Page 110 of Beneath Your Beautiful
“They’ve got whiskey. And Flogging Molly,” I pointed out. “Gotta love Flogging Molly.”
“You about to break into an Irish jig? Going back to your roots?”
I snorted and took a swig of my drink. “I’m a tree without roots. What does that make me?”
“A dead log,” Louis said. I laughed so hard my eyes watered. That was the beauty of alcohol. I was too numb to feel the pain in my ribs. Louis shook his head. “I came to haul your ass home.”
I didn’t have a home. “It’s early. Drink with me.”
“It’s two-thirty in the morning and you’ve got a funeral tomorrow.”
“Don’t piss on my parade.” I flagged down my buddy. Ian-Liam-Craig. Louis ordered a beer. “Make it two beers and two more whiskeys,” I told the bartender.
Louis muttered something under his breath. I might have caught the word asshole, but it didn’t stop him from drinking the beerandthe whiskey when it was served. I hoisted my glass in the air and sang the final chorus of ‘The Cradle of Humankind.’ Two guys at the end of the bar lifted their beers and toasted me. I clinked my glass against Louis’s glass. “Bottoms up.” I knocked back my whiskey and slammed the empty glass on the bar. I made a twirling motion with my hand. Ian-Liam-Craig got what I was saying. Refills at the ready. This man would be getting a big-ass tip.
“Eden’s worried about you,” Louis said. Why was he always bursting my little happy bubble? Couldn’t he see I was a man on a mission? The goal: get so shit-faced I wouldn’t remember Eden’s name. Her voice. Her smile. Her…everything. “She said you didn’t answer her calls today.”
I guzzled some beer. “Better this way. I’m no good for her.”
“Wallowing in self-pity too. You’re going all out tonight.”
“Go big or go home. Have some peanuts.” I pushed the bowl in front of him. Normally I wouldn’t touch them with a ten-foot pole. All those germy hands digging in there. But tonight, the peanuts had been my dinner and they’d tasted just fine.
Louis and I ate peanuts and chased our beer with whiskey. Thankfully, he did more drinking than talking, which I appreciated. At four in the morning, they turned on the lights in the bar and kicked us out. We stumbled back to Louis’s place and I crashed on his sofa. I slept with one foot on the floor to stop the room from spinning.
This was going to be my life now. A life without sunshine.
Chapter Forty-One
Eden
The streets were a sea of blue as our limo made its slow progress behind the hearse. Even though it was a funeral and the past week felt like a bad dream, I could still appreciate how handsome Killian looked in a dark suit, pressed white shirt, and royal blue tie. His hair was growing out and it curled a little at the ends where it met his collar. He was sitting right next to me, my thigh pressed against his, but it felt like he was miles away.
Connor and Ava were sitting across from us, Ava’s arm tucked in his. It was hard to look at Connor’s face, a visual reminder of what those men had done to him. I knew under his dark suit jacket and blue dress shirt, his chest was carved with letters. His nose was swollen, and greenish yellow bruises mottled his entire face. A metal plate and screws held his broken jaw together. He shouldn’t be here, but he felt it was his duty to attend. More guilt heaped on the Vincent brothers’ shoulders.
Killian refused to even look at Connor, and Connor didn’t glance in Killian’s direction. Because of their rift and the occasion, we’d ridden to the church in stony silence.
Killian blamed himself for my being there. He blamed Connor for withholding the truth.
Connor blamed himself for everything.
I blamed those men for coming after Connor.
My dad wasn’t impressed with any of it. He threatened to take me home to Pennsylvania after the funeral. I wasn’t leaving Brooklyn, and there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d leave Killian, so my dad would just need to deal with that.
Our limo stopped in front of Our Lady of Angels in Bay Ridge. Thousands of police officers saluted as the flag-draped coffin was removed from the hearse by the honor guard who had walked alongside it.
The limo door swung open, and Killian stepped out, offering me his hand. As we followed the casket, officers stepped forward, offering their condolences, and shaking Killian’s hand. I glanced over my shoulder at Connor. His head was bowed as if to hide his face, but he was getting the same handshakes and condolences as Killian.
The media didn’t get hold of the real story. It must have been a police cover-up. Seamus Vincent, of course, came out looking like a hero. Allegedly, it was a robbery gone wrong. Junkies looking for quick cash. Seamus would have appreciated that story.
The church was packed, scented with incense and lilies, and sunlight streamed in through the arched stained-glass windows. We slid into the first pew, and I turned around to look behind me. My dad, who had driven out here as soon as Killian called him, and Garrett who had arrived yesterday, were in dark suits…and Sawyer in his dress blues?
“Sawyer,” I whispered.
He gave me a little smile. “Hey, Chicken Little,” he whispered. Tears stung my eyes at the tenderness in his voice and the expression on his face.
I blinked back the tears. “You look so handsome.” It was true, and Ava seconded that.
