Concern floods me. We’d done quite a bit of walking today, and that couldn’t be kind on a bad leg. I blurt, “I don't mind getting a car back. We've done a lot of walking today, so?—”
Cillian directs one of those disarming smiles at me. “You're sweet, but I'm good. It's...well it's still a massive pain in my ass, but I've learned how to deal with it.” My disbelief must've shown on my face. “Promise.” He reaches for my hand, and I let him pull me back against his chest, his chin resting on top of my head as we both take in the view.
“So you and the bridge were kindred spirits.” I prompt him to continue.
His chest rumbles behind me with a soft laugh. “You could say that.”
I relax into him.
“Something about the hum of traffic, the combination of the river and the city, and everything. It grounded me.”
“I get that.”
“Now, when I need to recenter, this is where I come.”
“Thank you for sharing this with me,” I say, so quietly I worry he might not hear me above the sound of the cars behind us.
“Thank you for asking.”
CHAPTER 11
Cillian
I haven’t even putmy keys down on the kitchen table when my phone rings, 'LITTLE MICKEY'—my older brother’s hated childhood nickname—in big letters flashes across the screen.
I almost don't answer. Michael calling me at 6 pm on my day off is not a good sign. Was it too much to ask the universe to let me ride the high of an excellent day for just a little longer?
“No,” I say instead of hello.
“You have to.” Michael's voice doesn't hold an ounce of humor.
“What happened?” Monday's weren't dead, but they rarely got rowdy.
He sighs heavily. “I had to send Joey home.” My stomach drops. “Which means, either I can work the grill or you can, but I need another body.”
My leg gives a throb of protest. “I'll take the grill.” At least if it wasn't too busy, it would be easy enough to get off it here and there. “Let me unload my groceries.”
“I'll fill you in when you get here.”
We don't getthe chance to talk until I lock the doors at 11:15 pm.
“Go home, Sean,” I tell our little cousin. He’d balk if he knew I still thought of him as little; the kid was 18 and almost my height.
“You sure?” he asks. The tub of clean glassware clinks in his skinny arms as he watches me limp my way over to a chair.
“Yeah.” I swallow a groan as I sit. “Give Ginelle something to do tomorrow.” Streaks of searing pain tear through my thigh as I prop my leg on another chair.
“I'm telling her you said that.” He pulls his phone out to text her. “I am not getting yelled at for some stupid shit twice in twenty-four hours.”
“If she's pissed she can take it up with me,” Michael says. He pats Sean on his shoulder. “Good job tonight.”
Sean lights up as Michael hands him his tips, the combination of cash and the approval of his older cousin—something I’m convinced we never quite grow out of—working their magic. “Thanks.” He clears his throat, “Joey...”
“Keep that between us, yeah?” Michael asks.
“Yeah,” Sean nods.
As soon as we hear the back door shut, Michael grabs a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.
