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  “Ma’am?” the attendant asked the child’s mother as she poured Pistol’s cup.

  “Tea, please.”

  He lifted his gaze to the woman, and a foreign flush swamped his cheeks when she scowled in return. Jesus, did everybody feel it necessary to look at his dick around here? He shifted in the seat, and took the cup the attendant offered. “Thanks.”

  She smiled, and poured the tea while he sipped the hot brew. The mother’s arm extended across her daughter, and met the outstretched hold of the attendant. He averted his gaze, feeling the damn flush intensify as the attendant’s uniformed bust moved into his personal space.

  He had to give these women credit. It couldn’t be easy working in such tight confines with so many strange people. He could imagine they’d had to contend with the unwelcome advances of a few perverts in their time. Pistol looked up as she unlocked the brakes on the cart, and caught an apologetic smile. He offered what he hoped was one in response, and busied himself with the coffee once more.

  How would Steph have handled the same situation if she’d been in this seat? His dick hardened anew at the thought of another woman’s breasts pressed into Cutie’s face, and he shifted in his narrow seat.

  This was going to be a long fucking flight.

  She could make out every word they said. It wasn’t as though being in another room meant she had magically vanished into a soundproof enclosure. Steph drew her knees to her chest, and burrowed her chin into the peak of her knees while she listened to the chaos unfold next door.

  “I told you this would happen.”

  “Save it, Debra. You knew squat. None of us knew she would have another episode.”

  “Least of all you. You let her get around, doing as she pleases, without a single thought of the consequence. What did you think would happen when Derek said she was involved with that boy?”

  “None of us could have predicted it. And second of all, they aren’t kids, in case you hadn’t noticed. Our daughter is a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions.”

  “Well she obviously can’t be trusted to make the right ones.”

  “Would it bloody well kill you to show her an ounce of support for once?”

  “I tried that, Cliff. And she paid no attention to me. Too ungrateful for what she has.”

  “She was a bloody teenager. Not to mention things were a little hard at the time. Would you want somebody telling you what to do with the rest of your life when the one you had was ripped from under your feet?”

  “Excuse me for having a vision.”

  “For who, Debra? Stop trying to live your wasted life through hers.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’ve always been jealous of our children’s independence. Stop making her suffer for your oppressive father, for fucks sake!”

  When Steph’s father swore, things were indeed serious.

  She cringed into her legs, burying her face from the light of day. The sweetly, stale aroma of Pete drifted up from the over-sized T-shirt she wore. All she’d stopped for was a coffee on the way to her parents, but two hours after returning to the car with her drink, and plenty of crying fits later, she’d hunted around the rod to find something to wipe her nose with when she found it.

  Something of his.

  The Sex Pistols T-shirt had been over her head before she could say ‘obsessed much?’ The irony of the band’s name wasn’t lost on her, and she snickered into her knees for the second time. A short whoompf brought her attention back around, and she glanced up to see Ben drop a stack of sheets, and blankets on the floor.

  “Up,” he instructed, gesturing his head to the side.

  “Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  She complied, and moved aside to keep out of the way in the corner of the living room. He lumped the couch she had been holed up on around so it sat facing the other with a space of three feet in between. He stooped to pick up a sheet, and flicked it out over top of the furniture.

  “What are you doing?” She had an inkling, but it had been such a long time since they’d done this.

  “Making us a fort.”

  Tears bloomed as she watched him tuck, wedge, and pin the sheets so that in no time they had a not-so-secret hideaway in the centre of the room.

  “In.” He lifted the ‘door’ up for her to enter.

  Steph smiled to save herself from crying, and crawled through the opening. The sunlight cast a muted yellow glow through the material of the sheets. Ben’s feet padded around the couch, and a short time later returned, followed by a thud as he fell to his knees outside the makeshift door. A pillow poked between the sheets, followed by another, and another. Pretty soon, the small space between the sofas had become a cosy nook of soft oblivion—the perfect place for her to bury herself, and imagine a world where nothing mattered. Where nothing could hurt her.

  Where nothing could hurt him.

  Ben crawled through the opening, and nestled into the front of a couch. He held out an arm, and waved her in. Steph clambered over the pillows, and tucked herself into his side without hesitation. They reclined in silence; Steph staring at the patterns the sunlight made on the sheet, and Ben holding her tight, resting his stubbled cheek on the top of her head every so often.

  He didn’t need to say anything. Sometimes the best things in life were said without a singular word at all. All she needed was a safe place, and without having to be told, he’d known.

  “You’re the best brother a girl could have, you know that?”

  “I try.”

  “That’s what makes you so perfect.”

  He gave her shoulder a squeeze, and laid his chin on top of her head. “It’ll be okay, Sis. This will pass.”

  “I know. Just doesn’t make it any easier in the now.”

  He sighed, and gave another squeeze. “That’s why you have your family. For when nobody else understands your crazy ass.”

  She gave him a playful swat across the chest, and wriggled in further to his hold.

  She’d be okay.

  Some day.

  Just not today.

  ***

  The aroma of roasting meat wafted in through the gap made by her dad’s head as he surveyed their hideout. Steph rubbed her eyes, and pulled herself upright waking Ben in the process.

  “You guys know how many years it’s been since I’ve seen that?” their dad asked with an amused smile.

  “I’m placing odds on twenty,” Ben croaked through sleep-worn vocal chords.

  “At least.” He laughed. “Just wanted to let my kiddies know dinner isn’t far off.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” Steph crawled toward the opening while her father held the sheet back. “How long were we out?”

  “A couple of hours.”

  She hmphed in answer, and brought both hands above her head to stretch out the kinks. Ben emerged from the fort, and mirrored her actions.

  “At least I caught up on some sleep.” He ran the backs of his fingers under his nose, and slumped into an armchair.

  “Out all night again, were we?” Such light banter didn’t feel natural, but it seemed the best option to try and keep her thoughts at bay. Images of Pete leaving hung around the edges of the conversation like a dark cloud waiting to pass over.

  “Afraid so.” Ben yawned, earning an un-amused shake of their father’s head as he walked into the kitchen. “Peril’s of the single life.”

  “Yeah. I bet.” She perched on the arm of his chair, and gazed out the window.

  Early evening light cast an orange glow over her parent’s yard. The flowers in her mother’s immaculate garden started the slow close of their petals before the night set in—the blooms all turned inward. She longed to do the same—curl in on herself, and hide away from the cold that would soon set in.

  But humans weren’t afforded the same simple pleasures as a flower. Her only option would be to ride out the storm. And like a sailor faced with a wave taller than her crippled boat, she could only stand by, and
watch as the force of the world weighed down on the little she had left.

  If she thought her head was in a bad place today—well, put it this way—she wouldn’t want to get out bed tomorrow.

  Ben’s fingers wove into her clenched fist. She glanced down at her brother, and gave a half-hearted smile. “I hate this part.”

  “The knowing?”

  She nodded. In the middle of a downer, she could bury herself in the roiling emotions as she fought to stay above water. At the end of the ride, she could rejoice in the relief of the climb. But at the start, during the on-set, she harboured the imminent fear of motorist stuck on the train tracks. It approached, it would hurt like hell, and there wasn’t a thing she could do to stop it.

  “At least you know how it goes.” He did his best to ease her mind, and for that, she loved him dearly.

  “I think that’s what scares me more. I know how bad I’ll get. When this happened last time, I think I assumed it would blow over relatively quickly, and that I’d simply feel a little down. But knowing makes it worse. Knowing how low I’m going to be makes me want to cry at the thought of crying.”

  He gave her hand a tug. “Then let’s keep your strength up. Come have dinner, and at least give your body the fuel to fight.”

  She nodded, and took a step back to let him out of the chair. The next few weeks would take a hell of a toll on her body, and the memories of how drained she’d been as a teenager were fresh as a daisy. Steph followed Ben to the dining room, and pulled out a chair.

  Her father placed a plate of carved beef onto the centre of the table, and tossed the tea towel he’d used to hold it over to the counter. “Dig in.”

  “Where’s Mum?” Ben slid a stack of meat onto his plate.

  Their father’s face grew impassive, and he busied himself scooping peas from a pot. “I sent her out.”

  Steph exchanged glances with Ben. Their dad hardly ever stood up to their mum. Most of the time he’d sit by, and pretend he didn’t hear the things she said in an effort at removing himself from her constant stirring. To have him physically send her away was a big deal.

  The three of them tucked into the meal in relative solitude. The occasional clang of a knife, or fork pierced the silence with an ear-shattering clarity.

  “I think I might put the radio on if that’s cool?” Ben crossed the room before anyone could reply.

  Monotonous advertising filled the space between over-played hits of yesteryear. The background noise appeared to help everybody’s appetite however, and dinner came to an end without feeling like another chore in her torturously slow day. The minute Pete disappeared from view, time had slowed to a grind. The stretch between each tick of the clock seemed enough to read a book in. The hours had passed painfully, taunting her as she counted them out.

  Pete said he’d call when they landed, and the first thing she had done once she’d returned to the rod with her coffee, was set an alarm on her phone to tell her when that would be. Seeing how many hours she had to wait set her off crying. Her eyes flitted to the clock, counting out the remaining hours until the plane would arrive in Dublin. A day could pass so quickly when life was good, but give your brain something to look forward to, and twenty-four hours soon became a lifetime.

  Steph scooped up the last of her gravy, and took her fathers empty plate from between his relaxed arms. “Thanks, Sweetheart.” He smiled. She gestured to Ben for his as he stuck the last forkful of meat in his mouth. He handed it over, and she stacked the plates, pushed out from the table, and carried them to the sink.

  “If you wanted to stay the night, your room is made up.”

  Steph turned to face her dad, and shrugged. “I think I’d kind of like to go home—be amongst my own things. No offense.”

  “None taken.” He nodded swiftly, and rose from his seat. “I’m sure you’d rather the distance from your mother, anyway.”

  Ben passed her to grab a cool beer from the fridge. “Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own?”

  “Positive. I’ll call if I need anything.” She matched his stare. “What? I don’t need monitoring.”

  “No, but if you hit rock-bottom the last thing you’ll feel like doing is picking up the phone.”

  Damn him. She wouldn’t either. If she hit that slump, she could foresee a day in bed, hungry, and in denial.

  “I’ll come hang out for a bit,” he insisted.

  Steph sighed, and crossed her arms over herself. “Fine. If it makes you feel better.”

  “It makes me feel better,” her dad admitted. “I’ll sleep happier knowing you aren’t alone with this mess.” He tapped the side of her head.

  “How am I meant to fix this?” she asked him.

  He opened his arms, and let her in for a snuggle. “Who said there’s anything to fix? Once Pete’s issues blow over, I think you’ll do fine.”

  “I hope so.”

  “How we going to do this, then?” Trevor swung his duffle over his shoulder, and headed for the exit with Pistol.

  He looked over at the big guy as they walked, and sighed. “I thought we could start with Murray.”

  “You sure that’s a good idea? Heading straight to the source of the hit? What if he decides to save a bit of dosh, and take you out himself?”

  “I get the feelin’ he won’t.”

  Trevor’s eyebrows shot up, and he huffed his surrender on the subject. “If you’re sure.”

  Pistol shrugged his jacket closer, and tugged the zipper to the top. The cool Dublin air bit into his exposed flesh, and he grimaced at the sting of the cold. There was a reason he hadn’t missed this place other than his family.

  “I want to know a few things before I cut off my nose to spite me face, so I figure it’s best to ask before I stir the hornet’s nest, ya know?”

  “Yeah, I get you.” Trevor waved down a taxi, and headed for the ranks. “Where do you think he’ll be?”

  “Only one place that bastard is, if not at home.”

  “Yeah?”

  “The track.”

  Trevor chuckled, and opened the door to toss his duffle in the taxi. “Best be at it then, huh?”

  “Yeah.” He let Trevor get in while he took a moment to case out their surroundings. People passed by, oblivious to who these two men were that had stepped foot into the country. Nobody knew his reason to visit, and nobody likely cared.

  Why did he then feel like he should be wary of one of the many people who seemingly went about their business without a second look in his direction?

  “You coming, or what?” Trevor called.

  Pistol ducked into the waiting taxi, and settled into the seat as the driver pulled away from the curb. “Do you get the feelin’ we were watched?”

  “I’d be naïve to think we hadn’t been.” Trevor chuckled. “Eye’s everywhere, Son.”

  The car sped through the streets, and out to his hometown, a short drive from the bustling madness of the city. He let his head fall against the cool glass of the window, and watched the average value of the houses slowly depreciate the further they got from the airport. Before long, they were in the hauntingly familiar run-down streets of where he grew up.

  Landmarks passed by, bringing painful memories with them: the park he had his first and last swing with Colin in, the shop he stole his first pouch of tobacco from, the alley Murray made him commit his first mugging in. What would Steph think if she came here? What would she think of him? Would the esteem she held him in dissipate, and leave in its wake the same lost cause that he believed himself to be?

  The driver pulled up outside the local racetrack, and Trevor sorted the fare while Pistol stepped out to stretch his legs. Dark clouds marred the sky, but unlike in Australia, it wasn’t a definite indication of rain. The only thing it heralded was how dark he was about being back in the place.

  Pistol pulled his phone from the pocket of his jacket, and flicked through the address book while Trevor stepped from the cab. He hovered over Steph’s number; debating if now
was in all truth the best time to call. He needed to be cold, calculating, and removed from the situation. Talking with Cutie would only warm his soul, and make him pine for home—his real home.

  He had promised he’d call when they landed though, and if he didn’t do it she’d be out of her mind with worry. As painful as his departure had been on her, he couldn’t inflict more pain when a selfless call would solve the problem.

  Trevor stepped up in front of him as he tapped her number, and lifted the phone to his ear. The rings sounded, long and hollow, before her voicemail clicked in. Not having her answer hadn’t crossed his mind, and a short second passed before he managed to snap his focus to the task at hand, and leave her a message. He pocketed the phone, a frown in place as he considered what she might be doing.

  “Ready?” Trevor asked.

  He nodded, and smacked his open palms against his temples. The sharp burst of pain worked as intended to switch him over from being caring to cruel, and he nodded at the big guy. “As I’ll ever be.”

  The two of them started for the gates. “How long has it been?” Trevor asked.

  “Since I’ve seen the bastard?”

  Trevor nodded.

  “Shite, I don’t know. Too long.”

  They passed through the tall, wrought iron structures, and headed for the stands. True to form, he recognized the leather jacket Murray had worn for the last twenty years, second row from the bottom. A lump formed in his throat, and he forced back his desire to choke.

  Go time.

  Trevor placed a hand on his shoulder, and let Pistol lead the way. The familiar heat of anger grew in his chest the closer he got to the aging thug. He walked casually along the row of seats until he stopped shoulder to shoulder with Murray. Trevor hung back in the row behind, hands in pockets.

  “Took ya fuckin’ time,” Murray sneered.

  “Had to convince myself it was worth the effort, old man.”

  “How was the flight?” He lifted a small set of binoculars to watch half a dozen greyhounds that flew over the dirt on the far side.

  “Long, and unnecessary.”