Page 17

Eric wore the same outfit as the first night Sam met him, and he wondered if that was because he cycled through the same set of clothes every other day or because he’d run out of packed clothes for his trip. They sat tucked away in the back corner of the half-empty pub. It was a Wednesday night, so there weren’t many people.

Eric twirled his spoon around in his soup, waiting for it to cool. “What do you like talking about?”

Sam needed some serious self-reflection if Eric was too afraid to even try to strike up a conversation. But as he considered the question, he drew an odd blank. He talked birds with his dad. Mermen with Connor and Laurence. Fought with Mary about responsibilities. Catches with the other fishermen. A bit of everything with Goldilocks. Why was it such a struggle to find any common ground with Eric? Subconsciously, Sam had been avoiding him. Avoiding really considering him and what he meant. “It depends who I’m talking to, I guess,” Sam said, voicing the honest answer after consideration. “What do you like to do in your spare time? When you’re not working?”

“I’ve gone paint-balling with Ivan a good few times. And he’s a sucker for country music, so we spend a bit of time travelling to music festivals around Ireland. He’s even dragged me to dancing classes with him before.” Eric winced. “Which are fine . Not my favourite. But he loves it, so it’s worth getting over myself for a few hours.”

Sam would probably hate the dancing as much as Eric seemed to. He had always been physically capable, courtesy of working on the boat from a young age, but the kind of exposure that being on a dance floor brought didn’t appeal. He’d rather sit back and watch. Listen and observe. He’d probably only give in to a request from Mary to keep her happy. And Eric would do it for Ivan.

“Sounds fun.”

Eric cast a wary look at Sam, reading something in his tone that Sam hadn’t meant to convey. “He didn’t mean to upset you the other night.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I do.” Ivan was fishing because Eric had issues about their dad. But whatever the issues, violence and neglect had never been part of it. For a moment, Sam was annoyed with Eric. He should have made that clear to Ivan, but then he thought about Eric’s reaction to the boat the other day. That had been fear, plain and simple. Oddly, within the flash of annoyance was a moment of understanding. Sam realised he could forgive the accusation. Ivan was sharp enough to see that Eric’s fear was genuine. “I’m used to people being dicks to our dad, so I’m sensitive about it.” He seemed to be sensitive about everything Eric wanted to talk about. A body weaving through the tables caught Sam’s attention; Laurence’s white cook uniform shone brightly as he approached them.

Sam hadn’t even said anything to Laurence about using him as a shield; Laurence was quite happy to invite himself over in every single break of service to sit and chat with them. And unlike Sam, who struggled to think of what to talk about with Eric, Laurence didn’t seem to have any issues striking up conversations. He talked about tattoos: What was his first one? What did it feel like? Who did it? He asked about Ivan’s business. Other co-workers. And Eric talked back so easily. He wasn’t all smiles – Sam had observed enough to realise that wasn’t a sign of unhappiness, but part of his personality. But he relaxed and played ball with Laurence and even grinned at times.

“You still getting that tattoo?” Sam asked as he came and sat with them again. Laurence even had a drink left on their table.

Laurence’s nose scrunched up. “Connor bribed me not to,” he admitted.

It was Sam’s turn to grin. “Let me guess. A trip?”

Laurence leaned over, butting his head against Sam’s shoulder as he loosed an exaggerated groan. “A trip,” he agreed with a grumble. “And language lessons.”

“He found you a teacher?” Adonis definitely wouldn’t have the patience for that. Sam wondered if Goldilocks would give him lessons if he asked? Vi mentioned that he was the one who taught her English, though Sam struggled to picture his hissing, growling merman giving lessons on pronunciation.

“He’s going to teach me.”

Sam’s glass went still halfway to his mouth. “ He will?”

“He can…” Laurence straightened up and peeked up at Sam. “He can speak it. Did you not know that? He just can. Didn’t have to learn. I think it’s a thing they can just do, you know? Because the rest picked up English in days, and I’m not saying they’re not smart, but they’re definitely not that smart.”

That would make some sense. In a weird, nonsensical way. Goldilocks could understand English, though Sam didn’t think that there had been enough time for him to have learned it no problem. It was hard to imagine schools set up in the ocean to teach them the language.

Sam tried to recall if Connor mentioned being good at languages, but nothing came to mind. But as his thoughts drifted to Connor, he recalled Vi and Yven looking at the drawing of Connor. The immediate, pointed interest. The ‘this is him?’

“Connor’s never been to the settlement, right?” Sam checked with Laurence.

Laurence shook his head. “He refuses. Says it’s just people, so he doesn’t care about it. All he wants to do is hang out on the ocean all the time.”

Sam grinned at Laurence’s peeved tone. “That’s kind of Connor’s thing.” Months ago Connor had gone through The Tear to ‘explore’. Sam knew that meant he was either reading in the nest Adonis had built for him, or sailing along the coast, staying well away from land and instead checking out reefs and new aquatic life. Sam suspected the reason Connor’s trips never lasted more than a few weeks at a time was the bundle of excited energy sitting next to him.

“I know, but…” Laurence threw up his arms dramatically. “Nobody else wants to explore! I don’t get it.”

Sam did. “Because it’s scary.”

“It’s cool .”

“Where is this?” Eric asked.

Sam looked at Eric in surprise, and Laurence mirrored him. Sam had kind of forgotten he was sitting there. Laurence cast a questioning look at Sam, and that look surprised Sam further. Sam understood Laurence’s silent question of ‘ Are you going to tell him? ’

As if Sam could . As if it wasn’t some big secret that…Sam frowned. Actually. Whose secret was it? His mind said the secret belonged to Connor, and Connor could tell people if he liked and the rest of them should keep it to themselves. But that didn’t make much sense. It was a tear in the sky. It was, at the very least, a mile long. Even with mist and clouds obscuring it, someone, at some point, was going to see it and snap a picture. And even if it wasn’t believed at first, people would come to check it out. If not for the roiling seas that prevented anything but mermen from safely passing through, Sam was certain the secret would be out in the wide world already.

“It’s a place out on the water,” Sam said, realising that both Eric and Laurence were waiting for him to speak. “Not sure it’s your thing.”

“You said ‘settlement’,” Eric pointed out.

“Did I?”

Eric’s brow creased. “Am I an uncool older brother or something?” He directed the question between the two of them. “I’m not allowed to know the fun things?”

“You’re super cool,” Laurence answered immediately. “But Sam’s right. It’s on the water. If you don’t like the ocean, you won’t like this.”

“I can like the ocean,” Eric said. Stiff and unconvincing.

Sam rolled his eyes. “If you ever tell me that in a believable way, I’ll show you.”

“Laurence, darling,” Sally called.

Laurence leapt to his feet. “Be right back.”

Sam watched Laurence trot away, and when his attention returned to Eric, he found him frowning into his soup, muttering about how he wasn’t uncool under his breath. Sam ducked his head, trying not to smile. Eric used to sit Sam on his lap when they’d paint together, asking. “I’m the best, right?” Yes. “I’m the best brother ever, right?” Yes. “You love me, right?” Yes. “I love you too. Do you want juice? I’ll get you juice.”

Sam’s smile faded. He lowered his spoon as his stomach turned. Pain and pressure building suddenly behind his eyes.

Eric’s hand covered Sam’s on the table. “You just went pale. Are you okay?”

“Headache,” was all Sam could manage.

“Ivan is just outside. I can grab him. Hang on.”

Sam caught Eric’s wrist as he rose, squeezing so hard his fingers whitened. “Sit.” He waited until Eric lowered himself into his seat before digging out the pill bottle Mary had given him. The pill bottle that she’d specially ordered from the States since he went through so many and you could only buy packs of twelve in Irish stores. Sam shook out three, his vision hazy as he swallowed them down with half his remaining pint of MiWadi. The blackcurrant flavour didn’t erase the bitter taste of the pills but instead mixed with it in a nauseating fusion.

Sam shut his eyes and willed the headache away. He kept his grip on Eric’s wrist, making him wait too.

“Sam.” Eric’s voice was strained.

“A few minutes to kick in,” Sam said through gritted teeth. The sounds of the pub buzzed around them. Every clink of glass, every scrape of cutlery against ceramic, every cough and laugh was torture on his nerves. They were by the window, but Sam wished now that they’d sat outside. It was warm enough, and Sam wouldn’t have minded if it did start to rain on them like the clouds threatened.

His breath sawed in and out from his lungs, louder than the room’s aggravating noises.

“Is Ivan your backup?” Sam asked, his eyes still shut. He kept his head tilted down to hide his condition from the rest of the room. “In case I’m mean?”

“I don’t need backup to talk to you. And you’re not mean.” Eric’s tone was thin. Pained. As if he was the one with the headache. “Are you sure you don’t want his painkillers? They’re much stronger.”

“They wiped me out last time.”

The pills were slow kicking in, but gradually, the pressure lessened. Sam opened his eyes, blinking slowly.

“You need to go to the doctor.” Eric’s voice was low and tortured. “This isn’t okay.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “The headaches have been getting worse.”

With twitching fingers, Sam released Eric’s wrist. He leaned back in his seat with a shaky exhale. Sweat dampened his shirt to his chest, and Sam raised his gaze to see Eric’s eyes wide and green.

Laurence came back to the table, reclaiming his seat with a smile. And with his presence, the conversation picked up again, easy and smooth.

Until Eric got all shifty, eyes not quite settling on Sam’s face, alerting him to the fact that an unwanted question was about to crop up. “Has everything been alright at college?” he asked tentatively.

Had Mary told Eric about those supposed emails?

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“That guy hasn’t given you any more trouble, has he?” Eric asked quickly. His eyes settled on Sam’s cheek.

“Oh.” Sam relaxed a bit. He wasn’t talking about schoolwork. “No. He’s not come near me.” Honestly, the punch felt like a world away now.

“You mean Gary?” Laurence asked. “Make sure you keep an eye on your car!”

Sam didn’t know what that was supposed to mean.

Laurence saw his confusion. “Nick texted you, didn’t he?”

“I’m not great at reading my texts,” Sam deflected as naturally as he could. Had Nick texted him? Sam must have swiped away the notification, and he didn’t make a habit of checking his messages…ever.

Laurence’s eyes brightened, and he leaned in. Sam got the impression he was glad to be the one getting to tell them about what Nick had supposedly texted. “Gary is the guy from college. The one who punched you. Nick said he used to be in the under fourteen’s county rugby team with him. Apparently, he was kicked off the team because of anger issues. Their old coach shouted at him during training, and that night Gary snuck onto his property and tried to sabotage his car. He jammed the exhaust with his jersey and poured gasoline into the engine.”

“Jesus,” Sam said. “Was the coach okay?”

“Yeah. He smelled the gasoline, so he didn’t even start the car in the morning,” Laurence continued. “And when the garage came out to check the car, they found the jersey with his name on it in the exhaust, so they knew straight away who it was. I guess Gary wasn’t the smartest thirteen-year-old…”

Anger issues certainly explained that unprovoked punch.

Sally’s boisterous laugh punched through the silence at the table. Sam looked over to see Fionn leaning against the bar, smiling along with her. Clearly, he’d been the one to make her laugh.

“Speaking of assholes,” Eric muttered, recognising him.

Laurence frowned at the remark. “What do you mean? Fionn?” He twisted, confirming who Eric was looking at.

“He’s friends with Gary,” Eric said. “He was the one giving Sam a hard time before Gary assaulted him.”

Laurence’s expression fell. “Fionn? Really? Are you sure that’s who? Fionn’s always super nice to me. He stops by Dad’s cafe every morning to get pastries, and he says he can tell when I baked because they’re extra tasty…and he always gets it right.” Laurence deflated, a look of disappointment firmly set on his features. “I’ll be mean to him from now on,” he vowed.

Sam huffed. “You don’t need to do that. He wasn’t the one who swung at me,” he said. Sam didn’t think Fionn even grasped, mentally, that what he was saying could be hurtful. He’d continued on the attention-seeking behaviour from his teenage years, eager for a reaction, and he’d seemed shocked when his words had triggered an eruption of violence.

Despite Sam’s reassurance, when Laurence left them, he went out of his way to serve someone next to Fionn and then pointedly turned his back when Fionn tried to talk to him. Sam repressed a groan. He didn’t want Laurence getting into trouble at work over this. But when Laurence came down to them again and Sam said so, Laurence reassured him he was on his side and not to worry about it.

It was late by the time they were checking out, and Sam chatted to Laurence by the exit as Eric argued with Sally as he tried to pay for their table.

Out the back at the outdoor bar, Sam glimpsed Fionn with his group of friends. He scanned them, and an uncomfortable feeling itched over his skin as he found Gary looking right at him with those black pits for eyes. Sam gazed back, irritated when Gary didn’t look away. Fionn, in the middle of laughing at something, turned and noticed them staring at each other. His nose scrunched up, and he elbowed his friend, saying a word that made the guy break eye contact with Sam.

“You know,” Laurence said, noticing the interaction, “I saw Gary talking to Austin the other day. And that’s even more weird since Austin doesn’t usually talk to anyone. He won’t even talk to Connor, even though he said he forgave him. I don’t forgive him. He hit Connor.”

Sam tensed. “What? Like, when they were dating?”

“After they broke up.” Laurence frowned. “But he’s just…He’s mean .”

Eric joined them with a scowl fixed in place.

“I told you she wouldn’t take your money,” Sam said, reading his expression. Sally had been too full of gushes about how big Eric had grown.

“Laurence, here, I’ll give you the money.”

Laurence hopped away. “Nope! Sam eats free, and the boss said you do too.”

Before Eric could run off in pursuit of Laurence, Sam caught his elbow and pulled him outside. “No point in wasting your time, they won’t take it. I’ve tried to pay them, but they always refuse.” He glanced around the front street, but he didn’t see any sign of Ivan. He started walking toward the far pier, and Eric quickly fell into step with him.

“It’s no way to run a business.” Eric scowled again. “I mean, I’m happy they give you stuff for free, but they should let me pay while I’m in town.”

It wasn’t that Sam got stuff for free; he made sure that anything extra he pulled up in the pots, he brought over for Sally to make use of. It was a trade with him; his pride wouldn’t allow him to accept freebies. Apparently, Eric had that same kernel of pride, probably planted in both of them by their dad. Oisín believed in fairness.

The cool ocean breeze washed over them as they walked along the wharf that ran parallel to the shore. Eric slowed to a stop, and Sam did too.

“I had something else I wanted to talk about tonight,” Eric said. “I was going to mention it over dinner, but it was loud in there. And Laurence was talking, and you got your headache. Is that gone now?”

Somewhat. Enough of an ache remained that he didn’t want to work on assignments or try to find those emails Mary mentioned. Sam suspected the longer he spent with Eric, the more his head would ache as it tried to remember him. “It’s gone,” he lied.

Eric swallowed hard. “My rental is up tomorrow. We have to be out first thing in the morning, so we’re actually going to be driving home tonight.”

Sam stared blankly at Eric.

“There’s work piling up. Clients that have been waiting and” – Eric rubbed the back of his head – “honestly, I’ve been feeling off. I don’t think being here is any good for me. But,” he added quickly, “I don’t mean that I’m just going to take off like before. We’ll keep in touch. I’ll call and text.” Eric promised more, but it sounded like nothing to Sam’s ears. Sam was too busy thinking about Saturday. They’d made plans to eat, hadn’t they? Eric agreed. When he knew he was leaving before then.

Sam stared at his brother’s expression. Flicked his gaze over his body, reading the signals. Eric hadn’t been happy here for one single second. He’s never going to call or text. Sam didn’t know why his chest ached so deeply. He swallowed and tried to bury all his disappointment. It was clear from the start Eric was only…Why had he come back in the first place? Did he even say? And why was Sam so disappointed anyway? He’d done nothing but clash with Eric. Hardly the glimmer of any memories had surfaced. And with Eric gone, it probably meant the other memories would stay buried too. Sam’s unvoiced hope that Eric’s presence might change things wrenched apart. Was it his own fault? Did he take too long to warm up to Eric, and now he was leaving before Sam could even ask for help?

Eric’s promises had stopped. He was waiting for Sam’s answer.

“Alright,” Sam said, waiting until he was collected enough to speak in a calm voice. “It was nice seeing you. I’m glad you’re getting on well in the city. Landed on your feet, you know? If you’re ever in the area again, stop by.” Though if Eric skipping out in the middle of the night was any clue to his intentions, his older brother wasn’t going to be finding himself in the area ever again. He’d be busy dancing with Ivan. Responsibility-free, the way Sam had dreamed of being since he was a teenager. In those few seconds, he despised Eric for having, taking, what Sam couldn’t.

Sam could have asked a dozen questions, but the moment for honesty was long behind them now. Sam wasn’t wasting the energy on a stranger who wasn’t sticking around to become more than that. “Take it easy driving at night,” Sam added when Eric stayed awkwardly silent.

“What are you going to do out here this late?” Eric asked. He was looking at the pier, Sam’s boat in view.

“Boat stuff.”

“It’s late.”

“I’m busy during the day.”

A line formed between Eric’s brows. “Is Dad making you work at this time of night?”

Five minutes ago, Sam might have let the remark slide with a gentle rebuke, but Eric lost the right to criticise when he wasn’t even going to try. “Dad doesn’t work anymore. And he doesn’t force me to work either. Going out on the water is what pays for all of my college textbooks and the petrol to drive to class. Just because you two fought doesn’t mean he’s ever been anything but good to me.”

Silence fell between them, tense and uncomfortable. Eric’s expression was impossible to read. “I didn’t mean—”

“He’s got dementia, Eric,” Sam said, his voice as hard as the rocks waves crushed ships against. “He’s not well. And your friend dropping in, winding him up, and then turning around and acting like he’s a bad person is bullshit.”

Eric’s shoulders tensed. “I never said—”

“I know you didn’t. But it’s obvious to anyone with eyes that you’re thinking it.” Sam rocked back on his heels. “I don’t know why you came back. If you were looking for something or if this was just a trip down memory lane, but this whole superiority thing you’ve got going on? It’s bullshit.”

Eric’s eyes widened, but Sam was still angry. Not just at Eric. But the concept of him. People like him. People who could drop in and then leave, guilt-free and shameless.

“You’re just like every bully I’ve ever met. Like all those assholes in school or those rich idiots that come by every summer for the holidays. Looking down on Dad because he’s a fisherman. As if it’s the worst thing in the world to be. As if he’s stupid, or slow, or simple, because of his profession.” Sam met his brother’s eyes. “You’re not superior, Eric. You’re just an asshole.”

Waves lapped against the dock, and boats rocked in their gentle sway.

“Can I talk now?” Eric asked.

“Sure.” Sam turned his back on him. “Why don’t you call or text?” he called over his shoulder. “Like you promised.”