Page 54 of Bracing The Storm

“The Grump,” I say at that same moment, frowning.

Chapter Seventeen

“What’s the Grump doing up there?” I mutter under my breath.

“The Grump? The guy you’re living with?” Mia’s voice comes down the line, reminding me that we’re still talking on the phone.

A few people turn their head to look at me. I switch off the video option and press the phone to my ear before half the pub knows my secret pet name for Patrick Walsh.

“Yes.” I shake my head. “I don’t get it. Why isheon that stage?”

“Wait. Let me get this straight,” Mia says. “That is Paddy Walsh, unless he has a twin brother who looks just like him. And you’re saying he’s the guy you’ve been calling the Grump?”

I nod even though she can’t see me, then say, “Yes.”

“So, Paddy Walsh is the Grump? The lead singer of The Storm? You’re basically living with the most famous rock star on earth and the sexiest man alive, and you named himthat?” She falls silent for a moment. “And why didn’t you tell me? How could you keep that from me? I would have taken the first ferry. You could have introduced us. Rumor is he’s been single for months.” She’s literally yelling in my ear so loudly that Igrimace, hoping she’s not going to give me temporary hearing loss. I want to point out that she’s starting to ramble but my mind is busy circling around one single fact.

Patrick Walsh is a famous rock star.

“I didn’t know,” I whisper.

I should have known though. He has the looks, the personality, the arrogance. Ordinary guys don’t look like Patrick, and they sure aren’t around all the time. They have jobs and working hours, like Duncan. They don’t play the drums like their life depends on it.

Even though I’m staring right at him, it’s hard to wrap my mind around it all.

He isn’t just some rich guy.

He’s a rock star. He’s world-famous. And a complete jerk about it!

He’s in a famous band, for crying out loud!

He’s surrounded by stunning women who would do anything just to be his flavor of the day.

I can’t believe I was about to fall for him like probably half the female population.

How could I have been so clueless when the signs were all there?

The group of females camping outside his front door on my first morning in Ireland. The cardboard signs proclaiming their undying love for him and the invitations to have his babies.

I thought it was just the usual lot of women running a rich guy’s door down. Even a spotty eighteen-year-old with a trust fund and an expensive car seems to have a harem of models in tow just because his daddy owns a few clubs three doors down. So I simply assumed Patrick was another one of those rich pricks with no aspirations of their own because the family wealth was already offering every opportunity on a silver tray.

Why didn’t I put two and two together?

A myriad of emotions rush through me.

I rake my gaze over him, looking beyond the beautiful façade—the stormy eyes, the muscular body—and right into his mind and soul.

I know men like him because my father was one of them. In spite of Patrick’s claims of wanting to settle down and grow old withthe one,I know he’s just like my father.

Mia’s voice resounds faintly in my ear, but her words are drowned out by the sudden clapping of the audience. Patrick’s gaze sweeps over their faces. That’s when he sees me. Our eyes connect and his smile instantly dies down.

“You—” I start, then break off, shaking my head, lost for words. My tone is accusatory, though for the life of me, I can’t figure out what I’m accusing him of. He can live his life the way he wants to live it. It’s none of my business, but I can’t help the anger flaring up inside me. He reminds me too much of my father and all the crap he put my family through.

Patrick’s mouth forms my name a moment before he storms off the stage and heads toward me.

Suddenly remembering Mia, I say into the phone, “I need to go,” and disconnect the call, then turn on my heels and head for the nearest exit. Somewhere, at the back of my mind, I realize I can’t walk all the way home. If my high heels won’t kill me, the storm will. But I can’t go in search of Duncan and explain my reasons for cutting our evening short. I’ll make it home—somehow—even if I have to fight my way up a steep incline with uprooted trees thrown in my way.

The moment I open the door, a cold gust of wind hits me full force and I instantly doubt the sanity of my decision.

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