, but last night…I don’t know, maybe I needed to blow off steam after my mum’s phone call. I just wanted to forget about my problems for one night. And I did.

I stayed up drinking with that pretty blonde girl, who had spent the whole night eyeing me suggestively – to which I promptly responded by biting the piercing in my lip. I’ve realised it drives women nuts, and rightly so: because they can’t even imagine what that little piece of metal is capable of.

And I drank more than a little, to be honest. I drank so much that I can’t remember leaving here, going to her house — how did we get there? I certainly don’t remember sleeping with her. I think I passed out as soon as I hit the mattress. This morning just after six, I woke up with a splitting headache and some nasty nausea.

I left without even telling her. Outside her house, I was lucky to find a solitary taxi. I realised I didn’t have my keys with me, so I came here where, luckily, I’d also left my motorbike.

I didn’t plan on bumping into Daddy’s little girl.

Jesus, Patrick, do you always have to be such an arsehole? she cries, without even turning to look at me.

What did I say? I always talk shit, but she should be used to it by now.

I won’t deny being an arsehole, it’s true. Erin is completely right. I always have been, and I don’t try to hide it. I want people to know what they’re getting – especially women – because I can’t be an arsehole to my friends.

Me and the guys have been living here for just over two years, since Rain lost her memory in a terrible accident that sadly killed her boyfriend, Neil. She’s doing better now and is happy. It’s all thanks to that dickhead, Liam.

Who would have ever thought that after ten years, he would finally confess that he was in love with her?

Liam is Neil’s brother. Rain and Neil were together practically their whole lives, since they were kids, but Liam was always in love with her, from the first day he saw her. It took him a while to man up and tell her, and even longer to come home and take care of her.

I was angry with him for a long time. After the accident, our band’s musical prospects stopped dead, but he struck out on his own, signing a recording contract that was originally offered to us. He got a lot of success out of it.

But then it happened. He came back. He found a way to ask for forgiveness and we’re finally all together again – without Neil of course. We’ll always miss him, but we’re still here and it’s right that we keep going down our path, with him always in our hearts.

I try to guide them but fuck…no one ever listens to me. I think if people stopped torturing themselves about the past and just lived in the present, thinking about what they feel right now, everything would be a lot simpler.

See, I’m an outsider, if I can call myself that. I have absolutely no sentimental tendencies. I can see through others, and understand what it is they’re feeling before they even get the chance. I can understand what they’re afraid of and what they’re running from. Call it my sixth sense. And thanks to this gift I have, I can avoid a noose around my neck, or a slash in my tyre: I’m free and I’m happy.

I’m doing great, and nothing and no one could ever take away this feeling of being able to do anything I want.

Is that what makes me an arsehole?

It depends on your point of view, but in all honesty, I don’t really care what people think of me. I have my family, and this ‘acquired’ family of mine, with Aaron, Jay, Liam and Rain.

And I’m fine.

Nothing could ever upset me; nothing could ever make me change my mind.

Nothing and no one.

My parents had six kids. My father decided to take off when my little brother Danny was just two years old. I was fifteen at the time, and I remember our life with him really clearly. He never had a stable job. He couldn’t hold one down for more than two months at a time, so we never had enough of anything at home: whether it was food or clothes, and not to mention other things that aren’t strictly necessary to get by.

Six children, for Christ’s sake: what the hell were they thinking? Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t give up any of my siblings for the world. I love everyone in my family and I thank my mother every day for what she did for us, but I’d never make that kind of choice.

My parents got married really young because of me. My mother was pregnant and they tied the knot, thinking they were doing the right thing. Then the others arrived, one after another, and with them came money problems and everything went to hell.

My father was a womanizer, incapable of thinking of anyone but himself. That’s where I got my moral principles from.

Luckily, two years after he walked out, my mum met Carl, a good man, divorced and childless, who was able to make her happy and give us all something that resembled a normal life.

We had always lived in the same house on Pearse Street, four boys sharing one room with two bunk beds in a few square metres, and the two girls sharing the only other room.

My mum and Carl have slept on the sofa for at least six years. They gave up their room for my sisters and couldn’t afford a bigger, more expensive house.

Carl works at the Guinness Storehouse and my mum works part-time in a bakery on Mary Street because she still has children to look after.

So basically, it was a shit sandwich. We never really wanted for anything, especially not since Carl joined us, but I have to be honest: at Christmas, when we got one gift for all of us to share, it wasn’t the best feeling. It’s not that we didn’t understand, we knew all too well what the economic circumstances were, and we were never upset because we didn’t have more. What really sucked was seeing Mum and Carl’s faces, their worry and humiliation because they couldn’t give us any more than that.

Carl is a simple man, but he’s strong and reassuring, and with him at home life certainly wasn’t bad. My younger brothers, who didn’t know my father well, call him Dad. It’s a bit more complicated than that for me. I was already an angry child when he came to our house, but with patience and respect he slowly gained my trust and my affection.

On the other hand, he’s a man who was willing to take in six of someone else’s kids and raise them all. How many guys would have done something like that? He’s got all my respect. He’s a man to be admired, someone you can always rely on.

I left home at an early age to lighten the burden and make space for the others, but I miss them. I miss the chaos at dinnertime. I miss sitting on the carpet, watching a film together. I miss my mother’s hugs.

I’m a thirty-year-old man now, but that doesn’t mean I can’t miss the affection of my family – even when, at dinnertime, I would tell them I’d already eaten out because I didn’t want them to eat less on my account.

I’ve always worked, in the pub, in a factory or a café. I left school early and took care of myself the best I could, helping out the rest of my family whenever it was possible. I’m proud of all of them, and without sounding too arrogant, I’m proud of myself too. I’ve realised, thanks to experience, that I absolutely do not want to make that kind of choice for myself, being tied to someone forever and putting yourself in a position of selflessness, renouncing everything just to make the person next to you happy. Am I selfish? No. I’m realistic.

I am myself, in all my raw truth.

Love destroys everything.

Love destroys you.

Relationships are destined to wear out and break down, leaving you with no money, no soul and no fucking heart. And I’ll tell you one thing: I don’t want to know what that feels like.

Erin turns to me and sets down a steaming cup of coffee, keeping her eyes cast downward. It’s