Marital Bitch(37)

The front door is unlocked and I walk straight in. Brad is hunched over in his leather Lazy Boy recliner in the living room, a glass of liquor in his hand. He looks at me, expressionless and just stares. He hasn’t given me this look since that fateful night so many years ago when he walked in on me and Heather.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. He shakes his head and stares at the glass in his hand, swishes the liquor around and downs it. I need to make this right, and fast. He’s shutting down. But before I can say or do anything else, he turns his head, looking at me from the corner of his eyes. For a brief moment, they soften. He smirks, but it’s not the playful smirk he always wears. He looks mean. Not angry, just… mean. I try to smile, but it’s forced.

In a moment so brief I barely register what happens, he throws the glass across the room. It shatters on the wall. I step back; my body flush against the front door.

“What? You’re scared of me now?!?” he’s screaming; and yeah, I am sort of scared of him right now. I’ve never seen Brad so angry before in my life.

“How much have you had to drink?” I ask quietly. I want to know, because this is a side of him that I’m not sure I can deal with.

“Answer my question. You’re scared of me now?” He stands from his seat in the chair and takes three tentative steps towards me. His face now wavering between apologetic and angry is trained on mine. Something happened, and it’s hurting him. I can’t imagine that I could have done this much damage.

“I’m not scared of you, Bradley,” I say, keeping my voice low. He takes two more steps forward. I relax a little, my nails no longer digging into the wall. Brad would never hurt me, I know this. I give him a sad smile. He closes the distance between us. I lean against his chest and his arms wrap around me.

“Are you okay?” I ask him. He says nothing for several minutes. We just stand there and I breathe him in. This being in his arms feels really nice, homey even. Part of me thinks that I’m letting everything Darla said get to me. The other part of me thinks that maybe I’m finally opening my eyes to what’s been before me my entire life.

“I don’t want you going out at night, okay?” His voice is gruff, like he’s fighting his vocal chords just to speak. I want to ask him why, but I know better. My dad’s a cop and so is my brother; this isn’t the first time they’ve asked me to do something for my safety. The three of them—they’re always looking out for me. I wonder if that’s something I’ve taken for granted.

“Colleen?” Brad says, taking my face between his hands and forcing me to look him in the eyes. “Don’t go out at night, okay? Not without me. Please.” I nod, looking into his eyes. He’s serious about my safety—he always is. Why haven’t I noticed this before?

He looks different up close. He doesn’t look slobbish or crude. He’s handsome. Well, he’s always been handsome in that Irish brute sort of way; but now, he looks different. He looks… sexy?

Without another thought, I act on instinct, grabbing his neck and pulling him down toward me. I don’t seem to have any control over my actions. I kiss him. At first I’m gentle, but when he doesn’t respond immediately, I attack him.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN

(Brad)





“Brad,” she says all serious, “We’re having sex.”





THE DAY HAD gone to complete shit. First of all, I hate waking up to a murder. Second, Colleen’s little stunt at the station had been haunting me all day. By the time I left work it seemed everyone in South Boston knew about it. They’re all nosey as is, and this whole thing was really starting to piss me off.

The pro down on East Broadway turned out to be a college girl—from Harvard. I don’t know what she was doing down there, but if I was to guess, she was trying to score some Adderall. Once college kids figured out ADHD medication would make pulling an all-nighter easy as pie, we started picking them up after trying to score in some pretty rough parts of town. Stupid children. Whatever happened to doing things right, even if they aren’t easy?

I remember Colleen trying that once when she was at Harvard. She was a year from graduating and her grades were in the toilet. I don’t think she would have graduated that next spring without the little extra help she was getting from Adderall. As it is, she skated through her final year with high C’s. Once I found out she was doing that, I put an end to it, and we haven’t talked about it since. She’s reckless—always has been—and she doesn’t think things through.