Things were strained between Brodi, and I before he disappeared. I was the one forcing the square peg in the round hole. Yes, I miss him, but I think I’m realizing I missed theoldhim. If he showed up today, I would still be begging for his attention, even though he was the one that up and left. This behavior was very unlike Andrea. Not aligned with thelive for todaymantra, she has attempted to instill in me over the past few months.
“You’re the one reminding me it’s been half a year. I never thought you’d be the one telling me to keep up hope. You thought he was a sleaze bag anyways.” I fired back.
She folds her arms, and I can’t help but notice the way her fist clenches. Like when she’s ready to go,let it all out, on the punching bag in her room. Her response isn’t sharp like mine.“Just… try to remember how you felt when he first disappeared. I think seeing someone so soon after him is a poor choice.”
I see red. I find myself standing the next second, my body language mirroring hers. “Says the girl who told me all about how she slept with her last three clients at work!” If she was able, I’m sure that piercing glare could shoot lasers through me. Shit.
Before I can even get out another word, she spins on her heel and slams the door to her bedroom. Like any rationally unsettled person, I begin stress cleaning! I fold blankets, fluff pillows, and even store the remaining candy within multiple Ziplock bags. When I’m done, I say goodnight to Thelma before dropping in two small grasshoppers.
Andrea’s room has faint snapping sounds coming from the other side. I can’t help but rest my ear against the door. The sound grows into louder pops and cracks. She is definitely getting good use out of that punching bag. I back away, returning to my side of the apartment and close myself in my room.
I feel like a cruel friend. Not only am I not being forthcoming about what is actually going on with me, but now I need to apologize on top of it! It’s not my business who she sleeps with, but she can’t judge me for trying to move on. I need to sleep. Tomorrow requires me to operate heavy machinery.
I am not looking forward to the long drive to the Catskills, to watch my parents’ dog Kingston. I’m drowning in thoughts as I lie in bed. Playing with feasible outcomes and scenarios based on choices I simply didn’t make. The limitless possibilities fill me up until I sink to the bottom. I can’t swim. It’s too much and none of it makes any sense. My hearing aids are on the charger, but it’s never silent. The resonating sound in my head matches the waves of light, momentarily painting my ceiling in amber tones, as cars pass by on the streets below. Why? I wonder. Why wasn’t it me? My brother was incredible. Never doubted himself.He would have used these past few years to make a difference. He was stronger. Smarter. Just… better. It should have been me.
Sleep eventually finds me, but I wish I would never wake up.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
EAMON
Ileave the Black Sheep with enough time to grab a shower and some lunch before meeting up with Garron and Dax at the Bay Boxing Club. My father should be arriving shortly based on the live flight tracker.
Cindel caught me off guard today, showing up early like that. Each time she turns up, those easy eyes of hers make my job that much harder. It would be simpler if she wasn’t around to see the destruction I leave in my wake.
Steam fills the shower as I stand beneath the stream, watching the droplets roll off me and onto the tile floor. I need to clear my mind. My hand finds my dick, recalling memories from earlier this morning. Squeezing gently, I glide over the head back and forth until I find my release.
Time is a fucked-up construct. It was only a couple years ago I was present in my life and shockingly happy. I had a purpose and felt like I was grounded.
Now, I would freely lob off my own hand to go back during a time that stood still. Keeping business and pleasure separate, my apartment was on the other side of town off Liberty Drive.Unless I intended for that person to suck my dick, no one came here but me.
I dress in a black button-up and tan slacks, forgoing the formal business jacket for my father’s arrival. I like to give him the middle finger in any subtle way possible. I close the clasp on the band of my Rolex and make my way to the main room. Thanks to the designer, my kitchen has top of the line appliances, microwave drawer, and my favorite: a countertop ice ball maker for my whiskey. Hell, even the fridge has a television in it. I open the stainless-steel doors to find a couple bottles of water, a withered apple, and expired leftovers. I don’t like cooking or being in the kitchen; it was never a part of my repertoire. I do know that everything works mainly, because my last partner was an excellent cook. During that season of my life, I barely wore pants. I was either fucking or too well fed, to bother with slacks and a belt.
I pull out my phone to place an order from one of my regular takeout spots. Maybe I should send for someone to at least stock my fridge. I shake away the idea, with the realization that this kitchen will never see activity like it had before. Grabbing my keys, I look back at the large empty sink in the island which at one time would have been filled faucet high with dishes. It was once used, cluttered, and chaotic, but full of laughter too. Now, it’s devoid of everything. Lifeless, clean, and quiet. I hate this place
Parking just outside the steel building, I quickly make my way inside. One of the larger grunt workers who goes byThe Barber,holds the side door open for me upon approach. He earned his name by having at least two straight razors on him at any given time. Last time I saw him in action, he managed to peel back a man’s scalp from his hairline to the nape of his neck, before his victim finally expired. We always get the informationwe need thanks to The Barber’s fine craftsmanship. Glad to have him, because I’d never want to be on the receiving end.
Inside, five men are poised around a small table engaged in a game of Gin Rummy. Smoke bellows up from another area in the back, as a few of my crew members dismantle and clean their pieces. Garron is shirtless and laying into one of the hanging bags just off the side of the ring. Walking up to the side of him, I grab a towel off a chair and throw it into his face. “Clean yourself up. Patrick should be here any minute.”
He starts wiping away the sweat from his brow then, patting his armpits. He nods in understanding.
“Where’s Dax?” I scan the room to see if maybe I missed him, in this club full of bodies. I requested they all be present for today.
“Not here, sir. I can text him.”
I put up my hand, refusing his help. Garron takes that as his cue to go freshen himself for my father’s arrival. Frustrated, I retrieve my phone and shoot off a text to the tardy man in question.
Moments later, the large doorman opens the ingress to welcome my father. Patrick Murray is flanked by six men on each side, most as big if not bigger thanThe Barber. My father oozes money, never sparing a cent when it comes to displaying power or wealth. I’m sure there’s at least two Range Rover limousines parked outside as we speak.
He stands in front of me with his smug face, tailored ivory Giorgenti suit, and handmade green, leather shoes. It’s funny to think that not too long ago he would use a shoe like that to whoop me, now he looks weak from this side of the room. His thinning skin is speckled with dark patches, while the scar along his temple, from a deal gone wrong, is still pink and defined through his fine hair. I don’t care for the way his men study me, seeming to size me up. This is my turf, he thrust this onto mewhen he left; he doesn’t get to show up and reign the same as he once did.
The once playful roar of voices settles down as father and son, position themselves before one another like some form of standoff. A thick eyebrow lifts on his face as he takes in my outfit. Clearly not pleased I forgone the jacket. I fight back a grin.
“Dia is Muire Duit!” My father exclaims as he reaches for me, grabbing each side of my head and giving me a little shake.
“Da…” I force myself to nod respectfully.
