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“As in drunk?” I asked, flabbergasted.
Mick nodded. “He drank about four thousand dollars’ worth of Macallan and refused to let us stop him from getting in the ring. That’s when I knew it was time to get you.”
Mick rushed forward to catch Jack before he ran headfirst into a dumpster. Kieran and Eoghan, ahead of the pack, turned around, spewing curses. Everyone wore an expression of controlled pity, apart from myself. My eyes widened, my mouth dropping open.
Jack had gotten wasted before a fight—then had let someone kick the shit out of him. He was a more experienced fighter than the Russian. Even buzzed, he probably had the upper hand. So why?
We were on a main street now, people rushing by. A few pedestrians glanced in our direction, alarmed, as Kieran and Eoghan loaded Jack’s beaten body into the backseat. But they kept walking, whispering either to one another or into their cell phones at what they’d just witnessed.
“Jack’s been taking that Sweeney kid’s death hard,” Mick explained, gesturing for me to get in the passenger seat. “I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
I nodded, entering the vehicle. Eoghan and Kieran saluted us as the driver pulled away from the curb. When I turned to the backseat, Jack was leaning against the window with his eyes closed, head rocking back and forth.
“He decided to give himself a punishment for it tonight,” Mick continued, deadpan.
So, Jack had let the Russian knock him around because he felt he deserved it. Hence the laughing every time he took a hit. He liked it. If I wasn’t so worried, I’d be furious with him. Maybe that would come later, once Jack sobered.
“Didja see Em?” Jack mumbled, struggling to focus on Mick, who was sitting right next to him.
“Yeah,” Mick grunted.
Jack clearly had no idea I was in the car with them. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jack even knew he was in a car. Or on earth, for that matter. He had a silly grin on his blood-streaked face.
“She’s so goddamn pretty,” he slurred, closing his eyes. Was he dreaming? Or hallucinating? “We’re gonna make beautiful babies someday…”
“Ye sure are, Jackie Boy,” Mick agreed, wearing a grim expression I was sure matched my own.
“I love her so much.” Jack moaned. It was a matter of time before he passed out again. “She puts up with all m’shit.”
“That she does, Jackie Boy. That she does.”
When hot liquid fell from my chin and onto my shoulder, I realized I was crying. “He’s losing it, isn’t he?”
Jack gave into his exhaustion, or intoxication. His head lolled once before nestling against the backseat. This was a turning point. I could feel it in the air. Jack had lost control tonight, and I didn’t know if he was going to get it back. The city blurred past us, the noise drowned out by the malignant energy in the car.
The driver didn’t exist in that moment and, with Jack dead to the world, I felt closer to Mick than I ever had before. We’d spent countless hours at the gym together, but tonight had bonded us. Mick, someone who’d known his boss since childhood, had turned to me for help. Even though I hated seeing Jack in pain, my presence was useful. I’d found a place I belonged—by Jack’s side, through thick and thin. I was his sedative, capable of snapping him out of the dark.
Mick glanced at Jack, grimacing. “Frank really fucked his son up.”
He was referencing Jack’s past—something no one had ever done during the course of our relationship. Maybe I’d have the chance at last to ask the questions that were burning a hole in my head.
“He abused them, didn’t he? All of the boys.”
“Yeah, but Jack got it the worst. Always showed up to class with a black eye or a sprained wrist. And those were just the visible wounds.”
My fury catapulted at his words, but I reined it in. This was a rare moment. I didn’t know when or if I’d get another opportunity like it. “Jack got it the worst,” I repeated. “Because he looks the most like Frank. And Frank hates himself.”
“Aye,” Mick confirmed.
“So, Jack wanted punishment for that kid’s death, right? He wanted a beating for it?”
“Aye.”
The pieces were falling into place. Jack had been abused as a child. He’d escaped, but trauma lines were hard to break. As a result, whenever Jack felt he’d done something irreparably wrong, he sought physical punishment to pay for it. He thought that was the way to redeem himself.
“Does no one see how completely fucked that is?” My voice wobbled around the lump in my throat. I felt Jack’s pain like it was my own. If I could carry the burden for him, I would do so in a heartbeat.
“We all do, lass.” Mick scrubbed a hand over his tired face, the bristles of his red beard scratching. “But it’s not our place to make him acknowledge his demons.”
