Page 69 of A Game So Reckless

The heat I felt a moment ago vanishes. Goosebumps rise and dread sinks.

“What happened after that?” I ask, hoping my voice sounds steady. Normal. Like none of this matters to me at all.

Deirdre shrugs. “I’m not really sure. I believe he was homeless for a while. His grandda tracked him down and took him in. Then Darragh came here when he was eighteen.”

“His grandda? Like, his grandfather?”

“Yeah. Paternal grandfather. Callum Gowan. He was a professional boxer turned crime lord in Dublin.”

“Was? Is he dead?”

She shakes her head.

“No, as far as I know he’s still alive. He’s just not a pro boxer anymore. He and Darragh are still in contact. Callum helped fund Darragh’s beginnings in Canada. From what I understand, he put a lot of the blame for his son’s death on Darragh’s mother. Like, planted this idea that falling in love, or even just getting married, will be the death of you. Anyway, that’s why Darragh doesn’t touch drugs, even though he makes so much of his money from them. And that’s why he'll never marry. I’m certain of it. He’s made that fact clear for years. Elio even said that Darragh made up some weird poem on the spot before their boxing match. Something about how love turns men’s brains into shit.”

“Lovely,” I mutter sarcastically. Finally, the sober expression on Deirdre’s face cracks a little, and she smiles.

“You’re telling me. I’m grateful every day that I don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

Lucky you.

But I still have to. Even though I shouldn’t. Even though I haven’t seen or heard from him in two weeks. He’s burrowed his way into my brain and I don’t know how to get him out.

I’m terrified that I might even miss him.

Which is pointless. Stupid, even. Now that life seems to be getting back into a somewhat normal routine, I’ve been waiting for Papà to slow down long enough for him to tell me who he wants me to marry now. He’s been having meeting after meeting with those loyal to him.

It has to be coming.

Deidre stands and slips her feet into white sandals. I jump up and give her a big hug, which she happily returns before leaving to walk back towards Elio’s house beside ours.

I plop my butt back down on my chaise longue, staring at all the event-planning stuff still on the table but not really registering any of it.

Darragh.

Papà.

Some faceless future husband.

My future hanging in the balance, caught like a kite in a tree, but instead of branches ripping at me it’s men. And their money. And their guns.

I lean back and stretch out, forcing my limbs to relax. After a while, the hot afternoon sun lulls me enough to start drifting off.

In the hazy moments before I fall asleep, a voice as bright as lightning, distant as a dream, cuts through my consciousness.

Your papà wants to marry you off as a virgin.

Darragh can make sure that you aren’t one.

I wake with a start, the words still echoing in my head, even though it’s clear that hours have passed since I fell asleep. The sun is in a completely different position in the sky. The shadows are stretching. Preparing for night.

I’m panting, my heart pounding like I’ve just escaped a fall. A fall from my chaise longue.

A fall from a roof.

As I sit up, my head spins with a possibility I’d never considered until now.

I’ve been afraid of the idea of ruining myself, my reputation. Afraid of papà’s anger in response.

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