Page 70 of Ciaran

“How is he funding those trips?”

“No idea.”

“What does he do for work again?”

“He’s a small-time coach for the Chicago Bears. Helps out with the juniors and the younger kids.”

“Which means the pay is shit. Funny that they’re not exactly rolling in cash, yet Tanner made the trip out here four times, at least, and possibly for days at a time.”

“Maybe he earns more than he let on to Millie.”

Draven leans in. “Or maybe his earnings aren’t all that kosher.” He gets to his feet and shrugs into his jacket.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“To find out where he stayed while he was here. Might give me a bit more intel. You’re going to the hospital to get your nose fixed. After that, try to contact someone on the Chicago police force. Let’s see if the name Tanner Fuckhead means anything to them.”

I knock back the rest of my drink in a bid to control the tornado swirling in my gut. Draven’s plan of attack is the right one, although that doesn’t quell the urge to jump on a plane to Chicago and go get my girl. My insides are wound tighter than a coiled spring, but I have to play the long game, even if it kills me.

The hospital confirms my nose is broken. They reset it and make me a follow-up appointment, warning me to expect a couple of nice shiners. Bastard Draven. I’ll wait until he least expects it then return the favor. If I have to put up with a crooked nose for the rest of my life, my best bud is going to suffer the same fate.

Now that I’ve begun to sober up, my head pounds with one of the worst hangovers ever. I’ll go home, crash for a few hours, then call Chicago PD. There isn’t much I can do in this state. I can barely keep my eyes open.

The minute I walk into the hotel, I know I’ve made a mistake coming home. Declan and Callum descend on me. They must’ve been keeping watch, waiting for me to eventually show up.

“The fuck you been?” Callum bites out, face like thunder. “And what the hell happened to your nose?”

“We’ve been worried,” Declan, my much calmer and pragmatic brother adds.

I ignore both of them, but when Callum snaps at my heels like a rabid dog as I open my bedroom door, I round on them both.

“Fuck off and leave me alone.”

“What’s going on? Why did Millie pack up all her stuff and leave?”

I shove my twin hard in the chest. “I said fuck off. I don’t need this shit right now. Give me some space.”

I storm into my bedroom and slam the door, but Callum bursts through it with Declan at his shoulder.

“What the hell is wrong with you? You go AWOL and expect us to carry on as normal? You call in sick to work—don’t bother denying it because I phoned them when you didn’t come home. You stink of booze, you need a shower, and your girlfriend has packed up and shipped out.” He sneers. “What is it, Ciaran? Had a spat? Was she the one who broke your nose? Don’t tell me, you’ve been steppin’ out.”

With Callum railing on me, all of my pent-up anger and fury spills over. I’m sick of being the reasonable one, the peacemaker, the one they all expect to fix their shit and resolve their arguments. I’ve had enough. And as Callum is the closest…

I slam my fist into his face. He staggers backward but somehow manages to stay on his feet. Not for long. I fly at him, and we both end up on the floor. I get at least two more punches in—one to the face and one to his ribs—before Declan hauls me to my feet. Callum scrambles upright and lunges, but Declan gets in between the pair of us, a palm on each chest, keeping us apart.

“Enough! You’re grown assed men, for Christ’s sake! Act like it!” Declan turns to me—not Callum, I note—and says, “What’s gotten into the both of you?”

“He started it,” Callum says childishly.

I jab my finger at him. “No, you started it with your constant questions and nasty remarks about Millie and me. I’m sick of you. In fact, I’m sick of this whole goddamn family. I’m sick of always being the good one, the quiet one, the one who doesn’t really matter because, oh well, it’s just Ciaran. He’ll be fine whatever the fuck happens. We don’t need to consider his feelings because he’ll just go with the fucking flow.”

I only realize I’m shouting when the red mist clears long enough for my vision to sharpen. Declan and Callum are both staring, open mouthed, an expression of genuine dismay on their faces. My chest heaves, and I struggle for breath. Eventually, my legs give way, as much from exhaustion and over-indulgence in alcohol as the argument with my brothers. Luckily, I’m standing by the bed, so the mattress breaks my fall.

Declan is the first to move, scraping a hand through his hair, but Callum remains frozen to the spot.

“How long have you felt like this?” Declan asks quietly, coming to sit beside me.

I hitch a shoulder. My anger withers, then dies. “A while, I guess.”

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