Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“You kept me waiting.” Deck grunts at me, hunched with his elbows on his knees. He’s my cousin, in his early forties, with a gruff stare. His clothes are pristine and his back stays straight. He turns down my offer of a drink. “You know we had a meeting, right?”
I swallow a curse by downing more bourbon. “I’d never forget about my favorite lieutenant.”
He grunts and lifts a folder he’d kept hidden on the couch next to him. “We need to talk numbers.”
“It’s always numbers with you.”
“Knowing our business is why we’re successful. Sit down, this won’t be long.”
“Better not be. You know, you and my future wife would get along well. You’re almost as organized as she is.”
His eyes settle on me. “You ready to talk?”
“Yeah, Deck, I’m ready, only trying to have some casual banter first.”
“Not interested.” He flips to the front page and turns it to face me. “You got payroll decisions to make.”
What follows lasts approximately one hour, two bourbons, and more than a few targeted curses. If Marcus is my ideas man, then Deck’s the one who gets it all done. He’s ruthlessly efficient and keeps the operation ticking over, but he’s also stuck in the old ways and stubborn as hell. It’s always a struggle keeping him from blowing shit up because it’s not properly formatted.
Still, he’s right to keep me on track. I’ve been distracted lately. Between Angie and Sinead, I’ve had a lot on my mind, and I’ve been able to zone out thanks to having men like Deck behind the scenes. I’ll show my appreciation another time, but for now, I’m relieved when he packs up and leaves me sitting behind my father’s desk, exhausted and trying not to think about Angie.
My father slips into the room. He gets himself a drink and lowers himself down in the same spot where Deck had been, but he doesn’t say a word. My old man’s in a button-down shirt, top two buttons undone, a gold chain around his neck. He’s heavyset, thick but not fat, face always an unnerving shade of red. Gray’s streaked in his thick, black hair. We drink in silence for a few minutes. It’s a rare down moment and I soak it in, but I can’t seem to keep my mind still for more than a few seconds at a time.
“Let me ask you something,” I say and he looks over, his bushy brows lifted. “How’d you do it twice?”
“Be more specific.”
“You met a woman and got married. You did it twice. How’d you pull it off?”
He lets out a low rumble from his throat and takes a long drink. “Still wondering that myself.”
“I was handed over to Sinead. I almost can’t screw it up even if I wanted to, and believe me, I’m sure I’ll have my chances. So how’d you make them both last?”
“Patience.”
“That’s it?”
“Bourbon. Communication. Indulgence. With your mother, it was all about apologizing, and afterward, vigorous lovemaking.”
“Fuck’s sake, Dad.”
“You asked.”
“God damn it, I regret that now.” I rub the bridge of my nose. “Make sure Danielle gets that stupid phone. It’s on me.”
“You’re a good son.”
“Yeah, bullshit. And Rowan needs new shoes. Her old ones are falling the fuck apart.”
“What would that girl do without you?”
I tilt my chin to the ceiling and close my eyes.
Without me? She’d be fine.
But without Angie?
That girl would be dead.
6
ANGIE
“Honestly, I never thought this moment would come.” Nadia drags me by the wrist into a moderately crowded bar. “You’re always hurrying back home after work.”
“I need to check on my mom, you know that.”
“Your mom’s a grown woman.”
“With a crippling dependency on marijuana and the uncanny ability to set literal fire to her life.”
“Both fair points, but come on. You’re young. Drinks after work is practically a God-given right!”
She steers us toward a booth in the back. It still has old, half-empty glasses, but Nadia’s got this effortless way about her. Instead of complaining, she stacks everything neatly for the runner to handle when he gets a chance. The waitress comes over and Nadia asks for wine, but I stick with a Diet Coke, which earns an annoyed look from across the table.
“Come on, it’s drinks after work, not sodas.”
I smile sheepishly, heart racing. My palms are damp and I feel like I’m going to crumble to pieces.
And she’s got no idea.
Nobody does. Not even my mom, and I kept trying to tell her, but it was never the right time. Instead, I’ve been carrying around this weight like an anchor around my throat, dragging me into inky darkness.
Nadia chats amiably, carrying the conversation until our drinks arrive. I take the chance to clear my throat, sitting up straight, panic threatening to make me black out, but I have to tell her. I’m desperate to tell someone.
Holding this inside has been a living hell ever since I found out.