“That wasn't grand, Ash,” he says, giving me the look of pride mixed with worry I've come to recognize. “That was fuckin' brutal.” He leans closer, and I can see the gray mixed with ginger in his hair, the lines around his eyes, and the way his brow creases. I remember when I thought he was invincible—the day I saw him in this ring and decided it would be me one day. Tiernan’s a legend here in Ballyhock.
He tosses me a towel. I wipe away sweat and blood, then ball it up in my fist, shrugging. “You're acting like I tried to kill the bastard. If I wanted him dead, he'd be dead.”
I wink at him. He stands beside me, my bodyguard by habit, even though I haven't actually needed one for some time now.
Tiernan huffs a laugh, but there's truthin it. We both know what I'm capable of, what I've been taught, and what the family's made me.
I'm the weapon they bring out when negotiations fail.
I'm fucking good at it too.
I like to think the ring's like sharpening a blade—necessary maintenance for what I am.
I walk toward the exit, and he follows. I’ll forego the locker room tonight and shower at home. I want to be in my own place, alone for a little while.
“Your da wants you to ease up, you know,” Tiernan says, falling into step beside me as we head toward the back exit. “He says you're fighting too hard, too often. People are starting to talk.”
I shrug. “Let ’em talk.”
I drag the towel across my face again, tasting copper and sweat. I know what I'm doing. I don't like to think about what would happen if the coil of violence inside me didn't have an outlet, but I know better than to say that out loud.
Tiernan sighs but doesn't push it. He knows better. We've been doing this dance for years now—him trying to keep me from going too far off the edge, and me pretending I'm not already halfway there.
The ring's a few blocks from The Craic, the McCarthy family bar and exclusive club, which means the crowd largely favors us.
I nod to people who cheer and absorb the congratulatory slaps on my back.
This is home.
But sometimes, every once in a while, I fantasize about getting on a plane and flying far, far away—somewhere nobody knows my name or what the ink carved into my skin symbolizes. A place where I don't have to be who I've been trained to be.
“Fancy a drink at the club?” Tiernan asks, hands shoved in his pockets. He doesn't go much now that his family needs him. Still, he likes to grab a pint with the lads, just like I do. “I heard Cavin's there. Declan too.”
I shake my head. Cavin runs the place, and Declan's a frequent flyer, but I'm not in the mood to see my cousins tonight.
“Nah, I'm good.”
“Honestly, brother,” he says, giving me a look. “I know things have never been the same since Donovan?—”
“I don't want to talk about Donovan.”
I interrupt him before he can go further. My older brother betrayed the McCarthy family and paid the ultimate price. When I go to The Craic, I still fancy I can see him there sometimes, with his pale blue eyes, smirk, and sharp tongue.
His punishment was justified, but I won't everforget.Ever.
“Not tonight,” I say, my voice husky. “I might?—”
I freeze when I hear a scream just outside.
“Did you hear that?”
Tiernan concentrates and listens, then shakes his head. “Sometimes my ears ring a bit after a fight. Aye, but doesn't sound serious, does it?”
Laughter follows the scream, and I reckon it's just some drunk eejits having a go at each other.
“Go home, lad,” he says. “Take care of yourself, will you? I'll have supper with you at the weekend. See you?”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
