Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“Problems?”
He glanced up to find Sloan standing on the other side of the desk. He knew she could be quiet when she wanted to, but he hadn’t even heard her come in. “Hey, squirt. How’s it hanging?”
She took the seat across from him and pulled her legs up to rest her chin on her knees. His little sister always seemed to do that—find a position to take up as little space as physically possible. She didn’t look too great, either. She’d always been thin, but she was almost gaunt these days, her dark eyes huge on her face. It made him want to drag her down to the kitchen and make her a sandwich—except he knew it wouldn’t really solve anything in the long term.
Still…
Cillian stood. “I missed lunch. Come on.”
“If you insist.” Her sigh was almost silent, but he caught it all the same. “What happened to your head?”
At least she asked him instead of just accusing him of brawling like everyone else had. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they walked down the hall toward the kitchen at the back of the house. “Oh, you know me, always leading with my head.”
“Don’t tell me you ran into a door.”
He was about to make a joke, but the tight way she held herself stopped him. She was genuinely worried, and fuck if that didn’t make him feel even worse than his parents and Aiden combined. “It was a wrong-place, wrong-time kind of thing. I know it doesn’t help, but I wasn’t out looking for trouble.”
“Are you sure?”
He stopped short, and she made it another three steps before he caught up to her. “What kind of question is that?”
“I’m not blind, Cillian. Everyone else might be occupied with their own issues, but I’ve noticed that you come and go at all hours of the night, and most of the time it’s on foot. It doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots—you’re out trolling for trouble.” Her gaze rested on his bandage. “It looks like you finally found it last night.”
“That’s not fair.”
She shrugged. “Maybe not. But I’m right, aren’t I?”
Yeah, she was. Or she had been. He’d been a ship without an anchor, drifting wherever the current took him, until it was only a matter of time before he wrecked himself on the rocks. But things were different now. As cliché as it was, last night with Olivia had shifted things for him. He wasn’t magically okay or any bullshit like that, but he felt like he had part of a purpose for the first time in over a year.
If he told anyone else in his family that, they’d laugh him out of the room. Sloan, though…Sloan might actually listen. “I met a girl, squirt.”
“A girl.” If anything, her voice went even flatter.
“Well, a woman.” He pushed open the door to the kitchen and held it for her. “She wouldn’t give me the time of day. Not that I blame her.”
“I can’t decide if that makes her smart or a fool.”
“Sit down.” He waited for her to do so before he went to raid the fridge. Their cook usually left the makings for snacks tucked away in case any of them got hungry between meals. He opened the bottom drawer. Sure enough, there were three different kinds of deli meat and the good sliced cheese that had probably actually seen a cow at some point. Perfect.
He brought it all out and set it across from Sloan. “Turkey, ham, or beef?”
“I’m not hungry.”
Yeah, he just bet she wasn’t. He put on a stern face. “Well, I am, and you know Mother would smack me if I ate in front of you without making you one, too.”
Some humor appeared in Sloan’s eyes. “You must be thinking of someone else. Our mother doesn’t lower herself to smacking.”
“You’re right. She’d just level one of those looks at us.” He shuddered, putting a little extra shake into it for her benefit. “Don’t throw me to the wolves, squirt. Let me make you a sandwich.”
She sighed. “If you’re going to insist, I’ll take a turkey. No mayo, please.”
“I remember.” Ever since she was a child, his sister hadn’t been a fan of condiments. He could understand some of the aversion—too much mayo was fucking disgusting—but she didn’t even eat ketchup.
She waited until he had the bread laid out before she spoke again. “So…this girl. Tell me about her.”
“She’s about your age, I think, and she’s a bartender down at Jameson’s.” He slathered mustard onto one side of his bread. “She’s got a kid. And a past, if I’m not wrong.”
“You’re joking.”
“What?”
“A single mother? Really?”
He tried and failed not to be insulted by the shock in her voice. “What’s wrong with a single mother?”
“Nothing.” Sloan crossed her arms over her chest, her shoulders hunching even as she met his gaze. “But you’re…you. You have a history of dating blondes with bigger chests than brains—and that’s if what you do could even be called dating.”