Chapter 2
LIAM
I drive my black Navigator between the darkened skyscrapers of my city. I’m going slow, which is partly because of the late-night drunks, who occasionally stumble off the sidewalks. It’s mostly because I don’t want to go to this meeting.
Because it is a meeting, regardless of what Mam called it.
“Just a chat with me and your da,” she’d said. “We never see you anymore.”
They see me plenty. Practically every day.
But since I’ve moved out of their annex, I do see them less than before.
I’d been dragging my feet about leaving Mam and Da’s place.
I’m the eldest son, and I’m going to lead our family someday soon.
So it was easy enough to claim that I needed to keep learning all I could from Da. Because I do.
But that wasn’t the real reason I stayed for so long.
She was.
The girl next door.
And the real reason I left was to delay a certain inevitability. The part of my firstborn duties I’m most reluctant to do. Eventually Mam’s pestering became too much. Da’s hint-dropping became less subtle. I could tell they were about to command me outright, give me an order I’d have to obey.
So I started sleeping at my penthouse, a vacant bachelor pad on the top floor of one of our high-rises. It’s been mine for years, but I’ve rarely used it until now. I’m not proud of retreating like that. But if I avoided my parents, they couldn’t issue that command I’ve been dreading.
And now, they’ve summoned me to a meeting at their house. A meeting with just me, not my brothers.
Crossing south into O’Sullivan territory feels like driving through a force field. An invisible wall that allows friends through and keeps enemies out. I imagine it resealing behind my taillights.
The neighborhood’s brick houses look asleep, tucked in for the night, their yards beneath blankets of fallen leaves.
The fact that Mam called me so late isn’t unusual.
Given the nature of our true business, she and Da keep weird hours.
As I turn onto their street, my chest lightens at the sight of the house next door, the way it always does.
My car dings with a text from Finn, but it’s a picture. I don’t look at it until I pull up in front of Mam and Da’s.
When I see it, I seethe.
I punch the Nav into gear and peel off the curb. Mam definitely saw me, but I don’t care. All I can think about is that photo: a group selfie at the pub taken by Finn. Everyone in it is obviously hammered—Finn, Brady, Cora, Erin, and Brioni.
In the picture, Brioni’s so drunk she’s bleary-eyed, and leaning heavily on Finn. She clearly needs help. She can’t go home in that state. No doubt Finn sent me that photo to wind me up. To taunt me about how protective I can get about our lifelong neighbor.
It’s working.
I pull up to the pub’s front entrance. The door’s locked, so I bang on it.
At the far end of the bar, everyone looks over and waves like the drunken fools they are.
It’s Erin who comes to let me in. At least as the bartender, she can hold her booze.
She’s barely wobbling, but she greets me with a drunk-strength bear hug.
“The prodigal son returns!” she bellows.
“The prodigal son abandoned his family.” I stalk past her. “That’s not me.”
“Liam!” Finn shouts, but I push him aside so I can stand next to Brioni, who’s sitting on a barstool.
“Hey, you okay?” I ask. My voice comes out soft, too gentle for the man I’m supposed to be. I try to clear my throat, but it’s tight with concern.
Brioni greets me with a clumsy hug, looping her long arms around me. Even the brush of her hands behind my neck is enough to ignite a fire beneath my skin. I steady myself. I’m the sober one, and I can’t lose control.
Her sandy blonde hair is a windswept mess, tangled around her shoulders. She struggles to focus her brown doe eyes on my face.
“I’m great!” she shouts, her Galway lilt stronger than I’ve heard in years. She gestures to an empty martini glass in front of her, and her fingers collide with the rim. The glass wobbles ominously. There’s a collectively held breath, then the glass settles back onto its base.
For some reason, this makes everyone burst into goddamn laughter, and the others cheer for Brioni. Finn even claps her on the shoulder, the right fuck. I shove him away from her.
“It’s not fucking funny,” I growl, and he wheels backward with his hands up. As I step toward him, Brady puts himself between us. Always the middle brother.
“Whoa, man, calm down,” Brady says. “It’s not a big deal, just a group of friends drinking in a pub. Our pub. We’re safe here, relax.”
“Getting dangerously drunk is not fucking safe,” I tell him. “And you should know better than to drag her down like this.”
“Drag her down?” Brady scoffs. “We’re supporting her in her quest to get drunk.”
Something cold squeezes my heart. Why the hell was Brioni trying to get drunk? She rarely drinks more than a single cocktail or a Magners and Guinness. And even when she does, it’s never with the intention of getting sloshed.
“They’re being very supportive.” Brioni tries to pat my shoulder.
She misses, loses her balance, and nearly slips off her stool.
I catch her, my arm braced around her waist. It takes her a second to realize I’m holding her, then she blinks her bleary eyes up at me.
She gives me her softest smile and whispers, “My hero.”
The tips of my ears feel warm as she nuzzles against me, her eyes drifting closed. Erin squeezes her limp hand to get her attention.
“Maybe we should support you up to bed. You can crash on my couch.” Erin rounds the bar, ready to drag Brioni up to her apartment above the pub.
“No.” I scoop my best friend into my arms. “I’m taking her home.”
“Ooh,” Finn taunts.
“You can fuck right off,” I tell him. “Brady, get the fucking door. Cora, I give you permission to slap Finn if he says anything fucking smart.”
“Fucking, fucking, fucking.” Brioni giggles, her head lolling against my chest. “It’s always fucking with you.”
“That’s because—” Finn starts.
I hear scuffling behind us as I carry Brioni toward the door. Brady holds it open. He glances back at Finn, who’s presumably scrapping with Cora. Brady’s tough-as-nails wife must be holding her own, because he deems it fine to step out into the night with me.
I process all this as background information. Situational awareness is a necessary skill for someone in my position, and it takes constant practice. But right now, my priority is Brioni. I cradle her against me, trying not to relish her scent, her lightly floral shampoo.
Brady lifts his eyebrows at me. I must’ve been too obvious about breathing her in. I clear my throat as the Nav unlocks, and Brady opens the passenger door.
“She’ll be fine,” he says.
“No thanks to you.”
I settle Brioni in her seat and buckle her in. She’s half-asleep, murmuring polite thank-yous to me. I want to smooth back her hair and kiss her forehead. Instead, I softly close her door and round on my brother.
“What the fuck were you thinking?”
“She’s an adult, Liam.” Brady isn’t insolent like our younger brother Finn. But he’s not apologetic either. “We’re not kids anymore. She wanted to get drunk, so we got drunk with her.” This last part makes me go cold again.
“Why?”
“Because we’re friends, and that’s what friends do.”
“Why did she want to get drunk?” I growl dangerously, but Brady just shakes his head.
“She wouldn’t tell us. Not even Cora. But we—”
“Enough. Get back inside.” I turn away from him and get in my car. Unthinking, I slam my door, too pissed off to be gentle. Beside me, Brioni stirs awake.
“Hey, you,” she says, and my mood softens instantly.
“Hey, you.” It takes everything in me not to reach out, to tuck her hair behind her ear. It’d be overstepping our friendship. A violation, especially with her this drunk. I start the car and drive us away from the pub. “Let’s get you home.”
She settles back into her seat, her eyelids fluttering closed again.
As she falls asleep, her hand flops onto the center console, almost like she’s trying to reach for me.
A speck of glitter on her thumb catches the low light.
I wonder if it’s from an art project she did with the kids from her youth group.
She’s so good to them. I can only hope they deserve her. They’re mostly elementary schoolers, innocents in this fucked-up world. So maybe they’re still good enough to deserve her.
I’m not.
There’s too much blood on my hands already. Blood I chose to spill when I accepted my role as the firstborn son. It doesn’t matter what the role itself does to me, how heavily it weighs me down. I’ve accepted it. And by doing so, I’ll never deserve Brioni and all her kindnesses.
The best thing I can do for her is keep her away from that side of me.
I drive us northward, out of O’Sullivan territory. When we cross the invisible barrier, I feel more exposed. Instead of a huge dome around the neighborhood, our bubble of safety has reduced to this car.
I’ll feel better once we’re back at the penthouse. The high-rise is on an O’Sullivan-controlled block, a satellite to our South Side neighborhood. After an enemy attacked our building, Brady heightened security to the point that it’s the safest place in the city.
At a red light, I look over at Brioni in the passenger seat. The streetlight casts a square glow through the windshield, illuminating her cheekbone and bringing out the lighter streaks of blonde in her hair.
So peacefully asleep, she looks like an angel. Too good for my world.