by Shen, L. J.
“And I wish he’d finished the job, Flower Girl, so I could finally go ahead and marry someone in my own league. You were a mistake. A foolish, horny mistake. Divorce couldn’t come fast enough.”
I felt, rather than saw her take a step back. That was when I realized I’d closed my eyes like a pathetic moron, inhaling her.
With her head tilted up and her spine stiff, she pulled a stack of papers from her bag and slammed it against my chest.
“In that case, congratulations. You’ve worked really hard to show me Andrew turned you into a heartless monster. Consider yourself free from this marriage. Here’s your parting gift from me. A Child Protective Service report deeming Andrew a dangerous, unfit father. Thought it might be of interest to you, since he’s lost custody of his children, and will be losing his job next.”
She took a ragged breath that shook her entire tiny body.
“I love you, Cillian Fitzpatrick. I’ve always loved you. From the moment we first met at the charity ball when I spotted you across the room. You were a god among mortals. Vital yet dead. And when you looked at me—when you looked past me—I saw my whole future in your eyes. I knew you were rich, and handsome, and powerful. Yet the only thing I truly ever wanted from you, Kill, was you. To peel off the layers, shed them with my fingernails, and have you, and love you, and save you. I thought I could change you. And I tried. I really did. But I cannot change someone who doesn’t want to change. I love you, but I love me, too. And I deserve more than you’ve given me. More than you are willing to part ways with. So I’m saving you this one time, for all the times you saved me, and saying goodbye.”
She rose to her tiptoes and pressed a cold, impersonal kiss on my lips, her eyelashes brushing against my nose.
“We’ve always been so bad at respecting each other’s boundaries. We broke our contract again and again and again. If you have a shred of sympathy for me in that cold heart of yours, don’t contact me anymore. No matter what happens, no matter how much you want to tell me something, leave me alone. I need time to digest, to lick my wounds, to move on. Don’t show up at my sister’s house, or at my workplace, or anywhere I might be. Let me get over you. My heart can’t take another blow.”
She turned around and walked away.
Leaving me to stand with my get-out-of-jail monopoly card, the perfect evidence against Andrew Arrowsmith, and my heart in my throat.
It beat, loud and fast.
Alive.
Angry.
And full of emotions.
Rather than extinguishing the five hundred fires wreaking havoc in my life, I opted to take the car, drive to the closest liquor store, stock up on the cheapest, most punishing brand of vodka—the type certain to give me a hangover from hell—and drive to the ranch.
I got drunk with my horses (I did all the drinking; they were there to watch me through the half doors of their stalls), with my phone turned off. Flower Girl was finally done with me. Mission accomplished. Now when I had Andrew’s downfall in my back pocket, when I knew he’d drop the lawsuit thanks to her, all I wanted to do was go down in flames right along with him.
I took a swig from the vodka, slouching against the wall in the barn, surrounded by horse shit.
I closed my eyes. A snippet of a few weeks ago played behind my eyelids.
Of Persephone pulling me to the laundry room—I had no idea where that room was, exactly, before that moment—hopping on a working washing machine, spreading her thighs for me, and moaning my name as I fucked her hard.
I opened my eyes, rubbing at them. It was dark outside. I must’ve passed out a few hours ago and blacked out.
Excellent. A few more months of this, and I should be good to go back into my previous state of numbness.
Yellow headlights shimmered from outside the open door of the barn. Tires crunched hay outside. Someone was coming.
I let go of the empty vodka bottle, watching as it rolled all the way to Hamilton’s stall. The asshole almost cost me a wife. Fucker.
The intruder killed the engine, flung the driver’s door open, and stepped out, the crisp sound of leaves under their boots grating on my nerves.
“Kill? Are you there?” Hunter’s baritone demanded. Since when did my brother turn into an authoritative, respectable figure?
“No,” I growled, knowing he was going to come in anyway.
He did just that, halting at the door to the barn with his hands on his hips.
“Sailor had the baby. I have a daughter.”
I expected to feel the relief of him not having a son, a true heir, someone to take over Royal Pipelines, but all I felt was emptiness. I knew normal people would be happy for their brother. I wasn’t normal.
“Congratulations,” I said monotonously. “Are the mother and daughter healthy?”
“Very.”
“Good. I opened a trust fund in your child’s honor. Three grand a month until college.”
“Thanks, but that’s not why I’m here.” He took a step inside, closing the door behind him. “Sam found out Andrew put Paxton Veitch on the plane back to Boston. That’s how he got here. Arrowsmith was obviously trying to stir shit.”
Paxton was no longer a threat.
He was probably never a threat.
The only person standing in my way to having Persephone Penrose was me, and I did a hell of a job at keeping us apart.
I unscrewed another bottle of vodka. My bladder was screaming at me to stop drinking, but my brain urged me to keep going until the blissful numbness was restored.
“I know,” I drawled. “I got it out of Paxton myself. Apparently, I’m the only son of a bitch around qualified to get shit done.”
“Doubt it.” Hunter sighed.
“Why?”
“Because you’re currently trying to loosen the bottom of a liquor bottle.”
My brother grabbed the vodka from my hand, turning it upside down. I took the opportunity to wobble to my feet. I turned around and took a piss. Strictly speaking, pissing in my horse stable was vandalizing my own property. Then again, punishing myself seemed like a good idea.
I turned back around. Ceann beag handed me the bottle silently. I glared at him. At all six versions of him.
“I took care of the Arrowsmith problem,” I said blandly. “Well, my wife did.”
“That’s not why I’m here, either.”
“Why are you here?” I squinted. “Go be with your family.”
Hunter had a family of his own. A real family, shaped and molded by him and his wife. His wasn’t rotten from the inside, built on the ruins of social standing, old money, and greed.
“I am with my family.” He grabbed the bottle in my hand, throwing it aside with a frown. “With the family who needs me right now. And I’d very much like to go back to the one I’ve just created, so would you tell me what the fuck is going on with you?”
I zigzagged to the door, flung it open, and stepped out of the barn. Hunter grunted, following me. It wasn’t lost on me that the tables had turned. I was the shitshow brother now, and he was the responsible family man.
“She saved my ass,” I said as my brother tracked me down the dirt path back to the main cabin. “Tutoring that asshole’s kids. Digging up dirt on him. She did it for me. All this time, I thought she was just getting back at me for being cruel to her.”
“You cursed,” he noted.
No fucking shit, Sherlock.
And it felt too good to fucking stop, dammit.
Since Tourette’s syndrome was known as “that cursing disorder,” I’d made it a point to never utter a swear word. There was no better way to distance myself from the stigma. But profanity was never my problem. I’d never cursed during my attacks.
At that moment, though, I had an acute case of not giving a fuck.
Not giving a fuck if people found out.
Not giving a fuck if cursing wasn’t proper or well-mannered.
Not noble enough for the heir of Royal Pipelines.
“Per
sy’s in love with you,” he grumbled, still following me.
“She’s in love with the idea of me.” Many women were. “What it comes down to is this, ceann beag. She is, and always will be, a woman I’d bought like a sack of potatoes. She came with a price tag, like all the women before her. And if you can buy it, you can replace it. I’ll find someone else. And Persephone? She’ll marry again, too.”
Hunter stopped. I soldiered on, past the cabin, toward my car. I needed to get over this little self-pity party, drive back to the office, and start putting things in motion.
Suddenly, I felt something heavy and damp plastered to my back. I turned around. My brother had thrown manure on me.
“What the f—”
“You asswipe!” He crouched down, grabbing another ball of manure in the dark. I’d never fought with my younger brother. And we’d definitely never been physical. There was nothing brotherly about us, other than the title.
He knew it.
I knew it.
Hunter aimed—and caught—my shoulder.
“Stop it,” I growled, narrowing my eyes at him.
He ignored me, kneeling to grab more manure. A childish zing of vengeance sparked inside me. I lowered myself to grab as much manure as I could find.
“She was never in love with your persona, assface.” Hunter swung his arm backward, like a baseball player, and caught me in the chest. I aimed my ball of shit to his face, striking a good portion of his neck and chin.
Now we were both in deep shit. Literally.
“Stalin had a more loveable character, you moron. She was always stupidly—and may I add unreasonably—in love with your ass!”
He threw another ball at me.
I threw one back at him.
“She owed a lot of money,” I yelled back. “I paid her debt. That’s why she married me.”
“I know!” Hunter laughed hysterically, deserting the manure and pouncing on me. He shoved me to the ground, twisting the lapels of my blazer as he pinned me down. “I know, because after the night Persy came to accept your offer in the blizzard, I knocked on her door. I knew I had to make it right. Not for her, or for you, but for my wife. I didn’t want anything to upset Sailor so early in the pregnancy. Persy told me about her debt. I offered to pay it in full and wrote a check right in front of her.”
I blinked at him, confused and disappointed with myself for wanting to hear the rest, blood thundering through my head.
“You wrote a check?” I growled. “Doesn’t your generation Venmo?”
He lowered his head to mine, his eyes burning with rage. “She tore the bitch up in front of my face and told me she was marrying your sorry ass. She wanted to marry you! Stipulations and assholery included. Now my question is this—how did you manage to lose her? How did you let the only girl you’ve ever loved just…go?”
“I don’t—”
“Of course you do!” He smashed my head against the dirt. I twisted, grabbing him by the shirt and rolling him over, switching our positions so I was on top of him now.
“You fool, anyone with a pair of working eyes could see you’re crazy about her. You couldn’t look Persephone in the eye like a six-year-old for as long as you’ve known her. You couldn’t bring yourself to attend her goddamn wedding. You’ve had it bad for her from the moment you saw her. You let her go because of your stupid insecurities. Because you are so convinced you’re Hades, doomed, dark, and unredeemable, you haven’t even bothered to read the myth all the way.”
He reached to wrap his fingers around my throat, pressing, draining the oxygen out of me.
“Persephone!” He clasped harder.
“Loved!” He shook me by the neck.
“Hades!”
“I don’t l-l-l-love her.” I heaved, plummeting into his face with my fists. Stuttering. Losing it.
Hunter smiled through the pain.
“Say it louder,” he whispered.
“I don’t lo-lo-lo dammit! Love her!” I punched him again. This time his jawline.
“Louder.”
“Are you an idiot?” I didn’t know why I asked this question. I was already well aware my brother possessed the intelligence of a turkey. A cum-stuffed one, for that matter. “I don’t love my wife.”
He punched me back, laughing. We rolled on the ground, hitting each other, yanking hair, poking eyes, cursing, and grunting like two cavemen.
Like two brothers.
I kept saying I didn’t love her, and Hunter kept cackling as if that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
I didn’t know how much time had passed, but when we were done, we both looked and smelled like horse shit.
Panting and sweating, we were covered in mud and manure head-to-toe.
Hunter was the first to stand and stomp back to his car.
“Apologize,” I demanded to his retreating back. He waved me off.
“Siblings don’t apologize. They just start acting nice to each other. Now, you ain’t driving anywhere after polishing off a bottle of vodka. Get your ass in my car. I’m throwing you in the shower and taking you to see your niece.”
I opened my mouth to say something. Even though he couldn’t see me, he still raised his palm in warning.
“Save it, bro. I don’t care. And if you’re worried about seeing your estranged wife at the hospital, don’t. By the time we get there, she’ll be at work. You didn’t even ask what my daughter’s name was.” He threw the driver’s door to his Audi open.
“What is it?”
Please don’t let it be Grinder or Nature Valley.
The smile that broke on his face threatened to crack it in two.
“Rooney.”
I drove to Andrew Arrowsmith’s house as soon as I kissed my new niece, Rooney, hello.
She was a pink ball with a head full of red hair just like her mother and blue eyes like her father. The lungs, she probably got from Michael Phelps. The kid could blow off the roof with her screams.
All in all, Rooney was one of the cutest babies I’d laid eyes on and a welcome addition to the family.
I’d appreciated how Sailor refrained from pointing out that I was a complete and utter piece of human garbage for what I did to her best friend. She accepted my congratulations with a lukewarm smile even though it was obvious I was responsible for the fact her husband had arrived back in her hospital room beaten up to a pulp and sporting two shiners.
A few hours later, I caught Andrew wobbling from his front door to a U-Haul truck with a cardboard box tucked under his arm. The dirty sweatpants and disheveled hair were a far cry from his usual pretty boy attire.
Parking behind the U-Haul and blocking his way, I slid out of my Aston Martin, my sunglasses and fresh suit hiding my less than pristine condition.
“Moving so fast, Arrowsmith? We haven’t even had a chance to have brunch.”
He dumped the cardboard box at his feet, groaning.
“I’m handing in my resignation tomorrow. I took some time off to move out, as you can see.” He motioned for the truck, implying that I was delaying his progress.
“Doesn’t work for me, I’m afraid,” I tsked, scanning the half-full truck. “You’ll hand in your resignation by the end of the workday and drop the lawsuit by three o’clock. If not, I will sue you for every single penny I’ve spent in legal fees since this bullshit started.”
His jaw dropped.
Yes, I cursed.
No, I wasn’t afraid for the truth coming out anymore.
I’d already lost the most valuable thing I had—my wife—and anyone else’s opinion of me didn’t matter. Least of all his.
“Why?” he asked, rearing his head back to squint at me. “Why would I do things your way? All your nasty wife has on me is a bad report from a social worker.”
The speed in which I pinned him to the truck by the throat made him gasp.
“Your mouth is not worthy of referring to my wife, let alone calling her nasty.”
Choking, he curled his finge
rs around my wrist, which was the width of his neck. Pissing me off was not his best idea this year. Unfortunately for him, he realized it a moment too late.
Andrew turned pink, then purple before I eased the pressure on his windpipe.
“As for your question—it is more than a report, and we both know it. You are abusing a child with a disorder. Your own child. And let’s not forget the battery charge for what you did to your wife. That’s not very charitable, now, is it, Andy?”
I’d read the report against Arrowsmith all night, over and over again, resisting the urge to pick up the phone and beg Persephone for forgiveness. She did a thorough job handing me my enemy on a silver platter.
Andrew sagged, taking a ragged breath.
“I wasn’t…I didn’t…” He shook his head, turning his back to me, plastering his forehead to the truck and closing his eyes. “I love Tinder. I just didn’t know why me. Why did it happen to my child? How was it fair that I had to raise a child as screwed up as the man I hated the most—”
Me.
“My only sin was being the son of the man who hurt your family.”
He turned back to me.
“Well, hating him was futile, wasn’t it? He had a good reason to do what he did to my dad. Plus, it wasn’t like I had any access to him. You represented the Fitzpatricks. You were the person I’d seen day in and day out. I felt betrayed and played. Our paths, that had always been parallel, were now forking in different directions. I felt deprived. Robbed of opportunity and prospects and a future I deserved.”
He took a sharp breath, tilting his head skywards.
“I used to toss and turn in bed hoping the Fitzpatricks would adopt me.” There was a pause. “My wish—my fantasy—was to be you. And when I found out you were less than golden, less than mo òrga, I used it to my advantage.”
I looked away, cracking my knuckles. I was experiencing an array of negative emotions toward Arrowsmith, from resentment to pity.
I was feeling again, whether I wanted to or not.
“You and I, we were in the business of pain. But with Tinder…” Andrew scrubbed his face. “I never realized I was hurting him. I thought I was helping him. Your wife said she will make this go away if I attend therapy three times a week and live in a different house. I gave Joelle full custody yesterday morning. I can only see my own children while supervised now.”