Ramsay(18)

I sighed, leaning my chin on my hand. The truth was, it felt good to  confide in someone about my own dubious ethical behavior. Maybe  confession really did cleanse the soul. "Lydia De Havilland."

"A woman, aye. She doesn't want ya, I gather? Well, why not? You're a fine-lookin' sod."

I shook my head. "It's not about that." I turned to him. "Seven years  ago she did somethin' that resulted in my family bein' thrown out on the  street."

"Ah. I see. She betrayed ya."

I nodded. "Aye. And because of it, I promised I'd never beg again, never be brought to my knees."

He appeared to consider that for a moment before shaking his head. "Ya  can't avoid it. Life brings us all to our knees at one point or  another." He smiled suddenly. "I find when it does, ya are in a bloody  convenient position to start prayin'." He chuckled and patted me on my  back a couple times. I mustered a quick smile. "Also, son, if ya find  yourself in love with a woman, on your knees is a rather beguilin' place  to be."

I chuckled, suddenly having a pretty good idea about the topic of the  wee scandal. But the statement simultaneously amused me and brought a  strange ache. Never again would I touch Lydia in that way. Even though  her skin had felt like velvet beneath my hand earlier. No. Never again  would I touch Lydia.

"The thing is, Father, now the tables are turned, and she's the one who  needs savin'." I stopped, looking around the bar, seeing only Lydia's  beautiful face in my mind's eye. Malevolent, beautiful face I reminded  myself. Blue-green eyes filled with evil. All right, perhaps I was being  a wee dramatic. Filled with deception. That was more accurate.

"Sounds like that would be a good place to find yourself. Tables turned  on the woman who brought ya low once upon a time and Bob's your uncle!  Well done. Sláinte!" Cheers. He held up his drink.

I looked back to Father Donoghue's craggy face, staring momentarily into  his sharp blue eyes that didn't appear inebriated at all, despite that  he was sitting in a bar late at night with a drink in his hand. He  turned in his seat and began to bring the glass to his lips.

I frowned. "Only-"

He turned back toward me, lowering the glass. "Aye, yeah, only."

I couldn't help smiling. "Is there always an only, Father?"

He smiled back, a hundred tiny creases appearing at the corners of his  squinting eyes. "Aye, when it comes to a woman, there's always an only,  son." He smiled again as if this made him happy for some reason. "I will  surmise that in your case, the only is that ya would not hate her so  much now if ya didn't love her so much then. And there is such a thin  veil between love and hate, me boy. As wispy as the mist on an Irish  mornin'."

I let out a breath, raising my glass to my lips and taking a drink,  letting the alcohol burn slowly down my throat. He was right, perhaps. I  had loved her then with a fierce boyish infatuation. But I had loved a  girl who hadn't really existed, and I needed to remind myself of that. I  had loved an idea, an image, a beautiful face and a sexy body. And yet .  . . if that was true, why did she still make me feel this  out-of-control need, this confusion and hunger and lust?

There is such a thin veil between love and hate.

Okay, so the feelings I'd had for Lydia had been more than simple lust.  It hadn't been just her beauty that intrigued me. She'd affected not  only my body but my heart. And that was why I needed to exorcise her  from the part she still claimed. I needed to break her like she'd broken  me and finally be rid of her. The love I had felt for her was false,  based on lies. And if the love was false, the hate was false, too. I  would ruin her, humiliate her, and then there'd be nothing left except  peace. She had never really known me.                       
       
           



       

That must have been very difficult for you.

I set my glass down on the bar just a tad too roughly, causing the  remaining liquid to slosh out. I threw some cash on top of my tab and  raised a hand to the bartender, standing and nodding to Father Donoghue.  "Thank ya for the listenin' ear, Father. It helped."

He nodded, a small, knowing smile on his lips. "Ya be well, Brogan. Ya know where I am if ya need me."

"I do. Thank you. Slán, Father."

"Slán, me boy."

I left the bar, pausing outside the door, taking a deep breath of the  night air, smelling gasoline, the garbage can halfway down the block,  and the spices and fried food smells from a food truck parked a little  way down the street. I felt better, more in control than I'd been when  I'd entered the bar.

A boy walking alone with his hands in his pockets caught my eye, and I  watched him for a minute. He eyed the food truck, and I recognized the  look on his face: desperation, hunger.

I began walking toward him as he moved surreptitiously through the small  crowd of people talking and laughing as they waited for their food. His  hand snaked up and grabbed an order as it was set on the counter and a  number called out. He made to duck through the people closest to the  counter when a burly guy, probably having just left a bar after a night  of drinking, clamped his hand down on the kid's arm. "What the fuck?  That's my number, you little thief."

Walking up to both of them, I laughed. "Whoa, sorry, that's what I  always order. My friend thought it was mine." I looked at the kid. "I  haven't had a chance to order yet, pal." I clapped the big dude on his  back, taking the food from the boy and handing it back, giving him a  small shove. He looked confused but moved along. "What'll you have?" I  asked.

The kid glowered at me, attempting to break loose of the grip I had on  his arm. He smelled like unwashed hair and dirty laundry. I could smell  him even over the stench of the grease and food code violations wafting  off the truck. I ordered the largest burrito they sold, and we stood  waiting with the rest of the crowd. I could tell he wanted to run, but  the allure of food was too great.

When the order came up, I paid and handed the food to him. He unwrapped  it greedily and began stuffing it in his mouth. He followed me as I made  my way to the sidewalk and sat down on a bench a little way down the  block. "Sit down," I commanded. He hesitated, shooting me a nervous  glance but finally relented, sitting at the furthest end of the bench  from where I was sitting.

"Stealing food from drunks at two in the morning is the best way to get yourself beaten to a pulp or taken down to juvy."

"I was just hungry," he grumbled around the food.

"Yeah. I can see that. How old are you?"

He paused before answering, his mouth still full. "Eighteen."

"Finish chewing and then tell me how old you really are."

He chewed the oversized bite in his mouth, his eyes moving away from me before he said, "Fourteen."

I leaned forward, resting my forearms on my thighs and lacing my fingers  in front of me. "Who's supposed to be feeding you at home that's fallen  down on the job?"

He regarded me for several moments, another bite of food in his mouth  before he again swallowed and answered, "My ma." He glanced up the  street and then said, "She got herself hooked on heroin again. Took off  last week with a boyfriend, and I haven't seen her since. She'll come  back at some point, but there's no food in the house and-"

"What's your name?"

He shook his head. "I'm not going to foster care. No way. Got put in  there for a couple months when I was twelve, and I'll never go back.  Never." He shook his head again to make his point.

"You're old enough to work. How'd you like a job?"

He stopped chewing as he balled up the burrito wrapper, setting it in  the paper tray and putting it next to him on the bench. "Nah, mister, I  don't do that kind of stuff."

Oh you would if you became desperate enough. I should know. I shook my  head, pushing aside the sudden feeling of self-disgust as best as I  could. "It's a clerical job mostly. You'd be running errands for my  business after school. It's not the most exciting job, but it pays well  enough, and you'd be able to feed yourself."

His eyes narrowed, and I could see the wheels turning in his head as he  tried to figure out the rub. I took a business card out of my wallet and  handed it to him. "My office is nearby. You go to that address on the  card tomorrow and ask for Fionn Molloy. He'll set you up with the forms  you need to fill out. You don't feel right about it, you can leave. You  only stay employed if you don't bunk off school."