Slipping from his bed as silently as possible, I use the guest bathroom rather than the master. Finger-combing my mussed hair and braiding it and then washing my face make me feel more like myself.
Contemplating how I’ll leave his place divides my mind. I’d rather not have my family know anything about the past two nights, but if I wait for him to decide to drive me home I may be even more entangled by the time he does.
Standing in the kitchen, I realize I’m hungry. Glancing at the door to the master bedroom, I know it’s a mistake to make breakfast for the two of us, as if last night meant something. And yet the eggs, milk, and cinnamon come out and so does some ham. Just like that, events are underway.
His phone rings, making my breath catch since I assume it’s C or Anvil calling. I’m quiet as the phone ringing persists for ten or fifteen rings then stops. A moment later, I hear his bathroom door close.
As I’m plating French toast he emerges and he’s on the phone. “When is that, Ash?”
I realize the call must have actually been from his younger sister. Scott has two sisters, Kathleen who’s a year older, and Ashling, who’s something like eight years younger. All three of the Patrick children got their looks from their mother, who has always been so pretty that when she was young people stopped on the street to stare at her. Mr. Patrick was handsome too from what I can remember of him, but he looked like a real person, rather than like one of God’s lost angels.
“I just got up. I’ll call you back in a couple minutes,” Trick says. Entering the kitchen, he nods an acknowledgment with a smile, as he places another call and puts it on speaker.
“‘Lo, Scotty. What’s got you ringing me at half past dawn?” Kathleen Patrick says with an Irish lilt.
His grin is sweet and causes a pang in the vicinity of my heart. “The baby called with a request, and I need your help with something. And you’re on speaker, Kath.” He puts one hand on my waist to warn me of his reach, then extends his arm so his hand can turn on the coffeemaker. The closeness of his bare skin and the small touch on my hip makes my heart clench harder with each beat.
I glance over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of washboard abs and a pair of black sweats. They match the pair I’m borrowing.
“Oh, yes. Hello to the boys, is it?”
“Nah, a school friend. So Ash called. She wants to go to a party at Fiona Murphy’s house, and Ma told her to check with me first, which is good. I’d come to Boston to take her, but I’m jammed up with work that night.”
“The Murphys.” Kathleen’s tone is bitter. “We’ve got no use for them, as I’ve told her. She shouldn’t need to know details to stop bothering everyone about parties with Fiona Murphy. There are dozens of girls for her to pal around with.”
Trick is silent for a beat, frowning. “I saw Jack Murphy.”
“Where?” Her accent’s more pronounced, but less lilting.
“He crashed a poker game.”
“Bastard. Are you all right then?”
“Yeah. He’s getting clever, it seems. I got a text this very morning that he was at my bar, Slattery’s, last night.”
“Bold as that? Like you’re still a lad he can intimidate?” she tsks. “Not that any of them ever could, thank God.”
I hadn’t realized that Trick had bought Slattery’s pub. The Palermos own half the commercial real estate in town. Does C Crue now own the other half?
“So the answer to her going to a Murphy party without me is no. But she’ll be upset.”
“Best let me tell her some family history. She’s seventeen now. It’s old enough to hear, Scotty.”
“No.”
Kathleen huffs out a sigh.
“So here’s the thing I want. Get tickets to a Broadway musical for the three of you and two or three of Ashling’s friends. Book a couple nights at the Waldorf. Tell her she can invite the boy she likes for the second night. What’s his name? Spencer? Take the girls shopping. And get Ma a new dress. I don’t want to see her again in something old like she wore to the O’Leary party.”
“What do you want me to do? Ma’s as stubborn as you.”
Trick pours coffee for each of us. “Get clever about it, Kath. When she’s out, box up her old clothes and store them.”
Kathleen sucks in a breath. “Well, that would be a right shock for her. She wore those dresses with him. She’ll be raging.”
“That’s why I said storage, not church donation. Tell her I made you do it, and that if she wants to complain to call me.”
“As if she would ever call you over that.”
