Page 8 of Heavy

“Thought this through, huh?” I gulp down several swigs, but the taste of pineapple is revolting, making me cough as I pull the bottle away from my lips.

Through my hacking, Eamon continues, “The cash is from me, the check is from our father.”

I swallow roughly and squeeze the neck of the glass bottle. “Don’t want it.”

“He’s dead, Ronan. His last act was—”

I slam the liquor down onto the counter—surprisingly, it doesn’t shatter—and take two steps to grab the wad of cash and the check. Crumpling it into my tightening fist, I glare at him, one side of my nose twitching. “I’ve got people out here that owe me, I don’t need his fucking sympathy even from his grave, Eamon.”

Tearing the check from the grouping of bills, I toss it into the sink. Grabbing the pineapple shit liquor, I pour it right on top. “Got a lighter?”

He sighs. “Please don’t smoke in the house.”

“Such a fucking straight-edged bitch, living in Colorado, too. Ain’t that shit legal here now?” Once the bottle is empty, I toss it next to the other discarded one in the sink. “Thanks for the…” I count out the bills still in my hand. “Six hundred bucks. I’ll go grab a phone.”

Another tap on the counter has me dropping my head back.

“I’m not doing this for your forgiveness, Ronan.”

Looking over my shoulder, I see a phone still in its box, waiting for me. “Did you also sign me up for a phone plan? How big brotherly of you.”

“No.” I think I’m getting under his skin. “The same courier exists from several years ago, I can help if you—”

“I was in prison, not on another fucking planet.”

He groans and I swing open the fridge, grabbing a tequila bottle this time. Hopefully this does the trick.

“I’ve written my phone number on the back of the box.” I lean back and tear off the lid, feeling ecstatic to find it’s a new bottle. Figures, not their go-to choice in alcohol. “I’ll come by—”

“Don’t bother.” I shove the door closed and raise what I hope will be the death of me at him. “I don’tdointeractions. I don’twantto fix this—” I gesture between us. “You, along with every fucking Byrne, died so many years ago to me.”

The anger he had for how I was speaking to him melts into empathy, an even more pathetic feeling. “Ronan, please…”

“I’ll take advantage of your home for a few months, just until I get what I need to survive. Then, just like you did to me, I’ll disappear.”

His eyes draw upward while he shakes his head ever so slightly. I want him to argue with me. Tell me he didn’t have a choice. Give me every excuse to tell him howfuckingwrong he is.

“I’ll come by next month” is all he says, before grabbing his coat and walking out the front door.

Heavy is the guilt you bear, Brother… and I hope it swallows you endlessly.

I love toelicitthis look. It’s the one of fear, but the paralyzing one. Where you question what to do, and it consumes any cognitive thought.

The blonde is clearly overwhelmed by the intense sensation. If I weren’t so drunk, I might actually get hard from it. Her large, lime-green eyes stare at me, wide and unblinking, like a deer caught in headlights.

She still hasn’t said a word, nor is she making a run for it like any smart girl would. Rich people and their false sense of security. I can tell she fits that mold by her manicured nails, lash extensions, and the faint scent of tanning oil wafting from her.

As my stride continues, her chin begins to tilt toward the ceiling. The moment I’m hovering, she gasps.

“Why are you in my house?!” She sounds uncertain in her response, as if she already knows the answer, but I’m not here to analyze her feelings. “And why are you naked?!”

“I asked you a question.” Now that I’m this close, it isn’t tanning oil. It’s coconut and vanilla. I’ll never forget where that smell comes from, as much as I wish I could.

“Just use the lotion.”

When she raises her hands as if to push me away, I tilt my head and groan. “Don’t touch me.” I keep our distance, but I’m close enough that if she breathes too hard, I’ll feel it tickle against my chin.

“I-I own this house!”