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John, knowing her, knelt at her feet and took her hands in his own. "Breathe with me. In. Out."
John led her through a series of breathing exercises their vocal coach had taught them in high school. Not that Iris had ever been a great singer, but she had tagged along to John's practices. Once he'd managed to talk her back from diving into a full-blown anxiety attack, he forced her to meet his eyes.
"Now I want you to listen to yourself. Or ask your spirit guides or whatever it is you need to do, but I'm going to ask you a question, okay?" John waited until Iris nodded.
"What do you want to do?" John asked, carefully enunciating each word.
Before he'd even finished speaking, the answer had already popped into her mind.
Perhaps the answer had been there all along,
"I want to go to Ireland," Iris said.
Chapter 2
"Kane, this is WorldFlix. You can't mess around with this deal. This is literally the biggest thing that will ever happen to your career," Grant Ellison, Kane's New York agent, shouted over the blare of city traffic.
Kane Wallace, known to the world as K.L. Wallace, author of the best-selling Rock Rebels books, had recently signed a deal with WorldFlix to produce an off shoot of the series that would follow the main character’s son.
"Sure and I understand that this is a big deal. However, I'm just having a bit of a hard time right now," Kane said. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his two fingers and stared out the window at the bleary gray clouds that hung over the busy London street below him. He'd spent so many years scrambling for visibility and trying to prove himself as a writer. Now, when success of a level that he couldn’t even comprehend knocked at his door, he'd found himself virtually unable to write.
"But do you even understand how huge this is? WorldFlix doesn't usually do this. Usually, they wait to see how successful a book is, and then they snap the rights up. The fact that they've bought not only this book but also the entire series before you've even written it is virtually unheard of, Kane," Grant exclaimed. He cursed at someone, and Kane could just imagine him shoving his way through the crowds of New York, ruthless and efficient as always.
"Sure, and I understand what a huge compliment that is. But you know I'm having a hard time. It's just that since Bean passed away, I've been, I don't know, man. It's just been rough, okay?" Bean, his adorable mutt of a dog, had died of old age nearly three months after his bride Alison had left him at the altar. If Kane was being honest, which he generally tried to be, the loss of Bean hurt more than the loss of Alison.
"Listen, you've got to get over Alison. She wasn't the right one for you. We could all see that. Now, what she did was shitty, I'll admit. No man deserves to be left at the altar. Particularly a nice guy like yourself. But you have to keep your eyes forward. There will be someone else out there for you," Grant said. It was the closest that Kane had ever heard him to being empathetic, which meant that he was well and truly concerned about Kane's ability to deliver this manuscript.
"I'm also upset about my dog if you remember, Grant." Sadness filled him as he thought about Bean's adorable face, and though he knew he'd given Bean an awesome life, the loss still stung. It was the worst part about having animals, Kane had learned. You don't get to keep them with you forever. By some cruel trick of fate, it just happened that he'd lost the two most steadfast things in his life roughly around the same time. He had to admit that his creativity had all but dried up after that, and he'd spent a lot of time walking the streets of London questioning what he would do with his life. Which was silly, really. Because he already knew what he wanted to do with his life. He was an author. He loved delving into fantasy worlds and building new and exciting stories for his readers to explore. When he'd first come up with the concept for his new book, a romantic comedy following the son of rock star King Rebel, he had been so excited about it that it had taken every ounce of his willpower to pay attention to his wedding plans and not immediately get started writing the book. Now he wondered if he should have focused more on his own path and less on trying to make Alison's perfect wedding dreams come true. A fact that stung more when he’d learned she’d been sleeping with his editor.
"Oh man, Bean was one of the best dogs. I hate everybody, and that includes you most of the time, but I love dogs. You know I was just as torn up about Bean as you were." And despite Grant’s insult, Kane's mouth quirked in a smile. Sure, Grant could be a jerk, but he was an honest one at that. And when Bean died, Grant flew to London and spent the weekend getting Kane drunk and making sure he ate. He was a rough-around-the-edges tough New York agent, but somewhere very, very deep inside his chest beat a somewhat warm heart. It was one of the few reasons that Kane kept him on as an agent.
"I don't know if I will ever come to terms with losing Bean but, at the very least, I know I gave him a good life and made him happy. I guess I can't say the same for Alison, and maybe that's the kicker of it."
"Or maybe she was never yours to make happy, to begin with. It sounded like she was sleeping with your editor all along, so maybe she just wasn't the type of woman who could be pleased by one man. Hell, what do I know? I've gone through four divorces already." Grant barked out a laugh, and another horn blared in the background.
Kane watched as the gray clouds opened up, unloading a sheet of rain on the people below who scrambled into shops to avoid getting wet. "I'll admit I don't know when I've ever had a greater shock. She just seemed so nice to me. She was the ultimate people-pleaser, wasn’t she? Alison was the girl next door, the one who was always so sweet to me and always willing to entertain my silly ideas or last-minute plans. I thought she was happy with me. I thought she understood when I got lost in my writing for days at a time and barely came up for air. And now I realize that was all a lie,” Kane said. That part probably stung the most. He'd so severely misjudged Alison that he doubted his own ability to trust his instincts. That insecurity had then trickled from his broken relationship and now stained his career, his writing, and his idea for his new book. What if the new book was based on a really stupid premise? If WorldFlix had purchased the rights to his Rock Rebels series, at least he could tell himself that they knew what they were getting and that the fans already loved those books. But instead, WorldFlix had bought the rights to something he hadn’t yet created. That in itself was entirely terrifying.
“Maybe you just need to get laid. Have you put yourself on the market at all? Do they have Tinder in London? Why don’t you go on Tinder and hook up with a few girls and get her out of your system?” Grant asked.
“I wish it was that easy. Honestly? I don’t even think I need to get her out of my system when it comes to having sex or being in a relationship. It’s just the fact that I doubt myself now. I doubt everything I’m doing. In fact, I doubt why I’m even in London. You know what, Grant? I don’t even like London. What am I even doing here?” Kane’s voice rose as he continued to watch the rain piss down on the dirty street below him.
“Man, do you need me to come over there? You don’t sound good. I thought you loved London. Isn’t that why you live there?” Grant asked.
“No. I live here because Alison wanted to be near all the shops and the shows and the fancy restaurants. She said coming from such a small town, it was her dream to live in the big city and experience all this. Well, you know what? I hate it. I hate waiting in traffic. I hate dirty streets. I hate having to wait in queues for my coffee in the morning. I don't want to be around so many people anymore. I don't like it." Kane wasn't sure where this was coming from, but an image of his homeland surfaced in his brain. An Irishman always missed his home, didn't he? A vision of misty green fields and quaint villages appeared in his mind and stuck there like a stubborn burr in his sock. "I think I need to get out of here."
"All right, now you're beginning to scare me. Where are you going? You need to go somewhere with cell service. And somewhere you can work. I'm going to get on a plane. Do you think I need to come out there? I don't like this. Kane, talk to me," Grant said, worry lacing his voice.
"I think I need to go back to Ireland," Kane said, shaking his head as he marveled over the thought. When he'd left Ireland years ago, he thought he wouldn't return as nothing kept him there. His parents had moved to the United States ten years ago seeking new adventures, and he'd stayed behind to finish his schooling and follow his heart when writing his first few books. At the time, he'd fancied himself quite the authentic writer as he would wander the massive library at Trinity College and work late nights in the coffee shops around the university. In fact, speaking to girls about the book he was working on had even gotten him laid a few times. But it had taken many years—until he’d broken out with his tenth book—before he'd finally achieved financial success. By that time, he'd grown jaded enough with the realities of writing to be happy to move to another country when his girlfriend at the time, Alison, had gotten a job transfer for her work. Granted, London hadn't been a top choice for him, but he'd been looking for a change. Now he realized how much he missed the quiet of the coastal villages in Ireland, and the more he thought about it, the more the idea took hold.
"But you're going to work, right? You're not going to do something rash and disappear on me, are you? Wherever you go, you'll have internet, right?" Grant asked, nerves in his voice.
"Grant, I don't think I could shake you if I tried." Kane laughed. "But I think I need to do something. And maybe this is the answer. I am literally waking up every morning and sitting in front of a blank screen on my computer, slowly going mad. If I don't shake this up or do something to change this, my writer's block will get worse, and I'm never going to get you a manuscript."
"I thought you said there was no such thing as writer's block. That it was just writers being lazy," Grant said.
"Did I really say that? God, I’m such an asshole. I guess I didn't really understand about writers working their way through grief, okay? I retract any of those statements. I do have writer's block, at least when it comes to this manuscript. I could probably write you a space opera or a few murder mysteries, particularly ones where a runaway bride gets murdered. Is that something you want to sell?" Kane asked with a wry smile on his lips.
"God save me from all you insane creatives," Grant griped. "Listen, man, go to Ireland. I can arrange a flight for you. I can arrange someplace to stay. You just say the word, and I will set it up for you. If you think this is the change you need, then I am a hundred percent behind it. Just make sure you get your words in each day."
