from Stephanie, and he wasn’t ready to face the rest of Fury.
Phillip tossed his guitar case and luggage into the boot of
his car and slid in behind the wheel. As he pulled away from the cottage, his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and studied Stephanie’s name flashing on the screen. A cold numbness overtook him. He braked on the bridge and tossed his phone into the
brook.
He drove to the coast and parked his car in his storage gar-
age. His uncle’s place on Inishmore was the one private refuge
he was still had. Uncle Cal was the black sheep of the family, set apart by his crusty military exterior that didn’t mesh with the rest of them. It had been months since he’d been out to the isle, but the moment he stepped onto the rocky beach, he felt the weight
of the world slip from his shoulders. As he made his way up the
bank toward the tiny seaside pub, a mahogany Irish setter trotted up to him.
“Hey there, Fi.” He greeted her, rubbing her behind the
ears. He glanced up at the porch of the pub and saw his Uncle
Callahan leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded
across his barrel chest.
“Hiya, Boyo. Those golden locks of yours are lookin’ a wee
bit girly.”
Phillip didn’t smile. “Got a razor?”
An hour later, he sat at the bar rubbing his newly shorn head
and nursing a pint of Guinness.
Callahan shook his bald head as he made sweeping circular
motions on the bar with a cloth. “Well, you won’t have to worry
about being recognized. You look like a cancer patient.”
“Good. I need a change of pace.” Phillip rubbed his finger
across the shiny wood of the bar, refusing to look his uncle in the eye.
“So what brings you out here to No Man’s Land?”
68
RAGE
He took a long pull off his stout and smacked his lips as the
burnt barley flavor engaged his taste buds in a familiar dance. “I just needed somewhere to slow down.”
He stuck out his lower lip in a mock pout. “Ahhhh. The
rock star life got you down?”
Phillip said nothing and continued to pick at the label on a
nearby bottle of booze.
“What happened to your hands?” Callahan’s complexion
was rosy from drinking and his attention unflinching. “How
about that bruise on your jaw? Cat got your tongue, Nancy
Boy?”
Again, he had no response. Phillip cast his steely eyes up at
Callahan once, then back to his beer.
The corner of his uncle’s mouth lifted. “This is about a
woman, isn’t it?”
Phillip polished off his pint in one swig. Before the bottom
of the glass hit the bar, there was a fresh one in front of him.
Phillip spent the following three weeks in a booth at the pub
overlooking the sea poisoning his liver and writing songs. When
he wasn’t feeling creative, he took aimless walks on the craggy
beach with his guitar and Fiona the dog. He sat on the cliffs and played or just smoked. Once in a while he went out fishing with
Callahan on his boat.
One night, Callahan’s old Navy buddy, Bones, came to vis-
it. He was a tattoo artist from Dublin. and he was overjoyed at
Phillip’s drunken suggestion that he ink him up. Phillip wanted
something Celtic over his heart. Bones nodded and drew up a
design. When he explained its meaning, Phillip swallowed hard
and nodded. Callahan said nothing, but poured him a shot.
About halfway through the tat, his uncle spoke. “Here,
Wanker. You won’t be able to take the pain without another drop
of the creature.”
Hours later, Phillip stumbled to the water’s edge, guitar in
hand. He looked down at his blackened and bloody chest.
69
TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE
“Stephanie.” He slurred and attempted to launch into his
latest creation. He was too drunk to find the fingering for the
first chord. He stood and turned to head for a warm place to pass out, when he stumbled over his own feet and tumbled into the
water. Fiona, who had been napping on the porch, started bark-
ing, and moments later Callahan and Bones were dragging him
from the sea.
“Go put on some coffee for this young lady.” Callahan in-
structed Bones, who made himself scarce. As Phillip lay on his
side choking up salt water, Callahan grabbed him by his shirt
collar and pulled him to his feet. “Listen to me, you silly bastard.
You need to crawl to that lass on your hands and knees. Tomor-
row.”
“She doesn’t love me. I asked her to marry me, and she said
no!’
“Then ask her again, lad. It’s painfully obvious you’re in
love with her. Your entire life, you’ve never given a single
thought to anyone but your spoiled fucking self. Until now.”
“She’s killing me. I can’t see her.”
“Listen to me. You need to quit being an ignorant little git.
Anything worth having is worth bleeding for. I realize you’ve
been coddled your entire life, but I’m not afraid to be the one to tell you to grow the fuck up.”
“Screw you, Callahan.”
“You’re doing a pretty good job of screwing yourself when
you could be off screwing your lady. Maybe she didn’t want a
pampered little pussy for a husband who spends more time look-
ing in the mirror than looking at her.”
“Up yours, Cal! Steph’s my whole world. You have no
fucking idea.”
“Well, well, I guess even ‘the charmed one’ Phillip Kersey
can’t always get what he wants. Welcome to the human race,
Boyo.” Callahan released his grip, and Phillip went sprawling
back onto the rocky ground. “You know I love you, but I want
70
RAGE
you gone tomorrow morning. Pack your shit and go. If you can
manage to step down from your pedestal, go beg that girl to take you back. She must really be something.”
As his uncle headed for the pub, Phillip called after him.
“Help me up!”
Without a pause in his stride or a second glance, he whistled
for Fiona, who trotted after him. “Help yourself up.”
As hung-over as he was, he was gone on the first ferry be-
fore sunrise the following morning. As he drove toward Galaway
Airport, he thought long and hard about Callahan’s barbs. He
knew his uncle’s points were valid. His massive ego had allowed
him to assume Steph would say yes, though he’d never
