IRISH LOVESTORY - Blinded By Love

 

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Blinded by Love

I got Jack’s number under a false pretense. Pete had handed it over without a second thought, and in that moment, I felt a surge of relief so strong it almost knocked the breath from me. I needed to hear him, to speak to someone who knew me, really knew me—the one person who could understand the jumble of fear, longing, and confusion that consumed me.

We met the next evening at Din Rí. My message had been vague, a simple hint that I needed to talk. I found him waiting at the top of the stairs, leaning against the bar. The sight of him—the familiar lines of his face, the warmth in his eyes—washed over me like sunlight after days of rain.

“Hi,” we said almost in unison, and suddenly the weight I had been carrying lightened just a little.

He ordered me a drink, and I tried to gather the thoughts that were scattered like broken glass in my mind.

“So, tell me. What’s going on?” he asked, calm and patient, like he had all the time in the world.

I spilled the story, every detail of Sunny’s ex and the chaos she had brought into my life. I told him about the nights I had feared for my safety, the sleepless hours, the small terror that never left me. Jack listened, silent, his eyes steady.

“Then leave,” he said simply, concern threading his voice. “She sounds like real trouble.”

I hadn’t come for solutions. I hadn’t needed him to fix my life. I only wanted a witness, someone who could hold the truth of my fear and my confusion without judgment. That he listened, really listened, was more than enough. That night, even amidst the hopelessness, I felt a flicker of something I had thought lost: comfort.

Love flared quietly but fiercely inside me, a fire that seemed to burn brighter with every glance, every word, every moment we shared. With Jack, there was no need for explanations. He knew me. Truly knew me. And in that knowledge, I found strength. That evening, I went home lighter, braver, certain that for as long as Jack remained in my world, I could face whatever came next.

Weeks passed, and we met again, this time at Lennon’s, a snug bar with red walls and dark-lacquered tables, buzzing with young energy. I was with Sylvia, my friend from Jessie’s, waiting anxiously. He was late, as he often was.

When he arrived, it was with an entourage— three broad-shouldered men in dark suits, the kind who might have stepped out of a crime film. Even so, all I could see was Jack—moving with that effortless command that always drew attention. Women’s eyes flicked toward him, polite curiosity barely concealing their intrigue—but I couldn’t look away. Every small motion, every subtle expression held me in place, and for a moment, the rest of the world simply fell away. His companions, Ben and Tom, were striking in their own ways. Ben was friendly, with a sharp gaze softened by a warm smile. Tom was enormous, a quiet presence that filled any space he entered. But all my attention was on Jack—his hair slicked back, his suit sharp, and his impossible calm, the kind that seemed to make the room bend around him. And then Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word by Elton John and Blue played, the perfect song for this reunion, wrapping around us like it had been written just for this moment.

When introductions were made, Jack suggested we drive to a nearby town, where he and his friends were on duty at a nightclub. I didn’t question it—I would follow him anywhere, no matter how sudden or strange the plan. The certainty of being near him, of moving with him, outweighed any caution in my mind.

Then, out of nowhere, Sunny appeared, stepping between Jack and me with a quick, almost urgent energy that made me freeze. His bistro, Jessie’s, was just across the road—he must have seen me entering at some point. That was probably how he found me. His eyes were wide, pleading for me to cover a shift—there’d been a mishap with one of the employees, and he needed help just this once. I stayed quiet, torn between loyalty and desire, the conflict twisting inside me but never breaking my focus on Jack. Sylvia stepped in to handle the shift, and I felt a quiet surge of gratitude toward her for taking over so effortlessly. Sunny made his way out, a relieved smile on his face now that his problem was solved, clearly satisfied that everything had been handled. He didn’t glance at me or question my presence with Jack—a fact I found strangely liberating.

After we parted our ways with Sylvia after one drink or two, I was invited along to their car. The ride was absurd—a tiny vehicle barely holding us. Tom’s bulk dominated the front seat, while Jack squeezed into the back beside me, his long legs tangling awkwardly around the gearstick. Every turn jolted the car, and the chaos was strangely thrilling.

We arrived at a small, desolate building on the outskirts of town, a place I didn’t know existed. The club was half empty, shadows stretching across the bare floor, the few patrons scattered and quiet. At a table in the corner, I perched with a drink, painfully aware of my isolation even though Jack was there—everywhere but beside me. He lingered at the entrance, hovered by the bar, drifting past just enough to remind me he existed, never stopping to talk. Why had he asked me along if he barely acknowledged me? The question twisted inside me, mingling longing with frustration.

Ben, on the other hand, filled the gaps effortlessly. Chatting, bringing drinks, noticing the subtle tension in my hands and the restless way I shifted, he made the waiting bearable. Yet even with Ben’s steady presence, my heart remained tethered to Jack, craving even the smallest connection from him, as maddeningly elusive as ever.

The disco closed early, anticlimactic and quiet. Out of the dark corners, a group of teenage girls suddenly jumped at Jack, their laughter and squeals filling the room. I turned to Ben, hiding the sting of jealousy behind a wry smile.

“Seems Jack’s not short on female attention,” I said.
“Just silly eighteen-year-olds,” Ben replied, shrugging.

Once we were in the car, the guys passed around a few cans of beer. I took one as it reached me, the cold aluminum warming slightly in my hands. Each of us sipped in silence, the casual ritual doing little to break the tension that had settled over us.

Jack and I ended up in the backseat together, the darkness pressing around us, the faint glow of the dashboard the only light. Every bump in the road seemed magnified, and the quiet between us thrummed with anticipation. My hand rested on the seat alongside my body, still and tentative—and that’s when he found it. The instant his fingers brushed mine, a jolt ran through me, unlike anything I had ever felt. My breath caught, the world narrowed to that single touch, as if time itself had tilted and paused. Light at first, hesitant, and then firm, our fingers entwined. I pressed my palm to his, trembling, tears welling up inside me. I had to turn my face to the window so he wouldn’t notice. It was a touch that spoke of homecoming, of solace, of every lost moment regained.

When he dropped me home, the guys were still sitting in the car, chatting and laughing softly, oblivious to what was about to happen. Jack and I stepped out—and as soon as we did, he leaned over me, pressing his lips to mine. Just once, but the kiss was enough to set the whole universe spinning. Heat surged through me, a rush of longing and fulfillment that seemed to rewrite every corner of my body and soul. The stars overhead, the quiet night, even the distant hum of the city—all faded into nothingness. In that single, fleeting moment, every second of yearning, every unsaid word, every hidden desire collided and ignited, leaving me trembling, breathless, and entirely undone.

After the kiss, we said our goodbyes and parted. I walked off to my house, each step heavy with the lingering heat of Jack’s touch. Inside, Sunny was already waiting in bed. I didn’t question him, and he didn’t question me, but the weight of unspoken truths pressed between us. I told him simply whom I had been with, my voice quiet, almost hesitant.

He listened without judgment, his eyes steady, absorbing it all. “I know you still love him,” Sunny said quietly, his voice calm but edged with pain. “You don’t love me. And you never did.”

His words hit me harder than I expected, a neon sign burning in the dark, illuminating all the ways I had failed him. I could not deny it, could not argue, and for a long moment, the weight of the truth was almost unbearable. Yet beneath it all, I understood the clarity in his words, the quiet truth that I had been avoiding. I left that light behind me, stepping into the night outside my window with only one star to guide my way, carrying both the ache of longing and the heavy knowledge of what I had left behind.