Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
SEAMUS
I can’t sleep.
I’m kept up by a chorus of You could be inside of Emma Rosings Smith right now, you absolute idiot.
The voice in my head is right. I am an idiot. Emma is sexy as hell—from her thick, glossy, dark hair and moss-green eyes to her curvy ass. But it’s her smart mouth that’s got me twisted up in knots. She’s all sharp edges and razor wire, and it would be something indeed to be the man she lets in.
It would also be a stupid-as-hell mistake to sleep with a woman who’ll be at every family event from now until I die.
Or until the forty percent chance Rosie gets divorced comes to pass.
Besides, where would I have even brought Emma? She’s staying with her mother. I’m sleeping in my brother’s guest bedroom, next door to his fiancée’s father, Chuck, a man whose sense of direction is so poor he’s already tried to enter my room twice, thinking it’s his.
I made the drive down from New York City with Chuck. It would be impossible not to like the guy. He’s like a marshmallow made human, but I’m jumpy enough that I’ve started using my lock.
I sit up in bed and run my hands through my hair, silently abusing myself. I should have stayed in a hotel. I could still stay in a hotel. If I’d had a hotel room, maybe I could’ve risked it…
After Emma stole my flask, she spent the rest of the night drinking from it, always making sure she was in my field of vision. I’ll be damned if it didn’t make me crazy.
She’s something, all right, and that ex of hers is a piece of work who deserves to be bludgeoned over the head with karma. I think I’d probably enjoy being the one who did it. Or at least standing by and watching.
Groaning, I grab my phone off my nightstand and check it—
We’re doing it, Shay. Are you in or are you out?
Oh, hell.
The text is from Wally at the garage I work at in the city, and it is not good news.
I know exactly what he’s talking about. A few weeks ago, he got approached by a crime boss about laundering money through the garage and giving a few stolen cars new parts and paint jobs.
I don’t need to think about it. I’ve been there, done that, nearly gotten killed because of it. I tap out a response.
Out, brother. And you should be too.
Which means I’m also out of a job.
It’s not exactly hard to find a job as a mechanic, but the timing is shit. I just blew all my money on a car I’ll probably never get running—a sweet, four-door AMC rambler.
Suddenly feeling miles away from sleep, I head downstairs with the intention of grabbing a smoke. My brother informed me my ass would be handed to me if I attempted doing it from the window, and even though that automatically made me want to try, I’m attempting to be on my best behavior. Which is what led to the whole not-fucking Emma decision.
But when I get downstairs, Chuck is reclined on the couch, watching, I shit you not, reruns of The Nanny while drinking what appears to be hot chocolate. He’s silver-haired, medium height, and a bit burly, although more like a teddy bear than a boxer. And right now he’s giving me an aw-shucks look as if I caught him doing lines of cocaine.
“I don’t suppose we can keep this to ourselves?” he asks.
“Uh, which part?”
His taste in reruns? The late hour? The flannel pajamas he’s wearing?
“The hot chocolate,” he says in an undertone, glancing at the stairs. “I’m supposed to cut down on sugar and fat, but there’s nothing like a good cup of hot chocolate to help you get to sleep. I know that shouldn’t be true, because of the sugar, but I’ll be darned if it doesn’t work.”
“Yeah, I’m not going to narc on you for drinking hot chocolate,” I say with a laugh, running a hand through my hair. This man is so wholesome I’m surprised he made it to his sixties. In the neighborhood where I grew up in Pennsylvania, he would have been eaten alive. People used to give shit to my brother, Declan, who’s been the size of a tank since he was twelve, just because he liked taking care of plants.
“Thanks,” Chuck says with obvious relief. “Will you join me?”
He sits up, clearing space on the cushions. Nicotine is calling my name, but I don’t like being under anyone’s lock and key—even a cigarette’s. If I can put off having a smoke for a few minutes, I figure it’s a good sign that I’m still partly in control.
I settle down next to him, wincing at the laugh track on the old show.
“Oh, I should have offered,” Chuck says, misinterpreting my reaction. “Would you like some hot chocolate? I got special marshmallows.”
“No thanks,” I say, bemused. “So what’s keeping you up, man? The engagement?”
My brother just proposed to Chuck’s daughter, so the engagement is new. Lots of marriage going on around these parts. Maybe it’s good we’re gonna have a divorce attorney around.
Former divorce attorney.
My mind dips back to what Emma told me about her shitty ex. I find myself cracking my knuckles, thinking of what I’d like to do the guy for pulling a thing like that on her.
Chuck sets down his cocoa cup. “Oh, I’m thrilled for the kids. Truly thrilled. Declan and Claire are perfect together.”
He clearly means it. I wonder if he’d be this earnest if he knew my brother used to grow weed for our uncle, who was a crime lord. Or that I’d done my own dabbling for the family business. Honestly, I give it 50/50. Chuck is so determined to think well of the world, he’d probably come up with a list of handy excuses we could make for ourselves.
There’s something admirable about his good humor—and it also makes me think someone had better watch his back to make sure he doesn’t get stabbed or swindled. To my surprise, I find myself wanting to do the job.
He’s looking at me with furrowed brows, so I add, “Yeah. Me too. Thrilled for the kids.”
He gives me a good-natured smile. “You’re having a laugh at me.”
“I’d never. So what’s got you up and drinking hot chocolate?”
He takes a sip from the cup, acting protective of it, before saying, “Claire’s mother. I’m starting to think she’s not coming back.”
Anyone with a CliffsNotes version of the story could have told him that. According to Claire, his wife left them years ago to join a cult in the Pacific Northwest. She’s been banging the swami for years, but on paper she’s still Chuck’s one and only.
“Yeah, buddy,” I tell him. “I think you might be right.” My mind flits to Emma. “I know one hell of a divorce lawyer if you’re ready to do something about it.”
No, Emma’s not practicing, but she clearly needs a win. Giving someone advice might be good for her. It’d definitely be good for him.
He drinks more of his hot chocolate. “I’m going to send her a letter about the wedding. They think phone calls, emails, and text messages add to the earthly weight of their souls, so letters are the ticket. I hate to make ultimatums, but if she doesn’t commit to coming to the wedding and supporting Claire, then that’s it. It’s over.”
If it’d been me, that would have been it years ago, but again, this guy is a marshmallow. So sweet, the world is full with people who’d love nothing better than to hold him over an open flame and then crunch in.
“I’d agree with you there, my friend,” I say. “I’ll introduce you to Emma at the wedding tomorrow. She’s the groom’s sister. You can get the ball rolling.”
“Thanks,” he says, then lifts the mug as if making a silent cheers. “You’ve been a good friend.”
“Something not a lot of people would accuse me of,” I say with raised eyebrows.
“Maybe you haven’t been around a lot of people who need that kind of a friend.”
I’m not sure whether he’s implying I’ve chosen shitty company or shitty company naturally gravitates toward me, but I nod distractedly. I’m starting to feel the nicotine itch badly. “Thanks, man. You have fun with your—” I get up and wave a hand to encompass The Nanny and the hot chocolate. “You go crazy with it.”
I mean to stay out for only a couple of minutes, but I’m feeling on edge. So I have a couple of cigarettes and take a walk around to the back deck, with its view of the rolling Blue Ridge Mountains. It’s dark, but stars speckle the sky here in a way they never do in New York, and I feel a strange yearning I can’t put words to.
When I get back inside, Chuck is asleep on the couch, curled up, and it’s so fucking wholesome I actually find myself pulling a blanket over him and turning off the TV.
I feel a presence and look up to see my brother on the landing at the top of the stairs, staring down at me with a disbelieving look that almost makes me laugh. Declan’s only a year older than me, but to hear him talk, it might as well be a decade. He still sees me as a misbehaving kid. A little brother. Our parents passed away when we were barely adults, and he launched himself into the head-of-the-family role with so much intensity you’d think he had competition for it.
Declan gestures for me to come up, and when I get to the top of the stairs, he pulls me away from them—and into my room, flicking on the light switch. “Did you just tuck in Claire’s father?” he asks.
“I did, yeah,” I say, then nod toward my unmade bed. “And did you bring me in here to tuck me in? I figured you’d prefer to spend your night between your woman’s thighs.”
He glares at me from down the nose I’ve punched before. To be fair, Declan’s punched me too. Nearly broke my nose when I was fifteen after I accidentally trampled some of his plants. Then again, I’ll be damned if you can find two brothers who haven’t gone at each other at least once. Doesn’t mean we don’t love each other. I’m man enough to admit that I love my brother and my sister more than anything, even if it sometimes feels I got preassigned as the family fuckup.
“Not funny,” Declan says.
Shrugging, I tell him, “You were born with a broken sense of humor. It’s not your fault. Rosie and I try to make accommodations.”
“Why’d you leave the rehearsal dinner for so long?”
Oh, for God’s sake. Leave it to Declan to notice. He probably figures I was dealing drugs out of the back.
Maybe I would have been, back in the day.
Time changes a man, though. These days I’m not much interested in making a buck or creating a reputation for myself as a badass. I’d rather get a drink at the pub and have some laughs. Or spend time with a fine-looking woman.
“I was having a smoke.”
“For half an hour?”
I raise my eyebrows, studying him, “You want a log of every time I take a shit too?”
He huffs out a sound that barely qualifies as a laugh. “I’ll pass. I’m just—”
“Wally’s going through with it, but I told him I’m out.”
I’d told Dec a bit about the trouble at the garage—how Wally and a couple of the other guys were approached on the sly about going on the take.
I’m not sure why I told him exactly, given I knew how he’d react. Worried. Judgmental. Like a parent, even though we’re so close in age, no one can ever tell which of us is older. Maybe I told him because I wanted to be held accountable, to make sure someone forced me to do the right thing.
A sigh eases through him. “That’s good, Shay. That’s really good.”
“Yeah, I’ve given myself a pat on the back too. It’s the only time I’ve gotten to feel really self-righteous over losing a job.”
He glances at the door before shifting his gaze back at me. “Why don’t you come stay with us for a while? There’s plenty of room in the house. I know Rosie would be over the moon.” He pauses for half a second before adding, “So would I.”
I laugh, shaking my head. Feeling like I need another cigarette. “We’ll see.”
He gives me a half smile that says as clear as words— we both know what you mean by that. “Good,” he says out loud. “You ready for this?”
He’s talking about our little sister, walking down the aisle toward a man she barely knows. A man she claims she loves.
But that’s our Rosie. She wears her heart on her sleeve, always has. Still, she’s a woman who knows her own mind. If she says she loves this guy, I’m inclined to trust her. I’ve spent a little time with Anthony over the last couple of days. He acts like he worships my sister, so I’ll forgive him for being a little stiff around the edges.
I think of Emma, whose edges are like razor blades, and grin. Maybe tonight didn’t end as sweetly as it could have, but it sure was fun. I’ll be seeing her again tomorrow. Something tells me she’ll bring my flask.
I nod at Declan and clap him on the back. “Yeah. I think Mom and Dad would’ve approved. He seems like a good guy, and they think they love each other. It’s all good.”
“ Think they love each other?” he asks with a laugh.
“There’s no way of knowing something like that for sure. So, yeah, they think they love each other.” I raise a finger. “Now, don’t go running off to Rosie telling her I said so. I’m not saying they’re wrong. They want to make heart eyes at each other and buy too many appliances, that’s their business. The only thing I give a fuck about is that she’s happy. As long as he keeps making her happy, I’ll be his best buddy.”
He shakes his head and runs a hand over his beard, something he grew after we left Pennsylvania, where we were the O’Malley family, and became the Jameses. We left after my uncle died, seeking some kind of fresh start.
One of the people we left behind was the woman I’d thought I loved for a while. Thinking I loved Lia and wanted to marry her had taught me a thing or two about love: Mostly, the love you can have for your family is the only worthwhile kind. Everything else is driven by hormones, proximity, and luck.
I look her up on Facebook now and then.
She’s married now, to a man who wears T-shirts with stupid slogans on them.
I know she’s the one who bought them for him, and I feel lucky that I’m not the schmuck still wearing them.
I kept one of them, in case I ever forget what thinking I was in love did to me—it says I’ve got a dig bick.
I’ll bet Lia has her husband out busting kneecaps, too, working directly for Jimmy the Red, the man who took over for my uncle after he died.
Declan thinks we left our past behind us, and we did.
But it wasn’t as easy as he thought it was.
I hope he never finds out what it cost.
Something tells me he’d find a way to blame himself.
He meets my eyes again, every inch the big brother. “You’re gonna fall in love for real one day, too, Shay, and then you’ll know there’s no maybe about it. You’ll know. You’ll know because it’ll hit you like a damn hammer over the head, and she’ll be the only thing you ever think about.”
“Sounds like a curse.” There’s no way in hell I want to let any woman have that kind of sway over me. I’d only convinced myself I was in love last time, and look how that turned out? Taking in the goofy grin on my usually stoic brother’s face, I can only imagine the horror of being that pussy whipped over a woman I actually love. No thank you.
He smiles at me. “It is. And it’ll also be the best damn thing that ever happened to you.”
This might be the first time my brother’s ever lied to my face.