Chapter 2
two
. . .
Ronan
"We're going to release you, Mr. Wilde." I'd gone through all the usual tests just to find out something I already knew.
I had a concussion. I gritted my teeth through some stitches.
I'd talked the nurse into shaving only a small section of my scalp.
I'd inherited my mom's thick, black hair, so a little bald spot wasn't going to hurt my chances with the ladies.
Although, after tonight, I was thinking of staying clear of them for a while.
I always seemed to end up with someone who was trying to outrun a bad relationship.
I didn't mind being the rebound fuck, but getting my head slammed into a trash bin was too big a price to pay for a quickie in the alley.
The doctor, a short, squat woman with curly gray hair and thick eyebrows, stuck my chart in the holder at the end of the bed. They'd considered admitting me until they found out I was on an insurance plan that was just a step above carrying around my own first aid kit.
"Did you get ahold of my brother Colin?" I asked. The painkillers had kicked in nicely, sending me off to that smooth, creamy land where sharp edges had been dulled and everything felt nice. Even the harsh hospital lights no longer caused me to squint.
She yanked the chart back out and huffed a little to let me know she needed me out of the bed and out of her ER ward. "Nope. They couldn't get ahold of Colin."
"Shit, Zander, then? He's going to kill me for getting him out of bed."
"Nope. It says they talked to Finnegan Wilde, and he's on his way."
I sat up fast enough to bring back the dizziness. I grabbed the railing on the side of the bed to keep from flopping back. "No, tell him not to come. I'll find another ride home. I'll take the bus or Uber."
"We have to release you to a family member or friend. Is Finn a brother?"
"I'm his dad." The cold, harsh tone caused the doctor to spin around on her sensible white shoes.
"Oh, that's good. Your son has suffered a concussion, and we had to put twelve stitches in the back of his scalp.
He'll be on pain meds for three days. No driving or heavy equipment operation.
" She pulled a piece of paper off the chart.
"If he exhibits any of the symptoms on this paper, bring him back to the hospital.
" She turned back to me with the first smile I'd seen on the woman.
She didn't seem to notice the ice-cold laser rays of hostility shooting back and forth between her patient and his dad.
"I'll tell the nurse to bring a wheelchair.
" The doctor left the room, so it was just me and Dad.
He'd been in the ER himself not long ago due to a mild heart attack.
His life had been one big, dangerous, chaotic party, and my brothers and I had grown up in that party.
But a few brushes with death and the doctors telling him he was going to have to step back from the party or start planning his funeral had slowed my bullet train of a dad way down.
The years and having a granddaughter in his life had softened him.
Criminals and thugs had stopped showing up on our doorstep asking for blood or money, and all of us were grown men who could flatten his frail, old man frame with one punch, but we still knew he was Dad.
He loomed over us like an iron-fisted cloud, especially when he was pissed.
And given that he'd probably dragged himself out of bed or off his couch to pick me up, I knew he was plenty mad.
A series of bad decisions and shitty luck had pushed me to move back home with my old man.
I'd shared a house with some friends for a few months before losing a decent job at the lumberyard due to one of those bad decisions.
Just like tonight, it had to do with a woman and an angry boss.
I'd had no idea they were together until he walked in on the two of us in a back room at a party.
Losing that job sent my life into a shit spiral.
Aside from moving back onto the ranch and into my dad's house, my new truck had been hauled off by the repo man, and I'd been banned from the Gold Rush, our local bar, due to too many bar fights and a mostly unpaid bar tab.
"I'll be out in the truck," Dad said coldly.
He was giving me the rage-fueled silent treatment, which was never good.
He'd left behind his unexpected fist blows and heavy-buckled belts long ago, not because he'd grown into a better parent but because we'd all outgrown him physically in every possible way.
But his psychological shit, like his silent treatment, was always effective.
They wheeled me out. I hugged the bag with the pills the pharmacy had sent over as if they were my lifeline to a better world.
Dad grabbed them out of my hand before I could even settle in the seat.
He reached in and pulled out the bottle.
"This weak shit? I was hoping for something stronger.
My back's killing me." He jammed the bag into his coat pocket.
"Yeah, well, help yourself, I guess."
Those were the last words exchanged. The heater on his truck was blasting hot air, but the angry chill around me made my head throb again, and it seemed I wasn't going to have anything to dull the pain.
Dad made sure to hit every divot in the gravel road up to the ranch house.
Every bounce caused my brain to jar painfully against my split skull.
I breathed a sigh of relief when he stopped the car.
The house, a massive log cabin complete with green shutters and a wrap-around porch, looked like an idyllic place to grow up.
And, in a way, it had been. We had horses and dogs and dirt bikes.
There was even a pond for swimming in the summer.
Dad could be fun, almost enjoyable sometimes, but you always knew the vicious bear would come out of hibernation if one of his shady business deals went the wrong way or if one of his many wives decided to throw in the towel and leave.
Colin and I were twins, and our mom, Rory, had stayed only long enough to see us out of diapers before escaping back to her home country of Ireland.
We visited her once a year, but she never came here.
Sometimes, I missed her a lot, and other times, I was pissed that she didn't take us with her.
The crisp night air felt good in my lungs as I dropped down from the truck and took a deep, steadying breath. The first round of painkillers was wearing off.
"Think I could get one of those pills?" I asked Dad. He was already halfway to the house. His once broad shoulders grew more rounded and hunched each day. He wasn't old by modern standards, only in his early seventies, but a hard, extreme life had aged him fast.
He ignored my request for a pill. I walked up the steps. He left the front door open, which I considered the first nice thing he'd done since arriving at the hospital. He asked no questions and didn't seem the least bit interested in the extent of my injuries.
"Thanks for the ride home," I said.
He spun around, and that harsh, icy glare, the one that used to let you know you were about to get a black eye or a whipping, showed up on his craggy face.
"I told you to straighten up, Ro. Instead, you keep digging yourself deeper.
You smell like shit, by the way, like you've been laying in vomit and stale beer. "
I walked to the kitchen hoping his lecture was done. He'd been so quiet in the truck I was lulled into letting down my guard. My head felt as if it might split wide open. "Sure could use one of those pills." I reached up and grabbed down a glass.
"Told you my back hurts. The pills are my payment for picking you up. Now, pack your things. I want you out tonight."
I turned around too fast and had to lean against the counter for support. "What?"
He didn't look at me. "You heard me. Pack up your shit. You're never going to get out of this hole you've dug for yourself." He finally skewered me with his sharp gaze. "They call it tough love."
A short dry laugh shot out of me. "Oh, is that what they call it? Not sure where the love part comes in."
"Fuck off. I was in bed, asleep, when I got the call to pick your sorry ass up from the ER. I'm going back to bed. Make sure you're not here when I wake up." He walked out of the kitchen.
I pulled out my phone and sent a text to Zander. He and his girlfriend, Nev, lived in the smaller, original cabin on the property.
Need a place to crash. Dad just kicked me out.
I made myself a piece of toast, but it tasted like cardboard in my dry mouth. I gulped down the water and went upstairs to stuff some things into a backpack. One nice thing about always being deadass broke was that you never had much to carry around when you moved.
I stuffed the backpack to capacity and glanced at my phone.
Still no text from Zander. I wasn't too surprised.
I walked to my window. I had a partial view of Zander's cabin.
A light was on. Zander and Jameson, my two older brothers, had taken over Dad's excavation company right after high school.
When Dad ran it, it was mostly a front for money laundering and all of the shady shit our old man was up to.
Zander and Jameson had turned it into a legitimate company, and they were doing really well.
I worked for them for about three months, but it turned out taking orders from your big brothers was not fun.
I argued back too often, and we all decided mutually that working together sucked.
I regretted acting like an asshole because it was a job I would kill for now.
Zander got extra lucky when Dad handed him the keys to the original ranch house. He knew he'd have to split the ranch up when Dad died, but in the meantime, Zander had a free place to live.