“Like shit,” I mutter.

  “Heard prison could do that to a man.”

  “He’ll be out in a few months.”

  “Ten years gone because he couldn’t take the beatings anymore and decided to put good ole Dad in the ground instead of taking his fists. He never should’ve been put away for protecting himself or anyone else.”

  My stomach tightens as a tidal wave of guilt crashes over me. “I know, Finn.”

  “But everyone in this shit-ass town thought we were all low-life dirtbags. They had no idea what happened in that house and only saw Dad as a poor single father to seven young boys, all abandoned by their mother at an early age. It didn’t matter to anyone that he beat us on the daily. Nevin was the only one who had a set of balls on him to make things stop. It should’ve been you. You should’ve been the one to save us. You should be the one sitting in jail right now, not Nevin.”

  “I should’ve stayed to protect you guys.”

  “Ain’t no lie, but only a coward cuts and runs, and you, Dylan, are a coward.”

  His words are like a punch to the gut. I was a fucked-up eighteen-year-old when I left, high on coke, weed, and whatever else I could get my hands on at the time. I’d been a victim of my father’s attacks for over a decade, and all I wanted was out. I needed freedom, and somewhere in the back of my stupid-ass mind, I thought if I left, my father might somehow change…that his anger would simmer, and he wouldn’t throw hands as easily as he had.

  “You didn’t even call to see if we were okay.”

  “What the fuck was I supposed to call? We didn’t have a phone at the house, and no one had cell phones. Was I supposed to send up a Bat-Signal or some shit, Finn?”

  “A letter would’ve been nice. Something. Anything. Just gone. Forgotten. Like we were dead to you. But it’s okay. You were dead to us too.”

  Time hasn’t healed old wounds. It never does. I already know, no matter what I say to Finn, he’s never going to forgive me. I’m wasting my breath even trying to explain myself. He was lost to me the day I left.

  “Why even bother coming back?” he asks.

  “Quinn called me last month and told me what was going on with Ian.”

  “We have it under control. We’re taking care of him. We didn’t need you blowing back into town and offering your help out of nowhere. You haven’t given a shit for seventeen fucking years, Dylan, and we sure as fuck don’t need it now.”

  “Ian wanted me here,” I bite out.

  “Clearly the cancer has fucked with his head.”

  I push my beer forward, no longer in the mood to drink or listen to my brother’s verbal assault. Standing, I reach into my pocket and peel off a ten before tossing it on the bar. “Doesn’t matter what you think or feel, brother.”

  Finn sneers at me, but I’m not putting up with his shit. I’ve spent the second half of my life not putting up with anyone’s shit, and I’m not about to start now. Blood or no blood, I’m not going to listen to his shit.

  I lean over, getting right in his face, making sure he hears every word I’m about to speak. “I was asked to come, and I came. Simple as that. You don’t need to like it. You don’t need to see or speak to me. But if Ian wants me here, and Quinn too, then I’m fucking staying. You have a problem with that…it’s your fucking problem. You steer clear of me, and I’ll sure as fuck steer clear of you. Got me?”

  He barks out a bitter laugh, his eyes sparkling and filled with hate. When he rises from his stool, we’re eye to eye, the same color green staring back at me. “I ain’t steering clear of shit. As long as you’re sharing the same air as me, I’m going to make you as miserable as I possibly can. You don’t get to abandon us and then ride back in like some bullshit hero.”

  “Whatever, Finn.”

  “Piece of shit,” he mutters. “Worthless piece of shit.”

  “Glad to see you sound just like Dad, even picking up on his phrases and making them your own.”

  His eyes flash, and he pushes a single hand against my chest, trying to knock me backward. “Want to settle this outside?” he’s quick to ask.

  I keep my feet planted against the sticky tile floor, not moving from his piss-poor excuse for a shove. “Ah. You even settle your feelings the same way too. You need to work on that shit, brother. It’s not a good look on any man, especially a Walsh.”

  “You’re not worth the night in jail,” he replies, dropping back into the stool before his hand finds his beer. “Get the fuck out of my sight, brother,” he says, the last word sounding more like profanity than a term of endearment.

  “You need me, you call. Until then, I’ll stay out of your way, and you stay the fuck out of mine,” I tell him, drawing the line of where our relationship stands and will remain for what will probably be an eternity.

  I don’t think there’s anything I can do for Finn to forgive me for leaving. He’s had too many years to hate me, twisting the memories from that time into whatever bullshit he needed to survive. Whatever connection we had died the day I left. That is on me and something I have to live with every damn day.

  He doesn’t so much as look at me. It’s as if I no longer exist to him. But as soon as I start to move away, he says, “You’ve been here a week and somehow feel you’ve earned back your spot in this family. You haven’t. Doesn’t matter what Quinn or Ian says, they feel the same way too. You’re an outsider. Not family. Not our brother. You ain’t shit anymore.”

  There’s nothing more for me to say. He’s said his piece, telling me how he’s felt for the last seventeen years without me around. “You know where to find me if you need me.”

  He lets out a bitter laugh. “That’s ripe.”

  I stalk out of the bar, eyes on me from many of the people in my past, looking as if they’ve seen a ghost. As soon as I step outside, I turn my face toward the starlit sky and inhale the salty, humid air, cursing myself for coming back to this shithole after I said I’d never step foot in this state again.

  If it weren’t for Ian’s cancer and need of a bone marrow match, I wouldn’t fucking be here either. None of our other brothers was a match to him, and while I was the last person to be asked, I came as soon as he called. I may have left them all behind in the past, choosing self-preservation over abuse, but I’m not going to turn my back on him again. This is a matter of life and death, and I won’t let my brother die because I don’t want to hear the wrath from the others.

  “Looked rough in there, sugar,” a voice says from behind me.

  I spin around, seeing a woman who was once a pretty girl, but is now a shell of her former self. A woman I once thought I loved, sliding between her legs on the regular when we were in high school. “Shanda?”

  “Yeah, baby,” she says, throwing her cigarette on the ground and smashing the burning end with her beat-up high heel. “Never thought I’d lay eyes on you again.”

  I don’t move toward her, something I would’ve done in the past. “You’re as surprised as me.”

  She has no problem walking toward me, her eyes sliding down and up my body, studying every inch. “You’re looking good, though, Dylan. Better than you did when I last saw you.”

  As she gets closer, I step back, not wanting any part of the train wreck she looks like she is. “You look…” I don’t even have it in me to lie. Her face is pockmarked, no doubt from the countless years of drug use.

  “You feel like going at it once more for old time’s sake?” she asks without shame.

  I shake my head, flipping through all the ways I can turn her down without her causing a scene. “Can’t, babe. Although the offer is tempting, I have a girl.”

  Shanda had been sweet, but she was always about the drama, and I’m not in the mood for more bullshit than I have already experienced tonight.

  “I won’t tell anyone,” she replies, still having zero shame, smiling at me with her checkerboard grin.

  “I have to go,” I tell her, taking a few steps backward.

  “Maybe another time,” she calls out as I move away from her.

  “Yeah, maybe,” I lie, turning around and making my way toward my bike, leaving the past where it belongs—in the darkness.

  When I finally kick off my boots at the door, I collapse into a chair on the front porch, a jumble of emotions running through me. I never thought I’d be back here again. The place where so much bad shit had happened, and any happy memories were few and far between.

  I’d taken more than a few beatings in this very spot, my body bent over the railing as my father lashed me with his belt until his arm grew too tired to swing the leather again.

  “Hey,” Ian says as he pokes his head out of the rusted screen door. “Y’alright? Need a beer or anything?”

  “Nah, kid. I’m fine. Do you need anything?” I ask in return, because he’s the sick one and clearly the nicest of all the Walsh men.

  He steps out onto the porch, the screen door slamming behind him as he leans on the railing and turns to face me. “You’re here. That’s all I needed.”

  I have no doubt if one of my other brothers had been a match, I wouldn’t have been needed or wanted. I probably never would’ve heard about Ian’s battle with cancer either. All my brothers feel like Finn does, but they aren’t as easy with sharing their feelings, even when they’re filled with hatred.

  “You feeling okay?” I ask him, noticing the slight wince on his face when his one hip touches the railing.

  “Fine. My body’s just shit after the chemo and radiation. It’s like catching a beating, but instead of the pain being in one area, it’s everywhere and deep in your bones. Never felt a pain like it. Never want anyone else to feel it either.”

  The remnants of the little boy I left behind are still there. Glimpses of his childish features still dot his face, but they’re older and weathered.

  “I wish I could do more,” I tell him, hating the look of pain and sadness in his eyes.

  He raises one arm, brushing his strawberry-blond hair away from his eyes. “You’re doing what I need, Dylan. Once the procedure is done, hopefully my body will start healing so I can get back to livin’ instead of dyin’.”

  “No doubt,” I whisper, unsure of what else to say.

  He grimaces as he shifts his weight from one leg to the other. “I need to go lie down. You going to be okay out here alone?”

  “I’ll be fine, Ian. Go rest,” I reassure him. “Holler if you need anything.”

  He gives me a sorrowful smile before moving back toward the door, walking slower than he had when he came out. His hand lands on my shoulder before he steps inside. “I’m glad you’re here. Bone marrow or no bone marrow, I’m happy you’re back. It’s been too long since I’ve laid eyes on you, and I didn’t want to leave this earth without ever seeing you again.”

  I place my hand on top of his, regretting so much of the past. “You’re not going anywhere, Ian, and neither am I.”

  He smiles down at me, giving me a slight chin dip. “Night.”

  “Night, kid.”

  As soon as I’m alone again, my phone vibrates in my pocket, and I retrieve it, finding a message from my buddy Gil.

  Gil: Deal went through. Money’s in your account.

  I restored an old Indian, leaving it at his shop to be sold because I didn’t have time to do it before heading back here. The money from the sale will be enough for me to live on for months, without having to worry about my recovery or finding a job right away.

  Me: Thanks, man. ’ppreciate it.

  Gil: Let me know when you’re back and need more work.

  Me: Will do.

  I don’t have the heart to tell Gil I’m not coming back. I had my fun in California, but wherever I land after Ian is squared away, it won’t be on the West Coast.

  Before I turn off my phone screen, a message flashes at the top and almost knocks me off the chair.

  Luna Gallo liked your post.

  Rosie’s twin sister. This means only one thing…the woman has talked about me. And no matter what her mouth says to my face, I’ve left an impression.

  If I have to be trapped in this town, I may as well have a little fun. And that will include the hot little Gallo with the mouth of fire.

  5

  Rosie

  Unknown: Hey…

  I stare at the screen, waiting for something, but I don’t know what. I’m scared to move, worried that any movement will cause him to extend the conversation and give him the wrong idea.

  Fuckin’ Luna.

  She did this shit. I never would’ve gone to his social media and stalked him. I especially would’ve never liked or commented on any of his posts, drawing attention to myself.

  But Luna…she always has to stir the pot.

  The Queen of Drama strikes again.

  Unknown: I need to postpone the tattoo for a while. I just thought you should know so you don’t wait for me or think I stood you up.

  I breathe a sigh of relief.

  Me: No problem. No big deal at all. Thanks for letting me know.

  I curse myself a little as soon as I hit send. I should’ve just replied with Okay. Too many words lead to too many thoughts and opportunities for him to reply.

  Unknown: You good?

  “Fuck,” I hiss into the empty room, hating myself for the rookie mistake. “I’m a dumbass.”

  Me: Great.

  Don’t ask him. Do not ask him. I repeat the words inside my head as I type out.

  Me: You?

  My mother always taught me it wasn’t polite not to reciprocate asking how someone was if they asked me the question. I hate my politeness and the manners my parents instilled in me.

  Unknown: Eh, continually paying for my past and living the dream all at once.

  Curling to my side, I stare at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keys, wondering if I should reply. There’s not much more to say after that statement.

  His past sucked. That much, I’m sure of. I watched the Walsh family from a distance when I was little, hearing nothing but hateful profanity making its way through the trees of my backyard. High school was filled with gossip and the trial of Nevin Walsh after he killed his father.

  I have no doubt Nevin did it in self-defense, but somehow, he was tried and found guilty of manslaughter and sentenced to ten years in prison. If his family had had any money or pull in the county, he would’ve walked away scot-free. But he suffered the consequences of being poor and had his life ruined before it ever started.

  The Walsh kids had shit luck being born to such a horrible father, while people like me lived a charmed life, surrounded by amazing and supportive parents along with an extended family who would help me with anything without asking any questions. The Walsh kids never had that and probably never would.

  Me: Sorry.

  Unknown: Don’t be sorry for me. Someone has to have a shit life. Better me than you.

  I wouldn’t argue with him on that point. I never would’ve survived in his household. My sisters wouldn’t have either. We definitely wouldn’t have thrived and grown up to be the people we are today. My sister Gigi is a rock star mom, a caring wife, and a great big sister, even if she is in our business a little too much. And Luna…well, she’s Luna, but she’d jump in front of a moving bus if it meant saving my life.

  Me: No one deserves a shit life. No one should have to live one. At least you got out.

  Unknown: At the cost of a brother in prison and being disowned by the others.

  Oh sweet Jesus. I’m engaging with him, and now I can’t stop myself. I feel bad for the guy, and while he is a cocky jagoff in person, he’s being sweet now. I’m a glutton for punishment.

  Me: You’re home now, so one of them wanted you around.

  Unknown: If you only knew how untrue your statement is, you’d laugh.

  Me: I heard you’re staying with Ian.

  Big mistake. I know it as soon as I hit send. That message lets him know too much. He now knows that someone other than Luna has been talking to me about him and that I know or maybe care about where he is, which I don’t care about…not one bit.

  Unknown: Only out of necessity. If he didn’t need something from me, I wouldn’t be here. Wouldn’t be welcome here as long as I was breathing.

  I don’t know what to say. What do you say to someone who says they’re not welcome in their own family’s house or lives? Sorry doesn’t seem to be enough, but it’s the only thing that makes sense.

  Me: Well, maybe it’s a step in the right direction. I mean, what could someone need so badly they’d ask their brother to come home even if they hated him?

  Unknown: If he weren’t sick, he never would’ve asked me to be here. I’d be on the road, leaving this shit-ass place in my past. So yeah, when someone is in need, they’re willing to accept help from someone they absolutely hate.

  And there it is…another mistake. One, I had no idea any of the Walsh brothers was sick. And two, I engaged, speaking out of my ass and got schooled for opening my big trap.

  Me: I’m sorry. I didn’t know any of them was sick.

  Unknown: It’s not like you were part of the same crowd. Gallos and Walshes have never mixed.

  Me: That’s no lie, but I’m still sorry about your brother.

  I can’t imagine Gigi or Luna being sick and possibly dying. I’d probably accept help from anyone, even my mortal enemy, if it meant saving their lives.

  Unknown: That’s life.

  Me: So, you’re out of here afterward?

  Unknown: I haven’t decided. I know I don’t want to go back to Cali. I wore out my welcome and need a change of scenery.

  “Ro?” Luna says from the other side of my door before giving the wood a light knock. “Can I come in?”

  My heart stops, and for a second, I stare at my phone as if it’s about to combust in my hands. I turn off the screen and flip it upside down on my comforter. “I guess so. I can’t keep you out forever.”

  She strolls in with a big smile. “I knew you’d come to your senses quickly. You never could stay mad at me for long.” She plops down on the bed and rolls onto her side to face me. “What do you want to do tonight?”