“Gruesome,” Róisín drawls, shooting the eldest girl brat a dismissive glance as she does something weird to a cotton pad that has bubbles forming on it. “I know I didn’t need to hear that, so I’m sure Belle would prefer you shut your trap too.”
Belle bows her head and, in a whisper, says, “It’s funny. I always felt like I ruined everything. That before I came along, his marriage to my mom was perfect, but I know that was a lie. Mom was scared of him for as long as I can remember. He was the snake who poisoned everything, not me…”
“Of course it wasn’t you, baby. I think we need to get you upstairs so you can rest up.” I shoot Ma a look. “Do you need anything?”
She shakes her head and grimaces. “Your sisters have been clucking around me like I’m a cockerel on the loose in their hen house—”
“Ew,” Neev groans. “That’s gross imagery, Ma.”
I figure Ma knows that though. She looks pleased with herself.
If she’s well enough to make lewd jokes, then I know she’ll be fine.
“If you need me,” I tell my sisters, “I’ll be upstairs.”
“Is your brother out in the hall?”
“He’s dealing with the cleanup.” I clear my throat. “Where aretheyright now?”
Belle’s fingers tighten some more as she lets me know that she’s not as out of it as I first thought. “Patricia said they were in the meat freezer.”
“Just until the streets get quieter,” Ma demurs.
I figured as much, but seeing Belle’s reaction, I doubt she’s as comfortable as I am with a corpse sharing space with the chicken for Sunday dinner.
With each passing moment, I can feel her fragility deepening. At first, I thought resting would help, but because I know about her dependency issues, I don’t want to make this worse, so I decide to give her a Frasier special—overwhelm her with family.
Instead of taking her to my apartment, I pick her up, ignoring her yelp of surprise, then settle her on my knee. Immediately, she burrows her face into my throat while Ma leans against my side.
I raise my arm so I can curve it about her shoulders too, and Ma whispers, soft enough so only I can hear, “Good judgment call, son. I knew that time I dropped you on the head as a baby didn’t cause too much lasting damage.”
“Thanks, Ma,” I drawl with a snort.
She smiles but it cracks some as she tilts her head to stare at Belle. She doesn’t think there’s any risk of her overhearing because she whispers, “Belle needs family. If you can’t give that to her, then you need to let her go.”
Her words linger in my head as Belle starts crying. It has nothing to do with what Ma said and everything to do with the shock wearing off.
When her slim frame trembles in my hold, I know the only way I can help is to ground her and keep her from going off the rails.
From her current perfume—eau de whiskey—I already know she’s three sheets to the wind, so when Kitty wanders over, a mug of hot cocoa in her hand and a cookie, I murmur, “Baby, Kitty’s got something for you. It’ll help sober you up.”
When she doesn’t move away from my throat, I grab the cookie and press it against her fingers. She sniffles, stays right where she is, but raises the cookie to her lips and starts chewing.
I don’t even care that tiny crumbs fall down my collar—it must be fucking love.
Watching us, Kitty grins then pinches her thumb and pointer finger into an “O” shape. She prods the air at Belle then gives me a thumbs-up.
Róisín coughs, also gives me a thumbs-up, and Neev, who’s watching me from afar, does too.
Why they think I need their approval is anyone’s guess.
The bitch of it is, I don’t have any say in whether Belle becomes a part of the family or not—that’s down to her and whether she can forgive me my sins. Whether she’s willing to move to New York. It’s not like the Irish Mob comes with an option for a sabbatical…
With my mind wandering, I let my sisters do their thing. They start bickering with Ma and eventually with Lucas, who shows up stinking of bleach.
They talk about inappropriate shit and Neev’s upcoming hair appointment.
Róisín complains about her boss at the bar where she works who keeps peering down her shirt. Lucas and I share a pointed look that communicates how the boss will be regretting his inability to keep his eyeballs under control.