Page 18 of Forever Flames: Padraig & Stevie
Too quiet for comfort.
Seamus reads at the counter. Brennan and Cillian are sprawled on the floor, low-key arguing about a comic book. The least I can do is step up and feed them a few meals now and then.
Connor’s already on a job site. Ma’s at the office trying to balance the books. Liam is upstairs, waiting for me to distract the kids so he can sneak his latest hookup out without detection. The guy showed up sometime after midnight. Shaved head. Vintage band tee. Tattoo on his neck. Liam is likely itching to get the dude gone before Da gets up.
I should worry about him more, but I’ve learned it’s a wasted emotion. Liam does what he wants without regret. He doesn’t drink. Or do drugs. Or, as far as I know, put himself in danger. His vice is sex. Men. Women. Multiple partners. I’m the only one who knows the half of it. He hides this part of himself from the rest of the family.
Hopefully not forever. For now, it’s probably best to lay low and stay off Da’s radar.
Speaking of the devil, my phone pings.
WTF? Can you cover for me?
I type back:All good. Coast’s clear if you take the front stairs.
I shut the burner off and start plating the pancakes to keep the boys busy here in the kitchen for a few minutes. The ceiling creaks overhead. His bedroom door slams. Hard. Two sets of heavy boots clomp above us toward the stairwell.
“Who the fuck’s are youse?” Da’s phlegmy voice rages from upstairs, already thick with drink at eight a.m.
Liam roars, “Leave it, Da. It’s my business.”
I freeze.
Seamus drops his fork. Brennan and Cillian stiffen. We all look up the back staircase, even though we can’t see anything from this vantage point.
“This is my feckin’ house, you wee bastard,” Da yells followed by a loud thud. “Your business is my business. Who is he?”
“Stay here.” I hold up my palm toward my younger brothers before slipping out to the living room.
Liam stands at the landing. Shirt half-buttoned. The dude stands behind him, silent, startled. The guy’s trying to zip up a hoodie, shrinking backward at the unfolding scene.
“Jesus, Mary, and feckin’ Joseph, my son’s a feckin’ poof.” Da stumbles toward them, bare-chested. His hair is wild, eyes bloodshot and yellowed from whiskey. A knee brace hangs loose around one leg. The McGloughlin Construction T-shirt is tied around the other leg like a bandage.
Even from here, he reeks. Alcohol. Stale sweat. Something sour I can’t name.
“Leave him be. Let’s go.” Liam turns to the guy and motions to the stairwell.
Hookup Guy bounds down the stairs. “Jesus, is your dadhomophobic?”
Da grabs Liam from behind before he has a chance to follow.
“You dirty wee pansy,” he slurs, spitting words like bile. “Is this what you are now, a faggot? Bringin’ men into my house? Under your ma’s roof? Corrupting your wee brothers?”
Liam doesn’t flinch. “Go back to your room and pass out, you useless cunt.”
His voice is low. Cold.Dangerous.
Da takes a step forward.
The house shifts.
“You fuckin’ shame me,” he growls. “I break my back for this family, and you’re in my house suckin’ cock like it’s a badge of pride?”
“Stop.” I move fast, bounding up the stairs and planting myself between them. “Let him leave. You’re drunk. You don’t mean it.”
Da’s eyes land on me. Bloodshot. Glazed. “Don’t you feckin’ defend him.”
“I’m not—”
