Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 92734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“Thinking is all you ever do, squirt. You’ve got to get out in the world and live a little.”
She eyed his nearly empty drink—no doubt it wasn’t his first for the night. “I think you do enough living for both of us.”
“Not how it works.” He finished the pale amber liquid in his glass. “Life experience can’t be shared, not really. I could tell you stories…” He glanced at her. “Then again, you’re my little sister and I think those stories might burn your virgin ears.”
Heat crept up her neck and over her face. “There’s such a thing as too much information.”
“I couldn’t agree more. But my point stands—I could go out and do the craziest shit anyone’s ever seen, and it wouldn’t count any more in life experience for you than those books you like to read.”
She knew that. Lord, she knew that. But wishing for courage to do something else—something wild—with her life was a long way off from actually taking that first step to do it. Sloan might only be twenty-three, but she knew herself. She liked her quiet, safe, boring life. Maybe it wasn’t always safe safe, but if she put herself out in the world, there were no guarantees of even that. “I’ll take it into consideration.”
“No, you won’t.” He snorted. “You’re saying that because you think it’s what I want to hear, but in reality you’ll be holed up in that nook in the library with a book, reading about someone else’s adventures.” He seemed to realize how harsh he sounded, because he sent her an apologetic look. “Sorry, squirt. If you can’t tell already, I’m not exactly good company tonight.”
She could. One benefit to always standing in the shadows was that she saw more than the average person. She’d known the second she got back from Connecticut that something about Cillian had changed. He still pasted on the carefree attitude when he had to, but that wasn’t the man he was anymore. Devlin’s death had changed him, just like it’d changed them all. She reached out and squeezed his arm. “It’ll be okay.”
His smile was mirthless. “Well, hell, squirt. I never pegged you for a liar.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
James spent the day in meetings. It was all shit he knew he’d been neglecting, but his talk with Lisa Marie had driven home just how many things he’d let slip through the cracks. It was time to change that. If he was going to run the Hallorans, he had to stop pussyfooting around and run it.
By the time he got back to the house, it was dark and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. But he was confident that there were no more nasty surprises lurking as a result of Ricky’s actions while James wasn’t paying attention. As for Ricky…
It was time to do something about that, too.
Ten days was long enough to let him stew. He needed to fix this. Now.
He checked his phone as he walked through the door. Nothing. Not that he’d expected Carrigan to call him. She’d made it pretty damn clear that she had a lot going on in the next few days, so there was no reason for the disappointment souring his stomach. He’d just spent the damn night with her. He couldn’t possibly miss her. But the thought of going another few days without seeing her again made the feeling in his stomach worse.
Pathetic. He could almost hear his old man’s voice in his head, letting him know just what Victor Halloran thought of his son getting twisted up over a woman, let alone an O’Malley woman. A distraction. That’s all she is. Nothing good will come of it.
He bypassed the kitchen—no point in eating until he dealt with his brother—and made his way downstairs. It was eerily quiet in the basement, the silence broken only by the occasional sound of the house settling. Even though this place wasn’t old, it still had the feeling of something tired and exhausted, the history of too many bad memories weighing it down.
I’d like to light a match and leave it to burn.
He unlocked the door to Ricky’s cell and walked in. His brother lounged on the rickety old bed, his head propped on his arms as he stared at the ceiling. “James.”
“Ricky.” He moved to lean against the wall opposite. Ricky didn’t look like a broken man, but then, this was the least of what their old man had put them through. His brother had nearly the same scars James did. He opened his mouth, and then reconsidered. There had to be a better way to do this—all of this. “What do you want?”
“Everything.” Ricky sat up. “But since that’s not on the table, I’d settle for you not treating me like your annoying kid brother and actually showing a little fucking respect.”