Everyone who knows my brother thinks he has no sense of humor.
But that’s only because he has no fucking sense of humor.
“He’s been grooming me my entire goddamn life,” he grumbles.
“Cheer up,” I tell him, giving him a soft punch in the shoulder. “The job comes with perks. Perks that you’re clearly not taking advantage of.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we could have driven to this little shithole, for starters,” I suggest. “In the Ferrari or the Mustang. Why the fuck are we walking?”
“I like walking,” Sean replies simply.
Jesus.
I love my brother, of course. But he never relaxes. Never just enjoys shit. It’s always doom and gloom and responsibility.
Big fuckin’ bore, sometimes.
“What’s there to see?” I ask, looking around. “This place is a dump.”
I’m dead-on about that much, at least.
There’s cracked pavement under my feet and neglected houses dotting this forgotten little cul-de-sac at the very outskirts of the city. Overgrown weeds choking out the sidewalk. Trash bins full to bursting or tipped over and spilling garbage everywhere.
“What do you expect?” Sean asks. “Padraig Connelly’s a bum and a drunk.”
“Ah, so that’s it then. I was wondering why we were making this little run in the middle of the fucking night. When we should be sleeping. Or drinking. Or at least having a goddamn snack.”
“Can you stop thinking about food for two fucking seconds?”
“Hey, you promised me a road trip,” I say accusingly. “Snacks are part of the deal there.”
I have to try really hard to hide my smile. I can already sense that I’m pushing Sean to his breaking point.
Of course, Sean’s breaking point just means he shuts down and stops talking.
And where’s the fun in that?
“I promised you no such thing.” He sounds affronted by the very idea.
I turn my laugh into a last-minute cough. “I distinctly remember. You barged into my room and said, ‘Oi, bro, you up for a fun road trip?’ To which I replied, ‘Dinner first.’”
“I have never once referred to you as ‘bro’ in my entire fucking life.”
This time, I can’t stop the laugh that escapes through my teeth. “For fuck’s sake, do I gotta beg?”
He ignores that. “I believe what I said when I walked into your room this evening was, ‘Get dressed and come with me; we’ve got a job to do.’”
“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to,” I tell him with a wide grin. “Which brings me back to my original point: you should have brought snacks.”
“You scarfed down a full Irish,” Sean reminds me.
“Fiona screwed me out of the black pudding. You got a bigger serving than I did.”
I duck just before Sean’s fist makes contact with my arm. He’s always thrown a mean punch, but I’ve always been faster.
I waggle my eyebrows at him in a taunt. “Better luck next time, bro.”