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“There’s something else?”
There’s more? “What?”
“I want to marry your mother.”
I sneer at him. I know I can’t say no. I know he’s being honorable. I know Mum, God help me, loves this big, hairy beast. And I know Brad’s right. I should want her to be happy.
But still . . .
I pull my fist back and deliver a stellar right hook to his jaw, knocking him back ten paces until he hits the deck outside the open office door. Everyone comes to investigate while I shake my hand. Motherfucker. “Fine,” I snap like a child, getting on my way. “But if you hurt her, I’ll ram Rose’s breast pump up your arse.”
“That breast pump sure is going places,” James says from the door. I grunt, throwing my hand up, annoyed, irritated—stressed—that the world’s back on my shoulders. Except now the responsibility feels so much worse. It’s not just me, my name, and the family reputation. It’s everyone in this family. Because despite the arguments, the digs, the physical tussles sometimes, we are a family.
And it needs protecting.
I try to calm myself down as I take the stairs, breathing deeply, needing to be stable. I approach Nolan’s door, straightening my tie. What the fuck am I doing?
“What are you doing?”
“Brad?” I blurt. He hasn’t left? I frown, looking up and down the corridor. Brad’s room is that way, but he just came from the other way. “Where have you been?”
He shifts, looking instantly uncomfortable. “Doc’s,” he says, just as the old man comes out of his room with a bag in his hand. And a pot of piss in the other.
The old boy slips it into his bag, embarrassed, and passes. “Good day to you,” he says.
“Good day,” I muse, returning my interested attention to Brad. “I didn’t know dressing wounds required piss samples.”
“Fuck off,” he spits, barging past me. “He thinks I have a UTI.”
“Oh,” I muse, not stopping him from storming off. Not so light now. “You ready for shit to fly?” There are plenty of feathers to ruffle, just as soon as I’ve ruffled Bean’s feathers. Can’t take Brad for that.
“Yes.” He pulls out his gun and holds it up as he carries on down the corridor, and I smile at the sight of my wingman back to his bloodthirsty self. But for how long? I don’t know what he was doing in that alley with Pearl. Or am I being dumb?
No.
Pearl wouldn’t, and Brad definitely wouldn’t.
He would literally be taking his life into his own hands. The girls would skin him. And she’s . . . so young. Like the same age as Nolan. His fucking kid.
Jesus. I return my attention to the door and knock.
Silence.
I push my way inside. He’s lying on the bed, still and quiet. “Nolan?” I close the door and pad over to the bed. He opens one eye. “Pretending?”
“Brad came in.”
Of course he did. “Listen”—I rub at my forehead with the tips of my fingers—“he has to know.” I pull a chair over to the bed and lower into it.
“No, Danny, pl?—”
“I can’t take this to the grave, Nolan. It’s too fucking big, and it’s not fair to Brad.”
“I want things to stay the way they are,” he grates, returning his eyes to the ceiling.
I smile at his naivety. “It ain’t gonna happen, kid.”
“What if he rejects me?”
