Page 7

On the couch in front of me, she shakes her head, then stops. She covers her eyes like the room’s spinning.

“Advil? Coffee?” I’m on my feet, already halfway to the kitchen.

“Coffee, please.” She says it weakly. In that hopeless tone that eats me up inside.

As I brew the coffee, she shuffles over to join me, carrying an empty water glass. I refill it for her. She eases herself onto a counter stool, the one with her coat hanging on it from last night. Seeming oddly cautious, she reaches for her phone, which I’d left on the counter. But it’s dead. She groans and lays her head down on her folded arms.

I don’t say anything, I just leave to get my charger from my bedroom. Unplugging my phone, I see two texts from Brady and a text from Finn. Fuckers. I hope they’ve got their heads in toilets somewhere. Suffering through their own hangovers.

When I get back to the kitchen, Brioni’s still face down. Her long hair is a mess this morning, a scruffy pile of hay she’s hiding under. I want to comb it for her, until it’s as silky smooth as the day she taught me how to braid. Sloane had just been born, my first and only sister. When I told Brioni I didn’t know what to do with a little sister, she suggested that I learn how to braid, and that she could teach me.

So that’s what we did.

I wish I could fix Brioni’s hair for her now. But I’m not that boy anymore. I don’t have the luxury of vulnerability or self-indulgent desires. If I did, I’d arrange her blonde tangles into one of those halo braids she sometimes wears to youth group. She always seems to be smiling when her hair’s like that. Maybe it’s just because she’s usually smiling whenever she meets me afterward, happy from spending an evening with her kids.

I plug in her phone, then scour the pantry for oat milk. Disgusting stuff, but I was in the habit of keeping some in the annex. And now, this penthouse. It’s all Brioni takes in her coffee. I fix us each a cup, plain black for me, and set hers in front of her folded arms. The smell rouses her to sit up.

“Thanks.” She doesn’t meet my eye.

I sip my own coffee as I wait.

“And seriously, thank you for keeping me safe last night. I’m sorry you had to see me that drunk.” She’s apologizing again, and I can’t stand it.

“I’m sorry you wanted to be that drunk in the first place.” I don’t ask her what’s wrong, not directly. This is Brioni. All I can do is provide space for her to talk if she wants to talk. If she doesn’t, I’m not going to pressure her.

She lets out a slow breath, and I give her my full attention.

“I think I saw Harrison yesterday.”

“What? Where?” My coffee sloshes as I slam it down. “I thought he was in San Jose.” I thought I’d chased him the fuck off.

“He was, but then I saw him when I was walking home last night. Or, I thought I saw him. I’m still not sure, but then I ran to the pub, and then…”

Rage boils through my chest. It’s hotter than any piping coffee. I take a deep breath to stop myself from sprinting out the door, going full rampage until I find that despicable fuck and make him pay. I will, but not now. Right now, Brioni’s looking up at me, tentative, waiting for my reaction.

“I also would’ve wanted to get drunk after that,” I say.

More specifically, I would’ve wanted to slug back five shots of whiskey to make it a fair fight for him. He’s a fucking tech bro, nowhere near my level of street skills.

Brioni relaxes, as if my sympathizing with her getting drunk is what’s most important. As if Harrison fucking harassing her is trivial by comparison. But I know deep down, her ex’s reappearance gnaws at her. She’s wise enough to be wary. And she’s tough enough that she doesn’t want to show it.

She doesn’t want to ask for help, either. But she needs it.

She needs protection. My protection.

In my ideal world, I would’ve killed that fucker years ago. But if Harrison had disappeared without a trace, Brioni would’ve figured out why. We don’t talk about the darker aspects of my life, but she knows enough. Harrison’s sudden absence would’ve made her frightened. Of me. I couldn’t have that.

And though I don’t always take my brother’s advice, Brady also cautioned me against executing Harrison. I couldn’t give two fucks how well-connected the bastard is. But apparently he has enough buddies in tech that Brady believes they could hack our accounts in retaliation. Worse, they could hack Brioni’s accounts. Her bank, her phone, every aspect of her life.

So I didn’t kill Harrison. I settled for chasing him out of town, and I’ll do it again without hesitation. In the meantime, I need to keep myself close to Brioni so that he stays away.

My phone rings, breaking me out of my thoughts. I slip my hand into my pocket to decline the call without looking. I’ve already recognized the ringtone, and Brioni probably has too.

Mam. No doubt calling to reprimand me about skipping out on the meeting last night. I can’t put it off anymore. Mam and Da are going to order me to find a bride. It’s high time. It’s long past due. It’s my most important responsibility if I’m going to take over the family business.

Normally, it’d be Da calling me. Not Mam. But ever since Da’s best man Fergal was set on fire by our enemies, he’s different. Withdrawn. Da stood vigil at Fergal’s bedside to witness his weeks of agony before dying.

Da’s barely left the house since. And usually, it’s only to go to the pub’s back room. He still leads our family meetings, but it’s clear he’s ready to pass the baton. He’s been thriving in his role for nearly half a century, longer than most bosses in our line of work. He’s earned the right to step down.