Chapter Twenty-Three
Brogan
The house was quiet except for the soft clang of a spoon tapping the edge of the pot.
Brogan stirred the soup, glancing down the hall where the bathroom door was cracked open and steam spilled out like a lazy fog.
Archie was in there—soaking, scrubbing, decompressing.
The guy had barely said two words on the way home, and Brogan didn’t push.
He just handed him a clean towel and told him to take his time.
When Archie finally padded into the kitchen, his hair damp and sticking to his forehead, Brogan slid a bowl toward him and nodded at the chair. “Tomato bisque,” he said. “Store bought, but I jazzed it up a little. You look like you could use something warm.”
Archie gave a tired half-smile and dropped into the seat. “Thanks, man.”
They ate in a silence that wasn’t exactly comfortable but wasn’t heavy either. It was that in-between space—thin ice and patience.
After a moment, Brogan cleared his throat. “So…I know you’re upset about your dad.”
Archie’s spoon paused mid-air, then slowly made its way back to the bowl.
“I want you to know I’m here with you,” Brogan added quickly.
Archie didn’t look up, just nodded. “Yeah. Financial stuff. Started when I was a kid. He was always working late, but it turns out he was juggling a bunch of lies. He got caught and did some time when I was fourteen. I was alone then too until he returned. No one knew I was alone.”
“Damn.” Brogan leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, voice low. “That must’ve messed with your head.”
Archie let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Wasn’t the worst of it.”
Brogan tilted his head. “No?”
Archie shook his head and finally looked up.
His eyes were red—not freshly crying, but that dull ache that clung to the edges.
“My mom died when I was eleven. After that, it was like he just…checked out. I was still there, but he wasn’t.
No lunches, no conversations, nothing. I kind of raised myself after that. ”
Brogan didn’t comment. He just nodded slowly, like he was holding space, giving Archie the room he’d probably never gotten before.
Archie stared at the bowl, swirling the last bits of soup. “People always talk about the big moments—losing a parent, going through a scandal. But it’s the silence after that gets you. The way it just stretches on and on.”
Brogan said, “Yeah. It’s that kind of quiet that teaches you how to disappear inside your own head. I know that one.”
Archie glanced at him. “You do?”
“Yeah. My dad wasn’t in prison, but he might as well have been. Never home, and when he was, it was like we didn’t know how to speak the same language. I remember waking up on Saturdays, hoping he’d watch me play soccer. Never happened.”
Archie didn’t say anything, but he swallowed hard.
Brogan continued, softer now. “You deserved better, Archie. You were just a kid. Kids aren’t supposed to raise themselves.”
For a long moment, the only sound was the low hum of the fridge.
“I don’t talk about it much,” Archie mumbled. “Feels…stupid sometimes. Like, why dig it up now?”
“It’s not stupid,” Brogan said, steady and sure. “It’s you. And it’s not too late to be seen, even if it’s been years of hiding.”
That’s when Archie’s shoulders dropped just a little like something untied and finally loosened.
And Brogan? He just sat across from him and let the quiet be different this time. Softer. Safer. Shared.
Later, snuggled close, Archie and Brogan watched a bit of TV in bed; the soft light and Brogan’s comforting presence lulled Archie to sleep.
Brogan watched him sleeping peacefully. He didn’t deserve the life handed to him and Brogan planned to deal with one problem he had power over to change, one way or another, when his phone buzzed.
He quickly grabbed it from the nightstand where it was charging. He picked it up and read the message.
Jade: My sister’s in the hospital. I need to get back to Dublin. Please.
Brogan: Meet you at your motel room with a ticket to Dublin.
Brogan closed the door behind him as softly as he could, Archie’s soft breathing still echoing faintly from the bedroom.
The guilt hit him before he even reached his office.
This was wrong. This was so wrong. But when Jade had texted, he wanted to go home because of his sister’s accident, he couldn’t say no in good conscience.
He didn’t know if the reason was a made up one or the truth, but he didn’t care what the reason was. Jade said he needed a ticket to get home, and he wanted Jade back in Dublin. He entered his office, sat at his desk, purchased the ticket online and printed it out. Closure, hopefully.
The van rumbled low beneath Brogan as he took the curve past the diner, headlights brushing the edge of the woods.
Jade’s text was still open on his phone screen, propped on the console like it had something more to say.
No hello. No punctuation. Just panic in that jagged, familiar way Jade always knew how to pull off.
Brogan tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He’d bought it against everything his gut warned him about. Against Archie too.
The silence in the van buzzed louder than the engine. He hadn’t said a word to Archie before he’d slipped out the front door, keys in hand like he was just popping out for milk or a midnight drive. The thought made his stomach twist. Archie was sleeping soundly in bed. He hadn’t kissed him goodbye.
This was stupid.
Jade had lied before. Not in harmless, white-lie ways, but in big, bend-the-truth-until-it-snaps kind of ways.
So why was he doing this? Delivering a damn plane ticket like some courier in the middle of the night?
He told himself it was about the sister.
If Jade was telling the truth, then letting him flounder here wouldn’t be something Brogan could live with.
The truth was he wanted to make sure he left on the plane for Dublin. He wanted him out of his life for good.
But the thing gnawing at the back of his mind, the thing he wouldn’t acknowledge, was that part of him wanted to hand the ticket to Jade.
Not for closure. But to look him in the eyes to see if he was lying again.
He wouldn’t allow him to lie and use him ever again.
He’d drive him to the airport and make sure he was on that plane.
The motel stood like a sore tooth in the town’s jaw—ugly, aching, and impossible to ignore.
He clenched his jaw as he pulled into the parking lot, telling himself this was the last time.
He wasn’t there to fix anything. He just wanted Jade to be gone—from his mind, from his life, from the space he was finally starting to build with Archie.
He grabbed the envelope with the printed ticket.
Room 107. He hesitated before knocking. Part of him hoped Jade wouldn’t answer.