1 Chapter 1

Felix didn’t remember checking into a hotel, but as he rubbed his sleep-crusted eyes with the palms of his hands, he suspected it had cost a fortune. This close to the ocean with this much natural light did not come cheap, but he expected nothing less from Sam. He raised his arms above his head to stretch his aching back and was hit full in the face by a deluge of chilly water. He sputtered as he rocketed upright, swiping at his eyes with one hand and reaching behind him with the other, intent on throwing a pillow at Sam when he could see clearly. The hand searching for a pillow only found a handful of grass and the hand on his face was knocked aside by the snout of a very excited dog that was licking his face with gusto.

“Ack!” Felix’s back met with a harsh, unforgiving mass of stone. He turned his head from side to side trying to escape this sudden tongue attack. “What the hell, dog!”

“C’mere girl,” came a voice from a few feet away. “He’s alive, now leave him be.”

Through his dripping hair, Felix saw the shaggy white dog trot over to sit beside a pair of very muddy pants. After he raked his hair back out of his face and relaxed against the rough wall at his back, he could clearly see to whom the legs belonged—a man who seemed to be in his mid-twenties, standing with his arms crossed at his chest. His handsome face was split in a broad smile, his eyes twinkling with apparent amusement.

“Y’all right?” he asked.

“What the fuck?” Felix asked. He looked around, seeing only a hillside, impossibly green in the morning light, rolling gently up to the long stone wall against which he was currently collapsed. Immediately in front of him were this man, his dog, and an empty rusted pail. Farther up the slope behind the man, an ancient work truck sat idling in a narrow track of a road. “What the actual fuck?”

“He’s got a mouth on him, ol’ girl,” the man said to his dog. “Cover your ears.” To Felix he said, “Where’d you have your pints, then?”

“Pints?”

“Whatever’s got you passed out, stone cold, in your Y-fronts has got to start with some pints.”

Felix shook his head, hoping to clear some of the fog. He looked down at himself and realized he was only in his underwear. His sluggish neurons sparked slightly at the thread of dialog. “Are these Y-fronts?”

The man’s eyes disappeared as his smile turned to an all-out bellowing laugh. “Arrr thees why-frunts?” He laughed even louder at his awful attempt at imitating an American accent. He held his stomach and squawked, “Oh, you’re killin’ me, friend.”

Felix stood up and tried to brush off the tiny pebbles and bits of grass that were stuck to his wet legs and backside. “Asshole,” he whispered.

The man took a step forward and put a steadying hand on Felix’s shoulder. The warm weight of his hard-working hand caused Felix to look up into his soft brown eyes. His thick eyebrows rose in the middle, apologizing even before he spoke the words. “Hey. I’m just havin’ a laugh.”

There might have been more words spoken, but Felix was distracted by the way this man’s earnest expression seemed intent on looking past Felix’s bristly defenses. His breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his vocal cords. He nodded and looked away, squeaking out a pathetic, “S’okay.”

Felix looked around the area, trying to get his bearings. He only half heard the man speaking to him again. “Huh?”

“I said, so, where were you havin’ them pints again?”

He ran his hands absentmindedly through his soggy hair. As startling as the water had been, he was still having trouble thinking clearly. “There was a band, I think.”

The man broke into more good-natured laughter. “Son, this here’s western Ireland. If you’re in a pub havin’ a pint and there’s not someone singin’, you’re not in a pub. Anything else to go on?”

Felix shook his head. “Just my friends Sam and Katelyn.”

“Well, come on then,” the man said. “Let’s load up and get you into town. Bound to be somebody spotted a pack of Americans.”

Felix took a few steps forward, but stopped. “I’m okay. I’m not sure I should wander off with a total stranger. Thanks though.”

“Suit yourself, then.” The man called to his dog and walked toward his truck.

Felix looked from right to left and saw nothing but the rocky, verdant slope and the rapidly retreated forms of the man and his dog. “Wait!”

The man turned back around. “Yes?”

“How do I know you’re not an ax murderer?”

The devilish expression returned to his face. “I’ve left me ax back at the farm, so that’s out. I’m Ronan Malloy, by the way.” Ronan extended his right hand toward Felix, who hurried forward to shake his hand. “Ever heard of an ax murderer named Ronan before?”

“No, I guess not. I’m Felix.”

“That’s settled then, Felix.” Ronan said. “Load yourself up. I’m sorry I haven’t any clothes to give you. Unless you’d like these muddy things?”

“No, keep your pants on.” Felix blushed at the thought.