Page 6 of Malicious Wedding

I groan. “Nothing. I mean—just tell me if my brother’s hurt.”

“I don’t know,” he says and I can tell he’s unhappy about it. “But I’m doing everything in my power to make sure he’s okay. Does that work?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” I put my glass down and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Carson?”

“Yes, Ash?”

“It was terrible hearing from you again.”

“It was lovely seeing you too.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Don’t hesitate to call.”

“Goodbye.”

I hang up before he can say more.

Iain’s in trouble. I stare at the ceiling and let the thought sink into my bones. Strangely, it doesn’t pierce very deeply. I feel nothing—and haven’t for a long time.

My brother made his choice. Iain’s been in trouble before and he’ll be in trouble again. I realized years back that I can’t change anything and I’m not responsible for the decisions he makes. My father, my uncles, even my aunts, they’re all complicit in this ugly, tangled mess of organized crime relationships, but not me.

I walked away. I won’t hold this guilt.

I close my eyes. We were close once, Iain and I. Back before Carson came and ruined everything. I remember running through the park with Iain, playing tag with some other local kids. Laughing, having fun, being normal. Stickball, tag, manhunt, all the little games we played. Kids being kids.

Then things got complicated.

None of it’s fair. But none of it’s my fault.

I keep telling myself that as I get out of the tub, dry myself off, and head to bed.

Chapter3

Ash

Iunlock Smoke’s back door and flick on the lights.

Ah, nothing beats an empty bar in the morning.

I’m always first one in. Bernie should show up soon, but for a half hour or so, Bottle of Smoke is all mine. I breathe in the smell of old liquid, aging wood, polish, window cleaner, disinfectant. I flip down the tables, wipe off the bar. I hum to myself, not thinking about Carson, not thinking about Iain, thinking about anything but my problems. I’ll get through this like I always do, with or without my guardian angel’s help.

There’s a noise near the kitchen. I jump, looking up sharply, as Bernie comes around the corner with her jacket and messenger bag on. She pauses, looking at me like I’m nuts. “You okay?” she asks. “I thought you were about to go for the bat.”

“I was,” I say, hand over my heart. It’s racing wildly. I’m being stupid—everything’s okay. “But I’m just on edge.”

“Still thinking about that guy, huh?” She dumps her bag on a chair and slumps down beside it.

“He called me.” I lean against the bar. “While I was in the bath.”

Her eyebrows raise. “Did you get a little, you know, sonic booty?”

“Sonic—no, we didn’t have phone sex. Although I’m pretty sure he did attempt it.”

“Ash!” She sits up straight. “Did he ask you what you were wearing?”

“No,” I say, turning pink. “He knew I was in the bath. He asked me to describe the room from my perspective.”

“Holy shit.” She leans back again, fanning herself. “I think my panties just spontaneously combusted.”

“Shut up. He’s not my type.” I turn away, grinding my jaw against that obvious lie.

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