Page 58 of This Blood That Breaks Us
I hesitated. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t have any money.”
“Already paid, sir.”
Zach grabbed me by the collar and pulled me out of the car. His cigarette smoke greeted me first.
“Can I try one?”
That made him smile. “You hate cigarettes.”
“In high school. I’m a man now.”
“Fine.” He pulled one out of his pack and lit it for me.
I inhaled the smoke into my lungs. Ashy. Terrible. I took another puff, trying to hide my dissatisfaction.
“Look at you. Embracing your new persona.”
I inhaled again. “That’s me.”
The ash filled my throat, and I coughed.
We passed various shops. This town was more modern than the town on the island. It was odd seeing chain businesses I’d known from childhood. It felt like a lifetime away. The whole street was bustling and filled to the brim with people. It would be easy to slip into it and disappear. I thought of snatching a cellphone from a bystander’s hand, but who would I call? I didn’t have anyone’s number. No one was coming to save us. If we were going to get out of Ireland, we’d have to do it ourselves.
“Let’s go get information on the tunnels.”
“You want us to wade around in dirty water for days?”
“Yeah, if it gets us out of here. Think we can stop by one of those fancy historic places before the pub?”
“Fine,” Zach said, letting me lead the way through the crowd.
“Don’t you want us to get out of here?”
“Fuck yeah. But I’m worried about you.”
I stopped to look at him. “Me? Why me specifically?”
“Because you get your hopes up. And I don’t want to be picking you up off the floor if this goes poorly.”
“It won’t.” My chest ached.
“Ezra’s already on to us.”
“He’s always on to us. It can work. We can do this. I know we can. You’re okay with staying?”
“If it’s what needs to be done. If it keeps you from being hurt . . . yeah.”
I turned and started walking again. “I don’t need you to try to protect me like that.”
“A little ‘thank you, brother’ would suffice. If I don’t, no one else will. Someone’s gotta protect the one who’s protecting everyone else.”
“Yeah, but then what about you?”
“Eh, who cares about what happens to me?”
“Don’t joke like that. It’s not funny,” I said.
We reached the historic society. It was a tall two-story building made of red brick. Unsurprisingly, it was not as crowded as the other places in town. It had a large sign with calligraphy lettering.
