Sweet Days (Four Days Book 2) Read online

  Literally. As if someone were taking x-rays with

  their eyes and imagining something that could

  never happen.

  I turn just in time to catch her in the act, while

  she recovers from that dreamy image she had just a

  second ago, then she abruptly turns back to her

  book.

  I blink repeatedly. My throat goes dry. My legs

  feel paralyzed and my hands start shaking.

  Why am I reacting like this? Why would a

  woman’s stare affect me so? I should be used to it

  by now.

  The problem is it’s not some woman’s stare.

  Hell no.

  It’s her and her damned hazelnut eyes, so sweet,

  so intense and damned good, just like she is.

  And me, in contrast to that, I’m anything but

  sweet and good and I’m far from anything like

  what a man of thirty years old should be. I’m too

  old to be living like a teenager who doesn’t give a

  shit about anything.

  Because now, and I’m damned for it, I’ve found

  something that’s important to me.

  And I’m terrified.

  I care about her and the person who is growing

  in her belly, that she happens to be touching in this

  moment, almost hugging it.

  And then I completely lose my sense of

  orientation. I lose control. I lose every single

  fucking part of me, because I realize that I’ll never

  be anything if I go on being what I always have

  been until now.

  A man who doesn’t know how to love.

  The rain beats down incessantly against the

  window, and as I sit here I feel like a fraud, an

  imitation of something that has never really

  existed.

  Happiness damn near destroys you … Breaks

  your faith to pieces on the floor.

  And this terrible tenderness destroys me, it

  breaks me into pieces while it also fills my heart

  with something that I don’t know how to contain,

  because it’s glued away from my hands passing

  through my fingers before I have a second to bring

  it to my mouth and taste it.

  Then one day, you’ll wake up and she’ll be

  home.

  I find myself thinking.

  And hoping.

  I shake my head and grab the first bottle I come

  across.

  Tequila. Perfect.

  I fill the glass and down it in one gulp but it’s

  not enough. I pour myself another drink and

  another, until my vision starts to cloud over and I

  can’t focus on her even if I want to.

  But it’s useless, because even if I shut my eyes

  and decide not to open them again, I would

  continue to see her round face and her smile that

  bends your knees and makes you kneel on the

  ground.

  She will be home.

  2

  No. It can’t.

  It can’t be her.

  It mustn’t be her.

  2 Happiness, The Fray, The Fray

  8

  Erin

  “Excuse me…” A girl sitting with her friends calls

  my attention as I pass between the tables, picking

  up empty glasses.

  “Can I bring you something else?” I ask,

  smiling at them. Today I’m full of life and in a

  good mood.

  “We wanted another round of rum-and-coke.”

  “You got it, I’ll be right back.”

  “Wait!” She blocks me before I can get very far.

  “Hey, please, is there a chance that you could

  arrange for Patrick to be the one to bring it over?”

  she asks me in a whisper and slyly slips a twenty

  in my apron pocket.

  I look at her in shock without having the

  courage to reply. I blush with embarrassment, or

  maybe rage. Or maybe both of those things.

  She winks at me as if to say, “You got me,

  right?” and I nod and remain in my confused

  stupor, heading toward the counter where Patrick

  and Rain are laughing at one of Ned’s jokes.

  “Honey, are you okay? You don’t look…” Rain

  says, studying me.

  “I’m fine,” I say, unable to hide the

  disappointment I feel in this moment. It’s a nice

  mixture of jealousy and yearning, because that girl

  is hot, she’s not pregnant and because tonight

  she’ll be able to bring him back to her home and

  sleep in his arms. Well, I don’t think they’ll sleep,

  but if I think about what they’ll really do, I’m sure

  I wouldn’t be able to contain myself.

  “Uh…” I blurt out, “that girl at table fifteen

  asked for another round of rum-and-coke for her

  and her friends.”

  “Sure, I’ll get it ready for you right away,” Rain

  says and I can feel Patrick’s eyes on me.

  I swallow before finding the courage to look at

  him, because for some dark reason, I want him to

  see that I don’t approve.

  “They want Patrick to bring it to them in

  person,” I add, looking at him sideways.

  Rain shoots him a look that would impale him

  and Patrick turns every shade of red before being

  able to articulate his response.

  “Liam will bring it to them,” he says looking

  around, trying to find him.

  I pull out the money from my apron and throw

  it on the counter in disgust.

  “She gave me twenty euros to make sure you

  got the message,” I say, feeling my courage grow

  within me.

  “You can give it back to her, I don’t want to be

  anybody’s bootlicker,” I conclude, raising my

  head, straightening my shoulders and faking a self

  confidence that I do not feel in this moment, but

  that I must show whatever be the cost.

  Patrick is silent for a moment with his eyes

  fixed on the bill; I turn and go back to the dining

  area before tears can start burning my eyes. I pass

  by the tables as if nothing has happened,

  continuing to sniffle and drying myself with my

  sleeve before my tears get plastered onto my

  cheeks.

  I feel humiliated and I don’t know if it’s right

  that I should. I also feel like I’ve been made fun of,

  and again, I’m not sure it’s the right emotion for

  this situation.

  It’s just when it comes to Patrick, I seem to run

  through the entire scale of human emotions in a

  few seconds. It’s an emotional elevator that leaves

  me insecure and unhappy.

  This is the effect he has on me and I can’t

  permit him to have this control over my emotions

  and my life. And if I don’t want to feel this way

  anymore, there’s only one thing to do.

  I can’t let him get any closer to me.

  Patrick

  I continue to look at that twenty left on the counter

  by Erin. Rain is standing next to me, not talking. I

  can feel her disapproval, even if she doesn’t say a

  word because I know her, and I know that she is

  ordering me to do something right now, and I can’t

  say she’s wrong.

  I’m the one who creates this kind of situation,<
br />
  because I’m the one who always lets women know

  that I’m available. And it’s never bothered me

  before, not until now. Not until I saw Erin’s

  expression as she threw down the money in disgust

  —money she earned by helping a cheap tart get

  her hands on me.

  I don’t want anyone to get their hands on me.

  I don’t want anyone that isn’t her to put their

  hands on me.

  And in the moment this thought slaps me in the

  face, and I feel my anger rising to my temples.

  I take the bill, I jump over the counter into the

  bar area, which is not being very sensitive to Ned,

  who was calmly drinking his beer, not expecting

  me to leap down beside him.

  With a sudden feeling of fury, I go to the table

  where the girl is, and I can feel all eyes in the

  house on me.

  Including hers.

  “I’m not your personal barman, or your little

  plaything,” I tell the girl who was after me. “Don’t

  you dare ever try asking one of my workers to do

  anything like that again. She’s not for sale and

  neither am I!” I say, slapping the money down in

  front of her. “And now, I think it’s better if you go.

  And don’t come back.”

  I turn around and go back towards the counter,

  where I see Rain with puffy eyes that are full of

  tears. She’s waiting for me, triumphant in her

  pride. As soon as I get near her she throws her

  arms around my neck and kisses my cheek.

  “This is the Patrick I’ve always hoped to see. I

  knew it was hidden in there somewhere,” she says,

  pointing at my heart. “And now,” she lowers her

  voice, “go to her.”

  Rain is the best person I’ve ever known in my

  life. Really, she is the best, the sweetest, the most

  sincere person I’ve ever known, both before and

  after her terrible accident. She is without any kind

  of guile or artifice, and is completely pure and

  direct. She looks at you with those big green eyes

  and tells you what she needs to and then, if her

  words take you apart, she puts you back together

  again. She throws reality right in your face, laid

  bare and raw, and she’s also honest enough to let

  you know when you’re a hopeless asshole.

  I smile at her and give her a kiss before going

  towards the back room. I can hear Erin in there

  sobbing in the distance, even from the outside with

  the door closed. I run to her, throw open the door

  and find her standing out in the rain, teeth

  chattering and shaking from the cold.

  “Erin … what the heck?”

  Her eyes are my downfall.

  Swollen, deep and drowning in tears.

  In a second I fall apart. I’m in a million little

  pieces that intermingle with the falling hail.

  My convictions, my fears, my never-ending

  bullshit.

  Everything breaks.

  I break myself.

  And I don’t want to be put back together,

  because if being broken down this badly is what it

  takes to finally see what you’ve tried to hide from

  sight and from your heart for thirty years, then I

  don’t give a fuck about being reduced to a million

  pieces. I could stay like this forever. I could be just

  air, as long as it’s her air, her oxygen, and I could

  be the one that allows her to breathe and to live.

  Because now I have a goal.

  Now something is important to me.

  Someone.

  Now she is important to me.

  9

  Erin

  After watching the scene Patrick created, I can’t

  stand to be there anymore and run away like a

  baby in front of a horror film, taking refuge at the

  back of the pub. I start sobbing so hard that I’m

  afraid someone will hear me in there, and so in a

  moment of confusion, I open the door and close it

  behind me, forgetting that from the outside, I’m

  locked out. I stay there, in the freezing cold, with

  no coat on and stand under the hail that hits me

  without pity, hitting me, like it wants to slap me,

  like it wants to really hit home this idea: that

  Patrick is not the one for me.

  I cover my face with my hands as I start to

  shiver in the cold, without being able to calm my

  cries and unable to avoid shattering like a glass left

  to crash into a million splinters on the pavement.

  And then the door slams open.

  And he’s here.

  He’s worried, and scared and desperate.

  He’s absolutely perfect.

  He looks at me and in a heartbeat all the pieces

  come back together and I can breathe again, as if

  he were the air passing through my lungs.

  “I … I’m sorry,” he yells, trying to drown out

  the sound of the hail.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” I yell back.

  He takes a step forward.

  “It is. I allowed all of this to happen. I

  established a reputation that meant that trashy girls

  like that would come here looking for me. I made

  it so that everyone believed that I am the dickhead

  that I really am. That you would think it too.”

  “And you are,” I say, moving my wet hair from

  my eyes.

  “I am.” He smiles bitterly. “But I don’t want to

  be like that any more.”

  “No?” I ask with a pained voice and a bit of

  hope brushing up against my heart.

  “No I don’t. But I’ll need your help,” he says,

  taking another step closer to me. “I need you to

  help me to be a better person.”

  “M-me? Why me?”

  Another step closer and his forehead is touching

  mine. It caresses my face and I close my eyes to let

  his touch imprint itself in my mind.

  “Because with you, Erin, I feel I can be …

  different. I can be myself. I feel that I can finally

  be a man.”

  Patrick

  We go back into the pub as I support her with an

  arm. She’s shivering and pale and seems just about

  ready to faint. She’s freezing, having been standing

  in the freezing rain and is completely distraught

  because of me. She’s barely able to put one foot in

  front of the other. So I pick her up and carry her to

  the door of her apartment. She doesn’t protest, she

  doesn’t say anything, she simply rests her head on

  my chest and by doing so she stops me feeling

  cold and shaky, because this contact warms my

  body and heats up my cold heart.

  I climb the stairs slowly, afraid I might drop her;

  I open the door and go straight to the bathroom.

  She needs a hot bath, right away, so she can relax.

  I make her sit on the edge of the tub as I turn the

  water on.

  “What are you doing?” she asks me in

  confusion.

  “You need to warm up,” I tell her, kneeling

  down to undo her shoelaces.

  “Patrick…” she says, trying to object, but I’m

  taking no notice. I’m
here now, and I’m taking

  care of her.

  “I can do it by myself. And you need to dry off

  and warm up too.”

  I shake my head, signaling that she is all I care

  about, and continue to undress her.

  “Patrick, really.” She looks at me. “I’ll do it

  alone. Thank you, but I’m okay to carry on by

  myself now.”

  I get up and reluctantly leave the bathroom,

  closing the door. “I’m here if you need me.”

  I go in the kitchen and put on the kettle. I take a

  cup from the cupboard and prepare her a scalding

  hot cup of tea with plenty of milk. I wouldn’t want

  the caffeine to stir her up too much.

  After a few minutes I decide to knock on the

  bathroom door. “May I come in?” I ask before

  entering.

  The sight of her naked shoulders that are visible

  above the water full of bubbles is paralyzing. I

  catch my breath and quiver like a virgin schoolboy

  that’s never seen a piece of nude female skin from

  this close.

  I swallow hard, more than once, and put my

  other hand on the cup so as to stop it trembling

  from the emotions I’m feeling. Then, I slowly get

  near the tub as she continues to ‘give me the

  shoulder’, as it were. She doesn’t emit a sound.

  “Erin?” I call her quietly before moving forward

  so I can look her in the face.

  She’s curled up in the tub, hugging her legs

  against her chest, and is crying mutely. As she goes

  on not moving, not speaking, her shoulders quiver

  just slightly.

  I set the tea down on the edge of the tub and

  kneel down. She remains still, not talking.

  With my heart in my shoes and my hands that

  won’t stop shaking, I brush her arm ever so softly,

  and the contact with her wet skin makes me

  instantly crazy with longing.

  I am completely screwed.

  “Is … is everything alright?”

  No answer.

  “Honey…” I say in a moment of brain damage.

  “Please, talk to me.”

  So she turns slowly with her head still resting

  on her knees. Her eyes are tired and swollen and

  I’d like to cut off one of my own testicles for

  having been the idiot responsible for all this upset.

  I slowly brush her face, as if touching her again

  might kill me on the spot. It’s so slight, and she

  might not even notice I’m doing it. I cock my head

  and study her, trying to understand what might

  make her feel better.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she says in a whisper.