In the Unlikely Event

by L.J. Shen

can keep her. I have thus far, haven’t I? And let’s not pretend she was always into it. Only a bit more before I seal the deal. Then Weirdo Wackhead can be a distant memory again.

Of course, there’s a chance Rory went back, got to college, and has already met the love of her life. But if she hasn’t… If she hasn’t, I’ll take long distance. Or casual dating. Or anything, really. I stand up, finishing my pint in one go. “Keep us posted.”

She pushes my chest away from my grandfather’s door, her eyes shimmering. “She is not the girl for you, Mal. I am. I’m the right O’Connell girl.” She slaps her hand against her chest, full-blown crying now. “And I don’t care that you probably slept with my half-sister. And I don’t care that you have feelings for her. And I don’t care that she told me you were nothing but a fling to her. I still want you, and I’m tired of waiting.”

Wait. A fling? “Back up. What did you say she told you?” I hold my palm up. A part of me acknowledges I’m a heartless SOB for asking about Rory when she just bled her heart out and confessed her undying love, but we’ll get to that in a second. Right after we discuss my bleeding heart. (See, Kath? I’m selfish, too. Really, what did you find in me?) She stares at her feet, biting on her lip. “Remember at my house, when you went to the toilet? You got back and saw Rory and me holding hands. That was a minute after she told me she was planning on sleeping with you. I confessed

my feelings for you, and she told me she didn’t care. She said I got the money and Da and the heritage, and she would get the guy. That she’d ruin you for me. That’s why I haven’t tried to stay in contact with her, Mal. I was deeply hurt.” I take a step back, digesting. It sounds nothing like Rory. Not only is she not a cunning cow, but she’s also too blasé to voice something like that aloud. It sounds like something out of Cruel Intentions, not the mouth of a Disney princess. Then again, Kath is not a liar. At least, I’ve never caught her in a lie before, and I’ve known her all my life. I gather Kathleen in my arms, pulling her to my chest. “Kath?” She flinches in my arms. She knows. She can’t not-know. I’ve shagged/snogged/fingered nearly every girl in this village, always careful not to touch her, and not just because her dad warned me off. “Listen to me. You’re beautiful, smart, funny, and make a mean cup of tea. But you also feel a lot like a sister.

Whether Rory wants me or not, I’ll never be with Kath.

Famous last wordss

She continues, “She moved out. She’s in college. She’s dating—” “Dating?” I snap. “Mmm-hmmm.” Debbie lights a fag on the other side of the line. “A very nice guy, too. In fact, I’m sure she won’t mind if I send you the pictures she took of you. They’re lying somewhere around her room. She never took them with her. Would you like that? For safekeeping?” I can feel the napkin with our contract burning a hole in the back of my jeans. I take it everywhere, like I expect to see her, out and about in Tolka or Dublin, and wave it in her face. See? Remember? We’re supposed to be together. My pride urges me to tell Debbie she can shove the unwanted photos of me where the sun don’t shine, but ego is a luxury broken hearts cannot afford. “Please do,” I mutter.

I can’t help myself, even if I’m starting to believe Kathleen about the whole one-night-stand thing. So what if Rory suggested long distance? She was caught in the moment. The magic wore off quickly for her, that’s for sure. “I told you, Malachy. She’s fine.”

“Can I call you and make sure she’s okay from time to time?” Hang up the phone, you sorry pile of shite. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Debbie says apologetically. “It’d be for the best if Rory leaves Ireland behind her.” “Okay.” “Bye.”

looked for Rory on social media, but she doesn’t have any profiles. Or if she does—they’re not under her real name. I subscribed to her college’s newsletter because it sometimes shouts out students, and seeing her

name makes me happy. (She’s won two photography contests and helped film a short student movie.)

Picture one, of me singing/busking: He was a terrible flirt, and he could be soooo cheesy! Picture two, of me standing on the threshold of The Boar’s Head, posing for her like Marilyn Monroe. He talks too much, and sometimes doesn’t make any sense. Picture three, both of us in bed, my bed, after I gave her three hundred orgasms and a part of my heart. He tries way too hard in bed. The worst thing is, shortly thereafter at The Boar’s Head, I took the napkin out and compared her handwriting on the contract to the words on the back of the pictures. Sean, Daniel, and I all concluded it was the same handwriting. So it’s not like her mother could have faked this.

Mal: “It’s just for a few months.” Woman: “Then what?” Mal: “Then I take her and we’re leaving. She likes the beach, so maybe we’ll go somewhere with a lot of sun. Greece or Spain. South of France, maybe.” Woman: “Isn’t she mad at you for having her here?” Didn’t take a genius to figure out I was her, and I was also about as welcome as gonorrhea.

Mal: “She has no idea about Rory, and I plan on keeping it that way. Makes things simple. I like simple.” Woman: “I could be simple for you, Mal.” Mal: “Certainly you can, and you are.” Whoever she was didn’t pick up on the insult. Shame. A punch in the nuts was just what the doctor ordered for Mal. Then the noises started. The tongues and thrusts and skin slapping skin. My thighs squeezed, and the hollow place between them ached. I thought of interrupting him, too—you know, an eye for an eye and so forth—but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that I heard. That I cared. No. I moved to my room, threw myself onto the bed, flung an arm over my eyes, and shook my head. Down, girl. But it was too much, and I was too weak. I shoved my hand into my jeans and played with myself to the sound of Mal having sex with another woman.

What kind of merciless, ruthless, immoral monster cheats on his wife and also hides the fact that her half-sister and his once-upon-a-time crush is living with him for two months? Listening to him drilling into a woman who wasn’t his wife put the stamp of disapproval on Mal, and that is very good news. I am no longer jealous of Kathleen, or interested in being civilized with her husband.

“Aurora Belle Jenkins. Her ma’s entire cultural education obviously stems from Disney. Personally, I think Cruella de Vil suits her better.” “Personally, I think men who cheat on their wives and keep secrets from them should be stoned to death by a herd of baseball pitchers,” I retort,

“You should move to Saudi Arabia,” Mal suggests. “Adulterers get the death penalty. Of course, that’d put you at risk, too.” “I’ve never cheated,” I growl. “Yet,” he says flatly. Bastard.

We’re locked in a stare down, and I want to snap. To snap because he screwed someone in the room next door. Because he is being the meanest version of himself, and then some. Because he is a cheater and a tool and a liar. But most of all, to snap because he is ruining this opportunity for me by not letting me do my work. “We need to talk.” I manage not to lurch forward and strangle him. Barely.

“I’ve tried talking to you plenty of times, and the answer has always been no. Welcome to your own medicine, Rory. Tastes like a year-old used condom, does it not?” What is he talking about? He tried to talk to me? When? Where? I’ve been here all along. I’d know if he tried knocking on my door. The guy is unhinged. Maybe he had a few sniffs of the good stuff, too.

Maybe they’re friends of Kathleen’s. Perhaps they know me through Mal, who told people about my birthmark, even though he knows how self-conscious I am about it. Either way, it’s in poor taste, and at least one of them—the leggy blonde with the familiar English accent—is in no position to judge me, seeing as she sleeps with a married man. I grab a napkin from the register, stuff it into my pocket, turn around, and flash them a smile. “Let me give you a direct answer: yes, I am her. What did you hear? That I stole Mal from

Kathleen? That my mom is a bitch? That my late dad is a no-show drunk? Been there, heard that, so let me add another rumor into the mix. This one is also true, so listen carefully—I’m living with Malachy for the next two months. Under the same roof. But I won’t be screwing around with your friend’s husband. I want nothing to do with either of them, so feel free to pass your message to Kathleen.” And by the look of it, anyone else in this village. It’s official, I’m the pariah of this godforsaken town, thanks to my lovely host.

“Let me guess, you’re here for your inheritance from your father?” What? Why would I come here eight years after he died? “I’m not interested in my late father’s money,” I clip out. I wish he’d been broke, so people would stop accusing me of going after his fortune. No wonder Mal hates money so much. It’s everything people think about. “Right,” the blonde snorts. The brunette shakes her head, elbowing her friend. “Stop it, Maeve. I think she really doesn’t know. I’m Heather, and this is Maeve.”

“Let’s get one thing straight: you are not to talk about, refer to, or think about that room. You are, in fact, the very reason why that room exists. You will sleep in the sleeping bag, or you will not sleep at all. Take the sofa if you’re really into pneumonia. There’s no central heating, though, and the only heaters working are in mine and Ashton’s rooms. After that little stunt in the living room earlier, I doubt he’d let you warm his

bed. And just to make things perfectly clear, you’re not welcome in mine.” I open my mouth, about to tell him to go screw himself, when there’s pounding on the door. I jump in surprise, and he takes a step back, running his hand through his inky hair. I drop my gaze and see that he is hard. Rock hard, fully tented, and turned on. I flush pink, reaching for the door handle, desperate to get out. Mal puts his hand on mine to stop me. Our eyes lock. Flick. And just like that, I’m burning.

I swear, he was busier making me scream and the bed creak than anything else. It was obviously a revenge shag, and lucky me, I was in the middle of it, while she was listening next door. I know she was, because she was gasping and moaning, too. Which only made him fuck me with more stamina and speed than ever. I felt a lot like a condom—like I was the only thing separating them from one another. It wasn’t really me he was sleeping with. It was her. And she, she imagined him, too. Which reminded me why I’d gone and cheated on my husband every single time Mal gave me a ring, even though I’m no silly girl. I knew—know—why Mal started sleeping with me: to hurt my husband. And why he did it last night: to hurt Aurora.

I know he wants to kill Mal. I want to kill Mal, too. But for a different reason. I just saw the girl he fell in love with and realize I don’t stand a chance.

That’s the nickname I gave Ryner. We trudge past the fields by the cottage, and I omit the fact that we are technically trespassing. The fields are no longer mine. I sold every inch of my land except the cottage after The Night That Ruined Everything. I didn’t want the responsibility, and I needed the money to buy a new house for Mam, Father Doherty, and Kathleen’s mum, Elaine.

She wipes her swollen, veined hands with the hem of the apron wrapped around her big frame. The minute she sees me, her face alters from relaxed to pitying. “Dear God, Malachy. How have you been? I’ve been meaning to come check on y—” “Have you seen a strange-looking man around by any chance?” I cut her off. I did not consider the fact that the entire village treats me like Moses left in the reeds of the Nile River—maybe to survive, probably to die a slow, lonely death. Surely Rory’s going to pick up on my sob story soon, if she hasn’t already. Brenda’s brows nosedive. “How do you mean? Dodgy looking? Suspicious?” “More like crazy looking. Golden robe, long hair. Sort of like a Kardashian version of Jesus Christ.” She tsks. “Sorry, dear.”

Today, when Rory and I had the argument in the bathroom that resulted in all the blood in my body rushing to my cock, I almost told her she could take my bed and I’d take the sleeping bag. Then she had to go and bring up the locked room, and all the dark memories poured in, washing away every good intention I may have had.

“We’ll find him,” I say. “Yeah.” She does weird things in her body, twisting and skipping to keep warm. “Maybe. Other than this house, it’s all open fields. I’m surprised you even get mail here.” You’d know. You sent me one hell of a letter.

“Finally,” she continues, undeterred, “I decided to redirect all my mail to my mom’s house. You

know how I feel about her, but I just couldn’t risk it. I was already drowning in debt. I didn’t need unpaid bills with interest on top. Plus, she offered to pay for the entire thing and took care of it herself, so that was a bonus. Here, let’s go this way.” She stops, pointing behind the barn. “I think that’s where I heard the noise coming from.” I follow her, frowning. I believe my views about her verbal diarrhea have changed. “So you got your mail redirected to New Jersey,” I say, controlling the level of interest apparent in my voice. “Yeah. Living in the middle of nowhere is bad for mail, dude.” “Since when?” “Like, three months after I moved out? Something like that.” “Huh.” I’m keeping it bored, though my mind is screaming WHAT. THE. FECK. All in capitals. Pieces of the puzzle seem to be falling into place, but the overall picture is all wonky and wrong. Different from what I thought. It doesn’t paint Rory as the villain and me the hopeless protagonist.

“The house was neat, though. I shared it with eight other girls. One of them was my best friend, Summer. I don’t remember if I told you about her. She became an actress in an off-Broadw—” “That means your mam opened your letters for you,” I interrupt, my brain threatening to melt now. She is still bouncing and shivering. I could put her out of my misery by touching her—getting her hot and bothered has never been an issue—but being rejected by her would crush me. “Yeah. But I didn’t get letters letters, you know. Just…bills and stuff. I was starting to build my credit. I couldn’t afford late payments.” She messes with her camera, which is attached to a strap on her neck. Through my carefully crafted exterior, it hits me like a ton of bricks. I’ve been missing a big part of the truth of it all. The one unspok...

One came from Kathleen. The other from Debbie, her mother. And all that time, it seems Rory was oblivious. Her mail was going to New Jersey. Sure, there are a few loose ends, but with a crushing weight, I know in my gut that everything I’ve believed all this time was a lie. Everything I believed about her. Rory never set out to destroy me. Rory didn’t know. Her mother was responsible for this. All of this. Rory didn’t reject me. She didn’t betray me. She didn’t hate me for what happened. What probably never happened at all. She is still talking, oblivious. Trying to win me over, maybe. She’s playing with the hoop in her nose. Nervous. God, Rory. God. The earth under my feet is moving. Things inside of me are ...

She’s craning her neck now, looking for Ashton, oblivious to the life-changing pep talk I’m giving myself in my head. She has no idea that my whole world has transformed in the last minute.

stop walking. She stops, too, eventually. It takes her five steps to realize I’m not there with her. She turns around to face me, slanting her head, confused. All this time. All this anger. For nothing. I want to hug her. I want to fall down on my knees and ask for her forgiveness.