Tell that to my hands, though. While Tadhg’s body is rock steady, honed from years of practice suppressing his fear and discomfort, I’m already a little shaky. I shove them in my pockets so Patrick doesn’t notice.
The longer I spent time away from the man, the more he became the bogeyman in my mind. Something terrifying, but not a real threat, because he no longer existed in the safe, normal-ish life Mom and I built for ourselves here.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter if he hears,” Patrick says with a shrug, reminding me of what I’m supposed to be focusing on.
I can’t stop myself from rolling my eyes at him, which he definitely sees. His eyes narrow in return, but he doesn’t move otherwise. It takes all my self-control not to flinch away.
Well, I’ve never really been interested in playing happy housewife, but right now I think I can make an exception.
“Can I get you a beer, Patrick?” I force as much pleasantness into my voice as I can through half-frozen vocal cords.
He leans back a little, quirking his eyebrows at me, but then nods once without a word. It’s a relief when I get to slip a little farther out of his circle of influence, although I keep my gaze trained on Tadhg the whole time. Obviously, it takes me longer than humanly possible to grab everyone a beer from my kitchen,which is about six feet away from where they take a seat on the couch.
They start muttering between themselves immediately. Tadhg is sitting on the couch in a mirror image of his father’s posture now—legs spread wide with his elbows on his knees, taking up a disproportionate amount of space. It seems so unlike the tender version of him I’ve been getting to know that it makes my stomach churn for a second.
Their voices are low, but I hear a few snippets of what’s being said. Enough to pick up that Tadhg’s blissful vacation from his work appears to be over. It hits me all at once that we’d both been fooling ourselves into thinking we could keep doing what we were doing and he’d just… drift away from the Banna in peace.
Fuck.
As I walk back, three open longnecks dangling between the fingers of my left hand, I must be too quiet, because Patrick keeps talking as if I’m out of earshot.
“—no way that body should have ended up in the hospital. Anyone could have taken care of it. And Colm told me Eamonvolunteeredto do it. I don’t trust that shifty little queer, and he clearly has his eye on your job. Did you leave evidence on that Nazi fuck when you offed him?”
Tadhg can see me out of the corner of his eye, but he’s careful not to look at me.
“Everything’s fine, Father. I can take care of it,” he says, more loudly than he needs to.
I take the opportunity to make some shuffling noises before I approach and put the beers in front of everyone.
Patrick takes his, doing a double-take as if he’d already forgotten I was there. In fact, he looks pretty ragged. He’s not getting any younger, I guess, and running this kind of operation has to take a toll on you in the long run.
Good. I hope he has a heart attack, and we can escape this situation painlessly.
“Well. I want him out. He’s a piece of shit, and I don’t like the way he parades around that recruit he’s sticking it to, as if it’s something to be proud of. The kid doesn’t even look like his balls have dropped yet. And if Eamon’s dicking around acting like a fag and a pervert, it reflects on all of us.” Patrick takes a sip of his beer and then looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “No offense.”
“Now why would that possibly be considered offensive?” I drawl, making Tadhg’s grip on his bottle tighten, but we all mutually seem to drop the issue before it gets out of hand.
Patrick shifts topic. He keeps ignoring me and talking to Tadhg—orSavage, like they all call him. And fuck, I’m really coming to hate when people call him that, especially his own goddamn father, as if Tadhg isn’t dehumanized enough already. Patrick doesn’t seem bothered by the fact that I’m sitting here, but he’s also speaking in some kind of shorthand, so I only understand bits and pieces of what they’re talking about.
Not that I care. I would never turn him in for anything, because it would inevitably come back on Tadhg. That’s not my game plan here.
But whatismy game plan?
What’s realistically possible? That I keep looking the other way over all this shit until I eventually get in too deep and lose my nursing license over something? Or see the wrong thing, and Patrick kills me and my mom in retribution?
The thought makes me shudder. I’m still not close with my mom because there’s a lot of trauma-water under that bridge, but I don’t want her to die because of where I stuck my dick. Or where she let Patrick stick his.
Goddamn. Like mother, like son, I guess.
My mind is a runaway train, careening over rickety tracks, powered by all the thoughts I’ve refused to acknowledge until now. I don’t even realize it’s showing on my face until I catch Tadhg looking at me from the corner of his eye with a frown.
His fingers twitch, like an aborted attempt to reach for me. That’s the thing that makes my heart crack open and start leaking black ooze all over the floor.
Because as impossible as it seems to help him escape this stupid shitty life he’s trapped in, it seems even more impossible to abandon him in it.
“Okay. Thank you, Father.”
I don’t know what Tadhg is thanking him for, but his tone has a note of finality. I put down my untouched beer and stand up when they do.
