He chuckles. “Something like that. Probably when you were going through that fucking basketball jersey craze of yours.”
I grin wryly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Liam bellows a laugh. “Bro, you fucking lived in that Larry Bird jersey.”
“It’s called hometown pride, douche. And I looked tough in that thing.”
“Dude, you were a pimple-faced fifteen-year-old pasty white Irish kid.”
“Hey, least I wasn’t walking around town wearing a fucking Superman cape.”
It’s true. My brother actually did walk around Southie for an entire summer like that when he was ten or so, with Colleen Gallagher’s full approval. It’s a miracle he didn’t get his ass beat for it.
We crack some more jokes, we reminisce on past line-ups and head coaches for the Celtics. And this is another thing that’s just not me.
Small talk.
Hiding behind banter and somehow scared to speak my mind, which is something I never have a problem with. But this is the lead-in, I guess, building up to something I know might fuck some shit up between us.
“Dude, remember when Damien painted his fucking face with-”
“Liam.”
He stops. “What’s up?”
“I need to tell you something.”
“You’ve always felt you were trapped in a man’s body, and you’re going to get some dicey surgery in Thailand in order to finally become the strong, confident woman you’ve always-”
“Shut up.”
I can almost hear him smile, but there’s a coldness in my voice that stops him.
“What’s going on, Con?”
“There’s a girl.”
“Interesting,” my brother says slowly before chuckling. “Well, that’s a good thing, man.”
“Not this one.”
“You all right? Dude, I’m hardly the guy for relationship advice, but if you need to, like, I don’t know, talk about shit or whate-”
“There’s a girl, and she saw me that night.”
There’s a pause. “What do you mean?”
“I mean there’s a girl who saw me. That night, in the back room at the Rusty Duck, with Mikhail and the Ukrainians.”
And then I tell him everything. I tell him about Sierra barging drunk into the room, and about her watching me cap Anton’s cousin. I close my eyes and sink my head back against the lighthouse as I tell him about grabbing her, and taking her - bound and gagged - back to my place. I tell him how she was my hostage, but how she helped us both escape from the ambush back at the loft, and how we’re both on the run now from this, and about the shit with Marlow and how I’ve just walked out on her. I tell him everything, in fact, except the part where I’ve been screwing her left and right.
I tell him everything except the part where there’s a chance I’ve fallen for the very last girl in the fucking world I should have.
And then we’re quiet, the only sound the waves crashing against the rocky shore.
Finally, Liam whistles lowly.
“Fuck, man. This is a big deal.”
“I know,” I growl through clenched teeth. “Look, I made a mistake, man, and I will fix this.”
“No, Connor,” he sighs. “I mean it’s a big deal to hear you talk about a girl like this.”
“Does it sound like I’m in the mood to fuck around about this right now?”
“No, and I’m not,” Liam spits back. “I mean, shit man, you know who you sound like? You know what pussy you sound like talking about this girl like this?”
I narrow my eyes. “Enlighten me.”
“Me, talking about Aela.”
I crack a quarter smile. “Liam, there is a world of difference between this situation and what you and Aela are.”
“Is there?”
“Goddamn right there is. You and Aela are both Southie born and raised. You’ve both got the Saints in your damn blood.”
“And?”
I spit into the sand. “Could we maybe talk about the bigger issue here? She had a fucking phone from Marlow.”
“You’ve said that already.”
“And you don’t exactly seem as concerned about that as I feel like you should be.”
“Well, did she fucking call him?”
I scowl. “No, he called her.”
“And are the FBI surrounding the beach house right now and hauling you away in irons?”
“That’s not the point, Liam.”
“No, that’s exactly the point, Con,” he tosses back at me. “Marlow’s been crawling up people’s asses the last few weeks, you know that. This is exactly his style. He tried to bribe that chick Damien’s been screwing with fucking jewelry the other day to put a bug in his car. Ian Galway’s grandmother told Marlow to go fuck himself when he tried to tell her what a bad little apple Ian’s been.”