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“A-ha!” My father’s fist comes down on the table, rattling the silverware. “So, youdolike her.”
“Hypothetically.” I send him a dirty look, irritation at his excitement lacing my veins. As if he doesn’t know better than anyone why I keep people at bay.
“Sweetie.” My mother smiles with the working side of her mouth, a broken gesture that looks so at home next to the shell of my father and the eerie mansion behind them. Like a Victorian painting, a ghost in the making. “If you like this girl, you need to tell her. She could be yourperson.”
I groan. “Mom, please don’t start in with that soul mate bullshit.”
“Why not?” She shrugs her bony shoulders, dropping her hand from my father’s. “You can’t honestly believe that the universe drops people on this planet and leaves them to lead their livesalone, do you? That it doesn’t want you to be happy?”
I sincerely doubt the universe thinks I even deserve to be happy at this point, but I don’t mention that. Fiona glances at Boyd from the corner of her eye, but he doesn’t seem to notice, doesn’t seem able to pull himself from whatever miserable vortex he’s been sucked into. ButIsee it, and make a mental note to ask her about it later. “It’s awfully hokey.”
“Newton's Third Law states that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.” My father joins in, somehow trying to combine logic with his wife’s superstitions.
“Living is the action, Kieran.” She raises her eyebrows, sweeping her hand around in a circle. “For those whose very existence revolves around simplybeing, there is another out there doing that exact same thing. Filling in the gaps and empty spaces with the bits you didn’t think you needed. It’s up tousto find them, to want them in our lives. Maybe this girl isit. Maybe she’s exactly what you’re missing.”
Tears well in Fiona’s eyes, but she blinks them away and buries her face in her burrito, the air settling around us heavier than it’s ever been. Guilt rains down on me for ruining a perfectly cozy evening, as an awkward silence descends upon us, a thick blanket stalling any further conversation.
My mother sighs, dropping her head to my father’s shoulder and abandoning her food. This is about the time she usually quits, unable to finish more than a fourth of her food since starting a new round of Parkinson’s medication. Her cheeks have hollowed out, a yellow tinge staining her pearly skin, and her collarbones seem to jut out obscenely.
Still, she continues on as if nothing has changed over the past few weeks. As if she’s not slowly deteriorating in front of us, threatening to join a son in the afterlife she doesn’t even know is waiting for her.
A son she’s expected me to visit daily since his death, but that I haven’t been back to in weeks.
And I can feel a difference, can feel his weight crushing the air around me, penetrating the pinnacle of my being, shaming me for not apologizing. For doing what I needed to.
For keeping his skeleton as a reminder of my guilt, of the souls I couldn’t steal back and return. The lives he ruined.
For not protectinghim. Then or now.
For making my mother believe I’m at all worthy of someone’s love, much less her own, when nothing but violence and retribution have a home in my heart.
I clear my throat, shifting in my chair as my phone vibrates in my pocket. Slipping it out but keeping it tucked beneath the table, I scan the message lighting up the screen and smother the grin tugging at my lips.
As if on cue, a full-body reflection of Juliet’s perfect, naked body fills my inbox, sending a naughty jolt of electricity straight to my cock. An ellipsis pops up, indicating her incoming message.
Juliet: Changing out my piercings. What do you think?
Zooming in on the picture, I squint at her perky tits, a groan catching in my throat as I study the jewels; tiny, bedazzled hearts with devil’s horns sit square in the middle of both nipples, making her look even more sinfully delicious than usual. The ruby red stones shine against her skin, highlighting the soft swell of her breasts and making my dick pulse the longer I stare.
Me: I think u should’ve asked before changing them.
Juliet: You don’t like?
I run my teeth over my bottom lip as conversation resumes around me, Boyd asking my father about physical therapy and my mother asking Boyd how he’s settling in at Ivers International, as if he hasn’t been there two years already.
Me: I love them. Maybe 2 much.
Me: Any significance in the pendants?
Juliet: Just that I have a thing for the devil.
My fingers flex over the touch keyboard, considering my next words carefully.
Me: Be naked and ready for me tonight.
She sends another winking emoji, and it’s what I focus on the rest of the evening, letting her flirtiness ground me even as I meet Elia at the cemetery and prepare myself for a long ass night.
His bald henchman pulls a bound, hooded figure from the back seat of his town car and drags him over to Murphy’s grave—somehow, despite the fact that I’ve not been back since that night I discovered the vandalism, it seems to have remained otherwise untouched. But I don’t assume my brother’s men have forgotten about me. Just that they’re lying in the shadows, biding their time, waiting for a chance to pounce and destroy me.
