Page 16 of Goldilocks
“Different forms for different things. I mean, a form that has two kids scared of their dad makes me think—”
“Tortured Eric, did he?” Sam interrupted softly. “Made him go out on the fishing boat, and what? Inflicted his occupation on him?”
Ivan raised both hands, palms facing out. “Look, I’m just—”
“How about next time you stay out of my house?” Sam suggested. His dad wasn’t a bad person. He used to tell Sam all sorts of stories and smile at him and encourage him no matter how bad a day either of them had. And the entire world seemed to hate the man for being a fisherman. “I’m not scared of my dad.” He turned on Eric. “Me not wanting some random guy going into the house to screw with his head when he’s already sick doesn’t mean I’mscaredof him.”
“I didn’t mean—” Ivan tried to speak again.
“I’m not stupid,” Sam said, venom working its way into his voice. “Your meaning was perfectly clear. Where are my keys?”
“Hanging up by the door,” Eric told him, voice low. Muted.
Sam brushed past Eric to the front door, grabbing his keys from a hook and stuffing them into his pocket. He found his runners neatly set next to the entrance and paused long enough to tug them on.
Ivan followed him out of the apartment, practically tripping over Sam’s heels. “Can we talk for a few minutes? I’m sorry, I’ve clearly just majorly overstepped.” Concrete steps overgrown with ivy and green moss led the way down to a tiny parking lot squeezed in behind the businesses. Only a single set of footsteps followed Sam, rustling ivy and squelching moss. Eric must have remained upstairs. Probably up there frozen in anxiety. Sam scowled. Why pull the timid act at all if he was going to throw around this bullshit about Oisín?
“I’m good on talking,” Sam replied.
“Sam, please.”
Sam’s car was parked out the back, and as he slid his key into the door, Ivan leaned on it, physically blocking his path. “Please don’t write Eric off. He’s got a glass heart, and he’s been super nervous about seeing you again and getting along, and—”
“And he enjoys talking shit about my dad?” Sam finished. “Move.” Ivan had gotten ideas about Oisín from someone; Eric was the obvious source.
Ivan’s expression hardened. “Eric doesn’t ‘talk shit’about anyone, alright? He’s not that kind of guy. He’s gentle and soft and cares a whole lot about pretty much everyone he meets.Iput a few things together based on some behaviours. Eric has never said a word about anything.”
He had. He must have for Ivan to throw out that kind of assumption.
“Eric’s gentle?”
“He’s extremely gentle, and—”
“I bet when you went inside that Oisíntold you about the birds that live in the apple trees outside the kitchen window. How bold the robins are and how fat the wrens have gotten this spring.” Sam stared Ivan down. “If Eric’s gentle, it’s because he got it from my dad. Now, you mind getting out of my way?”
“Can you come back up? I’ll leave. You and Eric can talk.”
“I’ll pass. Now, do you mind?” Sam indicated his blocked driver’s door.
Ivan’s expression was one of frustration. Gone was that cloying smile, the mirth and the ease.Finally, Sam thought,his eyes match what the rest of his face is saying.
“Please don’t treat Eric badly over this,” Ivan said. And even though he clearly didn’t want to, he moved out of Sam’s way.
Chapter Six
The short drive to the pier from the village gave Sam time to cool his temper. Calm his nerves.
Sam replayed the words shared in the apartment and quelled the unhappiness at his own reaction. Did he feel like he’d just kicked a puppy? Somewhat. Eric’s expression had Sam suspecting his older brother was going to cry when he left, and despite everything, that thought weighed heavily on his mind. But at the same time, it wasn’t fair of them to expect Sam to sit there as they talked crap about his dad.
Sam parked in his usual spot by Archie’s workshop and climbed out of the car, snagging the bag of paints Eric had gifted him. The sky had faded to a clear twilight blue, cloudless, with the stars beginning to emerge high above. Without a breeze, the ocean was as calm as it ever got, hardly even the smallest wave disturbing the flat surface. Sam had to paint it. The Atlantic rarely showed off its tame side.
The pier was deserted as Sam drew near, the walkway clear, with the only sign of life far off in the distance at Sally’s bar.
A bark of laughter drew Sam to a stop. His boat was at the very end of the pier, and next to it were two mermen that Sam had seen regularly over the past few months, though he wasn’t as familiar with them as he was with Devil. Thanks to Laurence, he knew their names. Bee, with his copper scales and dark-brown hair, and Dew, with his pale blue tail and light-brown hair, circled in the water, splashing and loud. A teenager stood at the end of the dock, watching. Sam stumbled. What the hell? Were they not even hiding themselves anymore?
“Ugly, ugly, ugly,” Bee chanted, swimming in circles.
“I’m not ugly!” the teenager snapped.