Her eyes go downcast, and she walks away. “Farewell, sir. I wish you the best.”
“You’re not going to be a fuckin’ priest,” he says. “Brother, if that girl at dinner is meant to be the one you’re marryin’, she’s not givin’ you any ride.”
“As if she has a choice,” I say with a shrug. “We have rules in the McCarthy family, don’t we?”
“Aye,” Declan says. “Three days to consummate the marriage.”
“Well, fuck me,” Lorcan says. “You’ll have to let bygones be bygones and all that.”
Just like that, I’m back to being fifteen again. Standing in the corner of the room while Malachy locked the door and glared at me, prepared to deliver my punishment.
I remember how Erin looked surprised when I told her I’d gotten in trouble because of her.
Didn’t mean to get you in trouble, she said. But back then, she absolutely did.
“School was a long time ago, mate,” Declan says. “Wasn’t it?”
“Not long enough.” I hate how I feel like a child again, just being back in that headspace.
Daire walks over from the side of the pub. He’s got a hickey on his neck and his eyes are blown, as if he’s just had a good time of it. He’s only been allowed access to The Craic for the past four years, and he’s taken full advantage.
He bumps his knuckles across his lips. They’re scarred with the history of his fighting—Daire, like all of us, being one of the best bare-knuckled fighters in all of Ireland. Violence isn’t abstract for him. It’s personal, physical, routine.
“What’s the story, lads?” he asks.
“We’re only after planning the wedding,” Declan says with a grin like a cat that got the cream, one I’m dying to wipe clean off his gob. I lamp him one in the shoulder, and he laughs away, rubbing at it even as he’s grinning like a fuckin’eejit.
“When is it again?” Daire asks.
“Two months,” I growl. “Shut it.”
“Well, I don’t see why you have to be celibate until?—”
“Leave it,” I tell him.
“I’m sorry,” Daire says, shaking his head. “It’s right, shit luck, isn’t it?”
“Could be worse,” I say. “I could be back in prison, like Torin.” Where I’d managed to avoid being raped, but not much else. I don’tsleep at night for the memories I have of that place. And while Seamus tells me the Russians have it worse in their prisons, I can’t imagine how.
My phone buzzes with another text, and I look at the screen this time.
Seamus.
Seamus
Why are you lads at The Craic tonight?
It’s a simple enough question, but he’s checking in—probably before he goes to bed with his wife and the kids.
Just blowin’ off a little steam
I respond, but I know what he really wants to know.Am I taking someone home tonight? Am I being loyal now that I’m an engaged man?
Don’t worry about me
I tell him, trying to hide the bitterness seeping into my tone.
I’m not here for the usual reasons, Seamus.
