Page 4 of Cowboy
Dylan doesn’t look convinced, but I know that right now, it’s the only choice we have. Lying low for a week or so will give us time to think, time to plan, and maybe we can figure out a way of finding out who the hell shot at us this evening.
“Let’s head on home. Your sister will be wondering where you are,” I tell him. Caoimhe is fourteen. Her and Dylan lost their parents six months ago in a car crash. Since then, they’ve been living with their aunt, but she’s never around, meaning Dylan takes care of Caoimhe.
“Your ma will be wondering where you are,” he returns as we exit the apartment. “Knowing Mary, she’ll be pacing the hall, waiting for you to come home.”
I smile. It’s something my ma does on a regular basis. She often tells me I’m giving her gray hairs, but she already had them. She’s used to me being out and doing what I want. She doesn’t mind as long as I don’t get into trouble and the Gardaí don’t show up at her doorstep. So far, that hasn’t happened, and I will never tell her what I do for a living. I think if she found that out, it would send her into an early grave.
“She’s a natural born worrier. She’d be pissed if I stayed home all day. She’d tell me I was under her feet and that it would be better for everyone if I went outside. Besides, she’s working this evening.”
“Lucky you. I think Auntie Trish is home this evening, which means she’ll be a hard-ass on Caoimhe. I don’t know why the woman’s such a bitch.”
Yeah, I don’t either. She volunteered to take Dylan and Caoimhe into her home, and yet she treats them like they’re impositions.
As we walk through the dimly lit streets, I can't shake the feeling of unease that's settled over me. I feel as though we’re being watched, but I’m vigilant in checking behind me and our surroundings. There’s no one here but us.
"Do you think we'll ever get out of this life?" Dylan asks suddenly, his voice low.
I glance at him, surprised by the question. "I don't know," I admit. "Sometimes I wonder if we're in too deep now."
Dylan nods, his expression somber. "I just... I worry about Caoimhe, you know? What if something happens to me? She'd be all alone."
The weight of his words hangs heavy between us. It's a fear I've had myself, though I've never voiced it. What would happen to my ma if something went wrong on a job?
"We'll figure it out," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "We always do, right?"
2
CAOIMHE
I look at my brother and my heart breaks for him. Over the past two weeks, he’s been unsettled, nervous, and has jumped at every little sound. Dylan’s been my protector since our parents died, hell, even before that, and seeing him like this is a shock.
I want to ask him what's wrong, but I know he won't tell me. He never does. Instead, he always tries to shield me from whatever trouble he's gotten himself into. But I'm not stupid. I know something's up. He's sixteen and he's got the weight of the world on his shoulders. He took a job to help support me because Auntie Trish said she couldn't afford to pay for us. Dylan didn't even hesitate to get a job. I've no idea where he works, but wherever it is pays well. He told me he has an apartment for us when he turns eighteen. I didn't ask questions as I was afraid of the answers, but right now he's scaring me.
"Dylan," I say softly as he paces the small living room of our aunt's apartment, "you know you can talk to me, right?"
He stops and looks at me, his eyes softening for a moment before the worry creeps back in. "It's nothing, Caoimhe. Just... work stuff."
I roll my eyes. "Right. Because 'work stuff' always has you looking over your shoulder and barely sleeping."
Dylan sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It's complicated, okay? I don't want you getting involved."
"I'm already involved," I argue. "I'm your sister. Whatever affects you, affects me too."
He shakes his head. "Not this time. It's better if you don't know."
I'm about to protest when there's a knock at the door. Dylan freezes, his hand instinctively moving to his waist where I know he keeps his gun. My heart starts racing. Who could it be?
"Stay here," Dylan whispers, moving cautiously toward the door.
I hold my breath as he looks through the peephole. His shoulders relax slightly, and he opens the door to reveal Ciarán.
Ciarán and Dylan have been best friends for as long as I can remember. When we were younger, Ciarán was either at our house or Dylan was over at his. Their friendship hasn't changed all that much since our parents died. In fact, it's probably gotten stronger.
"Hey," Ciarán says, his eyes darting around the apartment before settling on me. "Everything okay?"
Dylan nods, but I can see the tension in his jaw. "Yeah, just... you know."
Ciarán seems to understand whatever unspoken message Dylan is sending. "Right. Um, can we talk outside for a sec?"
