Page 2 of Pity the Living, Not the Dead

I had drained the blood of every last body who had wronged my beautiful mother as well as me. If I served time in hell for their deaths, it would be a penance well worth the price.

Anacortes, WA, 2021

It was my twenty-first birthday, a monumental rite of passage that should have been spent under the bright lights of Las Vegas, and yet I instead found myself at a crossroads of sorts.Barely embarking upon adulthood and already flanked with challenges.

Liam Joseph Aldrich—my given birthname and the man everyone knew me as, having heard my mother scream it a time or five thousand—was at a loss as to which path to venture down. Up until now, every decision had been made for me, none of which being what I would have chosen for myself, if that makes any sense. I came from a large, overbearing family who controlled every thought, every action, everyeverythingfor me. Lame? You bet it was, which is the reason my mind was a coagulated mess.

Aimlessly lost in thought, I wandered the quiet streets of Anacortes, a small town in northwestern Washington along the Puget Sound where most of my family and I lived, treading the familiar path as I had done many sleepless nights. The town was filled to the brim with an overabundance of fiery red-headed Irishmen and women, more than you would have ever seen outside of Ireland herself. Those inhabiting this town were of Aldrich lineage or had married into it.

Having graduated from nearby Western Washington University with a bachelor’s degree in accounting the week before, I was set to follow in the footsteps of my father, granddad, brothers… you get the picture. Damn near every member of the Aldrich gene pool played a role in our family business, Aldrich Distillery, also located in Anacortes. My family lived and breathed Irish whiskey and would have heated arguments with those who felt other libations were superior. The heavily guarded recipe had been passed down from generation to generation, and they treated it like gold, keeping it locked away in the family vault. I swear, if a drop of Aldrich blood were ever shed, it would reek of the hearty malt.

It was a balmy July evening, well after ten p.m. The humidity hadn’t dissipated with the sun’s disappearance beyond the horizon, but thankfully the heat had. The streetlights were lit, but there wasn’t a soul in sight, exactly how I usually preferred it to be. Granted, it was mid-workweek and most in town were employed by my family, but I couldn’t deny the eerie sense of unease the emptiness filled me with this time.

Normally, I enjoyed this escape, getting far away from the boisterous voices that boomed through our house. As the youngest of seven, I was always on alert, never knowing when a rabid brother or sister would make an unwelcome appearance. Seemed the one common goal they shared was to scare the ever-loving shit out of me every chance they got. All but Olivia. She was the second youngest, and she and I were tightly bonded, the best of friends really. Olivia knew and kept my dark secrets, and I hers.

Finnegan Junior,Finn, was the firstborn, a mirror image of our father and his ancestral lineage. Finn ruled with an iron fist, just as our father did. All i’s were dotted and t’s were crossed, with no room for error or poor judgement. Asking for forgiveness was worse than having a tooth pulled. I felt for Finn’s wife, Caroline, and their three children, Anna, Little Finn, and little Maddie. If they didn’t have ulcers by now, they’d surely have them in the future.

Our father, Finnegan Senior, the Aldrich patriarch since granddad Aldrich had died two years prior, was now the president of the company. Finn was the Vice President, while my second-eldest brother, Declan, was in charge of the accounting team and served as Chief Financial Officer. He was the one I would be working under. He was already pushing me to get my MBA, which I had no interest in pursuing, but more than likely, it would be another decision that was forced upon me.

You’re young, Liam, you don’t know what you wanthad been repeated to me so many times I had lost count. I wasn’t looking forward to hearing that broken record playing on an endless loop while at work, day in and day out. Being away from them during those school hours had been a blessing, but now that sweet reprieve was coming to an end. Ever felt like you didn’t belong in your own life? Welcome to my world, the one that screamedLiam, this isn’t what you’re meant for. You are meant for bigger and better things.Hell, you don’t even like whiskey.If those words were ever uttered aloud, my ass would have been whipped and I would have been strung up by my toes.

Connor, third Aldrich in line for the alcohol-infused throne, managed our sales team, while my two married sisters, Ryleigh and Leah, were stay-at-home mothers. Both their husbands, Ryan and Luke, worked for the family. When said aloud,worked for the family, it sounds like we were part of the Irish mafia. For all I know, we very well could’ve been. Ryan oversaw the distribution aspects, including warehouse services and transportation, but Luke was a scientist. He and his massive amounts of beakers and data took care of the fermentation and distilling processes of the operation. Caroline and Declan’s and Connor’s wives, Beth and Siobhan, were also stay-at-home parents. Tending to their brood? Gaggle of children? What were large masses of over-sugared, screaming, drooling, crimson-headed messes called, anyway? Spawns of Satan? That analogy was befitting.

I personally had no desire to marry or have kids of my own. Hell, I still lacked the balls to tell my staunch Irish-Catholic family I was gay. The thought of doing so chilled me to the bone, and I was certain my older brothers would only further torment me once they found out. Now that I was out of college, I knew my parents would be lining up the potential single females in our tight-knit community to try and fix me up with one. Jesus, I really needed to find a way to man up, and either tell them or get the hell out of Washington, send a cowardly groupcoming outtext to the entire lot at one time, and then promptly block them. Done and over with. Ugh…Fuck my life.

Olivia, though, she and I were most alike. “Irish twins” they called us, and she was the only one who knew my secret. We were ten months apart, and neither one of us had any desire to go into the family business. The only way Olivia got out of marrying someone that already worked for the company, then falling in line and shooting out kids like a human Pez dispenser, was by becoming a nurse. She had always taken care of me when I was sick, which was far more often than my siblings, and was like a second mother to me. I was the tiny, frail, red-headed stepchild in this tight-knit brood. Granted, our mother had her hands full with seven of us. Mom did her best to tend to my ever-growing list of medical needs, but it didn’t help that I was dealt a shitty hand right out of the womb. Sometimes you need to be in your mother’s arms when you don’t feel well, but I was grateful to Olivia for always being there when Mom found herself unable to be.

I was born three months premature. My mother developed toxemia which turned into uremic poisoning, and we were both going downhill fast. The doctors told my mother it was in her best interest to abort the pregnancy, but she refused. They induced labor and things went even further downhill, even faster, from there. They lost my heartbeat and damn near lost my mother, too, from what Gran told me. When the medical team asked Gran to pick which one of us they were to focus on…well, let’s just say Gran wasn’t allowed back in that hospital after the choice words she iced them with. When I once asked where Dad was during all of this, Gran huffed and mumbled, “Work.”

Luckily, we both survived, but I spent eight weeks in the neonatal unit at Seattle Children’s Hospital before I could go home. My lungs weren’t fully developed. I had no hair, no fingernails, and weighed in at just under four pounds. I was in and out of the hospital with pneumonia and a plethora of other medical-related issues before I even reached the tender age of five, thanks to a suppressed immune system.

We had all seen Olivia’s nurturing nature firsthand, taking care of the bumps and scrapes that frequently came with this wild bunch and me, so when she announced her decision go into nursing, no one so much as batted an eye. Not that she would have cared if they did. Olivia was who she was right out of the womb, and I was beyond jealous of her for that. She didn’t care what anyone else thought. She was a strong, fierce woman, and I was ridiculously proud of her for taking a stand against our pushy family. No fight was put up after she made her announcement, the stern unwavering tone she used while doing so having left no room for argument. The family didn’t prime and line up any male suitors for her, either, nor was it ever been mentioned again. But I knew without a doubt the same luxury would not be afforded to me.

I’d had dinner with my family earlier this particular evening for what was supposed to be the celebration of my birth. All seven thousand Aldriches were in attendance, forcing me to be the center of attention, albeit briefly. As soon as the happy birthdays ended, the harping immediately followed as we sat down to order. I am an introvert. I prefer the company of me, myself, and I, and if I didn’t make a choice about my life soon, one would be made for me, which became crystal clear during dinner. It took everything I had not to lose my shit as they took turns pointing out my flaws and making decisions for me, like I wasn’t even there. It was useless to argue with them. As usual, I let them carry on, retreating further inside my lonesome shell.

Granted, I was not like the other students with whom I’d graduated, meaning I wasn’t entering into a lifetime of student debt. My family was wealthy, and my education paid for, so there were no loans to be repaid, and for that I was immensely grateful. But it came with a hefty price—family guilt and constant bulldozing. Something Catholics and the Irish come by naturally, and being a product of both lineages, I received it tenfold.

College was supposed to be about living your life, being free from parental hierarchy and making bad decisions that would serve for great stories later. Having lived at home during those four years, I was unable to experience anything more than a few stolen kisses from men I had any interest in. Once they heard my free time was not mine to do with as I pleased, compounded by the fact that I still lived at home instead of on campus, I was quickly cast aside for the next willing body in line.

One guy I really crushed on, Stellan, we hit it off. Or so I’d thought, at least. We’d met for lunch a couple of times, pizza after a football game one night. Football wasn’t my thing, nor did I understand any of it, but he’d insisted, so I went along with it. For our second sort-of date that was more than lunch, he took me to a frat party and tried to hook up, but something inside wouldn’t let me. Stellan walked away and found a willing body on the overcrowded dance floor in the frat house living room. Not five minutes later, they had their tongues so far down each other’s throats, I was amazed they could breathe. I’d seen enough and left, cursing myself all the way home.

College life was supposed to be about getting off, blowing off steam in the form of orgasms and hangovers, and I had not allowed myself any of that. The only hand to ever touch my dick was mine. How sad is that? My life needed more changes than I could fathom when surrounded by the Aldrich hordes. My mind was an endless swirling mess of worry and denial weighing heavily on me. I would never be my own man if I couldn’t break away from the ties of familial obligation that bound me. I was hog-tied and carted around wherever they saw fit.

When in this state of mind, I let my legs lead, as they were familiar with the path I tread far too often, They took me to the same bench I always sat at when lost in a sea of what to do. Where to go? Who to be? I had found solace in this little niche tucked inside a grove of trees along the lower level of the waterfront many times. Always when I needed an escape. Times when I needed to…think. Attempting to do so, or try to clear my head, or just be alone for any amount of time in a house that’s constantly full was frustrating. The view of the Sound from here was breathtaking and lulled the voices in my head enough that I could concentrate. From this very seat, I’d witnessed many a sunrise and sunset as they passed through in every shade of color imaginable, and here I was once again. Would it ever change?

I struck a pose against a nearby tree, one I knew worked well on any gender, crossing my muscular arms across my broad chest and donned the sexy smolder I was known for. “What has you so lost in thought, handsome?” I openly flirted.

His scent had hit me before I laid eyes on him and drew me to him. My senses guided me to the source of the alluring aroma.So rich…so pure…and dare I say…innocent?My favorite delectable combination to dine upon were those that had remained untainted by others.So few and far between these days.When he came into my line of sight, I had to blink twice to make sure I was not dreaming.Ah, my intuition, you have served me well. I took in every inch I could see of the gorgeous man sitting a few feet from me. Having a penchant for gingers, I was giddy with delight at the mere thought of feasting upon him. My dick plumped as the idea that dessert could immediately follow the sating of my healthy appetite, or even during, only served to heighten my arousal.Would he give it up so easily to me?

“Ah!” he screamed and bolted several feet away, tightly gripping at his chest in an effort to still his rapidly beating heart.Music to my ears.…

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to cause you such a—” I cut myself off, nearly making a grave mistake by filling in the blank with the word “fright”. Speaking as a two-hundred-year-old British man would surely set off unnecessary alarms. Not that I hadn’t already, but why draw more attention to myself? I quickly rectified the near faux pas. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He cocked his head to the side, studying me. Seemed tonight’s dinner guest was brighter than others, as the error in my words didn’t go unnoticed by him. Or maybe it was the slight accent I worked so hard to hide but had inadvertently allowed to slip past, something that happened from time to time, no matter how hard I tried to tamp it. He cleared his throat. “No problem. It’s all good.”

The language of modern-day youth eluded me. Sure, I adapted and overcame, but I could not help the urge I had at times to smack them upside the head and teach them proper English.It’s all good—a phrase that was a pet peeve of mine. An irritant.That’s rich, coming from he who reverts sporadically from Americanized to formal English dialect, thus giving away far more than I intend to. Time to cut to the chase.

With the mental scolding behind me, I carried on. “You seem deeply lost in thought,” I began again, using the American dialect I’d perfected as I brazenly parked my derriere on the empty seat beside him. His racing heartbeat thrummed inside my ears once again, reminding me why I was there. The blood rapidly pulsated through his veins, setting me on edge as my dick wantonly begged from behind its denim confines. My desire to feed from and bed this man drew my fangs from their hidden chambers. I turned to the side, tamping the insatiable bloodlust. I’d not felt it this strongly for near decades, if even ever. Willing my dick to deflate to keep the beast at bay was proving to be a bigger challenge.Down, Elijah. All in good time, my good man. All in good time.Everything about this man had me on edge.

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