Page 137 of Beautiful Scars

“Aye. I’ll give you that one for free.”

***

GBX night.

Fucking GBX night.

The music that makes you want to spunk your life away on drugs.

And believe me I’ve never been more tempted in my life.

I sit on one of the high stools at a cocktail table nursing a can of Red Bull. Cole wasn’t lying, he really did round up everyone I’ve ever had a friendly interaction with and put them in one room. It’s like an explosion in an aftershave factory, Paco fucking Rabanne assaults my nostrils to the left and Ralph Lauren to the right. I’ve already attempted to bail and sit in the office twice.

It’s not that I’m not a people person. My business is people—often the lowest sorts. I like people just fine. In fact, some of my favorite people are here. Some of them I haven’t seen in years, like my old football team. I used to play every Wednesday and Sunday in my twenties, went all over the country with them. We were amateur and it was as much an excuse to get fucked up and fight as it was to kick a ball around a park. Good laugh, though. A bit depressing seeing them all again since a third are fat, the other third are coke heads and the rest of them just look old, like me. Still, it’s nice they made the effort, especially after Cole made sure they all knew it was bullshit.

Nah, it’s not the people that have me wanting to go and sit in the office. It’s the noise that comes with so many people. I can’t stand it. Especially when my brain’s already pickled.

And my brain is pickled.

I should have gone to see Meisie before I left. But I didn’t. Didn’t even open her bedroom door. Didn’t even tell her I was leaving. I hesitated for two minutes outside while Cole was downstairs shouting for me to move my arse. I decided not to go in, and then I hesitated again on locking the door.

I fucking locked it. And I wish I didn’t have to.

But that’s not the kind of relationship we have.

I take another sip of my Red Bull, part of me wishing it was something stronger.

I used to like us because I felt like she needed me. She needed me to bring her clothes. To bring her food. Then things changed but she still needed me. Whether it was because she was bored or lonely, or she was being a brat or being a basket-case. She needed me. And I think I needed her to need me, too.

Does she need me now, though?

“Get these down yer feckin neck son.” I glance up, and there’s Paddy Connolly lining shots of sambuca? White tequila? along the table.

Paddy Connolly. He and his family are over from Ireland. Three brothers, Callum, the oldest and head of his family since his dad retired. Ruthless. Ethan, the middle, almost taller than me and built like a brick-shithouse. Deadly. And Tadhg, the baby, funny as fuck and looks like he should have been in One Direction, but he’s a clever little shit. He’s taken a keen interest in the current political climate. They have business on the west coast and knowing what I know about Tadhg, he’ll be getting primed to start punting drugs ordered on an IOS app, paid for by cryptocurrency, delivered within the hour via flying fucking drones.

Then, there’s Paddy. The cousin. Everyone agrees the only excuse for Paddy is that he was either dropped on his head as a baby or was kicked by a horse. He’s as mad as a box of frogs, and not in a Cole ‘one too many good weekends’ way, either. Nah, he doesn’t do drugs. He doesn’t need to. Paddy is the sort of man who would glass your face because he didn’t like the way you blinked at him.

When Paddy tells you to pour unidentifiable white liquid down your neck, you do it with a smile on your face while you ask him how the kids are doing. He doesn’t have any kids, but what I’m saying is, you’re polite about it.

“Sláinte is táinte.” Health and wealth. I down the shot. Fucking tequila.

Paddy takes the seat next to me. “Sláinte agatsa.”

Don’t know what that one means. Some of the words are the same andagatsaisn’t one of them, but I guess it’s all about the context.

“How’s the family, mate?”

He shoves another shot into my hand and watches me down it before he leans in to answer. “Aye. Callum and Ethan took a notion to clean up some business, they’ll be here later. Too many cocks in here for Tadhg, so he’s in the main room.”

I chuckle and he hands me another shot. Bad idea. I know that. I’m a big man and it takes a lot to have an effect, but I don’t drink nearly enough to build up the kind of resistance I should have.

Fuck it.

I down it.

Paddy grins.

Cole smells fun going on without him like a cadaver dog, and takes the seat opposite us, calling someone over and telling them to bring a bottle.