Love & Luck(24)

Rowan’s car raced down the twisted road as I watched Ireland suddenly morph into something remote and ferocious. Roofless stone structures lined the narrow roads, moss blanketing them softly in green. Everything looked abandoned, which for some reason made my internal clock tick even louder. I had less than an hour to convince Ian to abandon his plan.

Luckily, I had a secret weapon. Two weeks ago, my mom and I had driven over an hour north to visit her aunt, and I’d gotten stuck listening to a new Catarina Hayford recording called “Modes of Persuasion.” Back then I hadn’t thought I would ever need it. But now I needed to draw on the experts. Step one: act curious. “So what exactly does the Burren have to do with Titletrack?”

The bruise under Ian’s eye looked at me accusingly. “Listen, Catarina. We’re working on a strictly need-to-know basis here. Also, no one invited you, so quit asking questions.”

“I was not being Catarina,” I snapped. I guess he’d listened to that one too.

“Yes, you were. Rule number one,” he said in a surprisingly good impression of Catarina’s throaty voice, “act curious.”

“I’d ask who Catarina is, but you’d probably both rip my head off,” Rowan said.

“You’re safe on this one,” Ian assured him. “She’s a real estate guru who spends all of her free time getting spray tans. She turned our mom into a Seattle real estate mogul.”

“I didn’t know your mom was in real estate.” Rowan slid his eyes curiously at Ian. For someone who was so close to my brother, he knew surprisingly little about him. He hadn’t even known Walt’s name.

“Rule number two: Never meet the client halfway. Meet them all the way.” Ian flicked his hair behind his shoulder and pursed his lips convincingly. “Rule number three: Be realistic and optimistic. The future belongs to the hopeful.”

I flicked him on the shoulder. “Ian, stop.”

He snorted and dropped the pose, ducking down to look out the windshield. “Rowan, is this Corofin?”

“No. That was the first town. This is Killinaboy. Also, I’m overruling your terms and conditions.” Rowan’s gaze fell on me, light as a butterfly. “Your sister needs to know what we’re doing.”

“What? Why?” he asked.

“Because if she knows why you’re taking off without her, maybe she’ll retaliate less.”

“Rowan, believe me. She won’t retaliate less,” Ian said.

“She can hear you,” I reminded them, my gaze snagged on yet another attempt by Rowan to adjust his glasses. The way he pushed them up was the perfect combination of endearing and nerdy. If he didn’t seem so clueless about it, I’d think he was doing it on purpose. “And, Ian, I’m starting to like your friend here. Unlike you, he actually considers other people’s feelings.”

I meant for it to be funny, but I heard my mistake the second it was out of my mouth. Ian took loyalty very seriously—just hinting that he was letting someone down was enough to make him snap.

He twisted around. “Right. Because I never care about your feelings. Because I never, ever stand up for you or help you with school or clean up your mistakes.”

My cheeks scalded. Had he just lumped helping me with school in with Cubby? “Did you really just say that?” I demanded.

Rowan verbally threw himself in between us. “Okay, guys. Let’s talk about Titletrack. When they first started out, they couldn’t get anyone to sign them, so they started posting songs online and performing in pubs around Ireland. Eventually, they talked a radio station into playing one of their songs, and it was requested so many times that it ended up on the top ten charts. After that, labels couldn’t ignore them.”

There was a long, awkward pause, but the oddly timed description worked. We weren’t fighting anymore. Ian sank down into his seat, his chin resting on his chest.

Rowan kept going, probably in hopes of squelching another eruption. “And Titletrack’s final concert is in three days. They made the announcement earlier this year and swore they aren’t going to do that stupid thing bands do where they retire and then do a bunch of reunion tours.”

“I hate that,” Ian said, rechanneling his anger.

It was Titletrack’s final concert? This was more hopeless than I thought. “So what does the Burren have to do with anything?” I asked again, carefully.

Rowan valiantly picked up the torch again. “So Ian’s idea—which was brilliant, I might add—is to visit some of those early places that were important to the band and write a piece that culminates at the picnic. Kind of like following their footprints all the way to Electric Picnic.” He paused. “Ian, that’s what you should title it!”

“Hmmm,” Ian said noncommittally.

“Anyway, the Burren is where they filmed their first music video for a song called ‘Classic,’ which is, in my humble opinion, the greatest song in the world.”

“It is,” Ian confirmed. He leaned forward, and his hair fell into a waterfall around his face. “I played it for you on the way to school a couple of times. It’s the one that talks about slippery simplicity.”

I did remember the song. I’d even requested it a few times, mostly because I liked the way the singer rolled “slippery simplicity” through his mouth like a piece of butterscotch candy.