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The nerve poked its head out to see what was going on. Perhaps she hadn’t made the right decision to come see Ivan for advice? He sure as hell appeared to have made up his mind about Pete, and given what she wanted to talk about, it would only sully his opinion further. “He’s got his reasons for being the way he is, Ivan. You need to remember that not everybody had the love and support we had as kids.”
He placed the pot on the stove top, and stood facing her with his hands braced on the counter. “If that were excuse enough, Steph, half the men on death-row would be pardoned.”
“I’m not making excuses, Ivan. Simply trying to point out that people as scarred as he is, usually have their reasons.”
“Sounds like you’re making excuses to me,” he said, sliding a plate her way. “You have to admit how bad it looks when you kick me out at the drop of a hat, all because he wants a booty call.”
“It wasn’t a booty call.”
“Whatever. At least I have the decency to sleep on the couch when you’re upset.”
What the hell did that mean? Of course he’d sleep on the bloody couch. Did he honestly think he was that kind of friend? There were lines between friends, and sleeping together was exactly the point she would draw one. She hadn’t even shared a bed with Cass, for crying out loud.
Steph stabbed the fork he gave her into the lengths of pasta, and thought about what they’d discussed so far. Was she trying to excuse Pete’s actions? In a way she was, but then she equally sympathised with him. Sympathised for his reasons to kill his mother? Yeah, she was nuts. “What would you do?”
“When?” Ivan devoured a forkful of Bolognese.
“If you were in love with a girl, who wanted revenge on her family, what would you do?”
Ivan’s fork hit the plate with a clang. “Are you telling me that you love this guy?”
“I guess I am.” She had used the ‘L’ word without a second thought, after all.
“Are you sure that’s a wise thing to do?” He spun another hasty forkful, and shovelled it in.
“Why not? Everybody deserves somebody to love them.” She took a bite of the meal, and chewed it slowly.
“Mmm,” he sounded, gesturing he had something to say as he swallowed his mouthful. “Do they deserve it though, if what they do so selfishly causes hurt to the person who loves them?”
“I don’t know.” What was the correct answer to that? That was something Pete would need to weigh up; how much hurt he was willing to cause in the name of chasing his demons. And did she need to be privy to the answer? “I’m so torn, Ivan. I’ve got such strong feelings for him, but when I ask myself why, it all comes down to how free he makes me feel when we’re together.”
“So then, is it purely a sexual relationship? Could another man do the same for you? Maybe you need to try another ride before you buy.”
“I can’t believe you’re suggesting that,” she exclaimed. “I didn’t say I don’t want to be with him, I just don't know how to handle the accompanying baggage.”
“Why does it have to be your baggage?”
“Because that’s what you do for people you care about. You love them no matter how many suitcases are on the carousel.”
Ivan locked his gaze with hers, his emotions unreadable, though stern. “What exactly do you need help deciding, Steph? Because whatever I say, you defend the guy. Seems to me you’ve made your mind up.”
She eyed her fork as it spun through the pasta. “You know that old saying, if you love something let it go? I guess I’m wondering if I need to do that. I don’t know if he should deal with his family issues with, or without me.”
“You know what I’d say to that.”
She nodded. He’d say the same as everyone else; walk away—fast.
“Take a step back. See how it feels to let him have his space. Maybe he’s thinking the same?”
“Yeah,” she muttered. “Maybe.”
Ivan placed a hand over hers, and gave a gentle squeeze. “Come away with us this weekend. I know you need to work this out, but maybe you also need to forget about it all for a while. The answer might be clearer after a weekend off.”
“Who’s ‘us’?”
“Cass, and I. We were going camping.”
Steph snorted. Cass? Camping?
“What?” Ivan withdrew his hand to fork another dollop of pasta into his mouth.
“I can’t imagine her being away from the comforts of home, you know.”
He shrugged, and finished his mouthful. “Neither could I, but she seems pretty cut up by your falling out, so I suggested a break from everything for her.”
“I didn’t know you two hung out.” Steph recognised the chill in her tone, and winced.
“We exchanged numbers a while ago.” Ivan avoided eye-contact as he focused intently on the strand of pasta that refused to co-operate.
“Ivan?”
“Steph?”
“Did you two hook up?”
He looked to her, then back to the plate as he muttered something.
“Pardon?” Steph couldn’t believe her ears. Since when had this happened? And why was it kept a secret from her?
“I said, yes.”
“When?” she screeched.
He held his hands up as she straightened on her stool, an eyebrow raised in question. “Settle down. It was one night. I’d been drinking, she was lonely, and things … happened.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Because we knew you’d do this.”
“Do what?” What was she doing?
“Flip out.” He smirked. “I thought you’d be happy two of your friends hooked up.”
“Happy?” Steph spluttered. “Pardon my honesty, but she’s a no good skank, Ivan. She sleeps around every weekend in ‘search of Mr. Right’. You deserve better. So, so much better.”
His expression faltered, and his tone drew flat. “Like who?”
Her breath hitched at the look he gave her, and she took it as a cue to put distance between them. “I don’t know,” she replied, standing from the stool. “Somebody who knows what a great guy you are. How selfless, caring, and special you are—you’ll be—to the right one.”
“You seem to feel pretty strongly about this?” He cleared his plate away, and she stole the precious seconds to calm her pounding heart.
“Like I said.” She shrugged. “I care about those I love.” His eyes lit up. Wrong words. God, wrong words. “And I love you as a friend.” Her fingers traced mad circles on her thighs.
“Well hey.” He chuckled nervously. “What you say about me sounds great in theory, but the suitors aren’t exactly forthcoming.”
Her fingers froze. “You don’t have anyone interested? I find that kind of hard to believe, you know. I’ve seen the way girls look at you when we’re out.”
“Kind of hard to make it serious with anyone when I can’t return the feeling.”
“Why not?” Was he gay? Why the hell couldn’t he return the feeling?
“Because I can’t move past someone else. They’re always in my head, Steph, and it makes it hard not to compare everyone to them.”
“Verity.” Steph nodded, remembering he’d mentioned seeing his ex a while ago, and how they were going to give things another try. Over-reacting. That’s all you were doing. Her heartbeat brought the revs down, and stopped its onslaught on her ribcage.
He laughed, and shook his head. “No, Steph. Not Verity. You.”
Thump, thump, thump.
“Here’s your script, and your copy of the release forms. You’re free to leave now, Mr O’Malley.” The young nurse handed Pistol the sheets of paper, and paused.
He recognised that look; disgust mixed with curiosity. The kind of look a girl gave him when she couldn’t decide if he was something she wanted to try, or too far past her tastes.
He flashed her a cocky grin, and snatched his waistcoat off the chair as he left the cubicle. Six hours he’d been in that damn hospital, waiting on some baby-faced doc to com
e around and flash a light in his eyes to tell him what he already knew. He had mild concussion. He was lucky the tyre-iron hadn’t split his skull. Blah, blah, blah. It wasn’t the first time some pussy had smacked him upside the head in a fight.
The ass-licker had then driven his mother to the ER, and called an ambulance to pick him up while Pistol was still out cold. And trying to locate his mother in this place had been like trying to get about a maximum security prison on lockdown. Every time he poked his head out the fucking curtain, some snooty nurse had ushered him back in. Even with the distraction of a multiple victim car-crash, he’d only got as far as the loos before he was turned around, and frog-marched back to the bed.
No point trying to find her now. She’d either be gone, or in a ward. He favoured the latter option given how sore his knuckles were. There had been the standard line of questions about how he came about his injuries, but since he was out cold when the ambo’s picked him up, it was easy to feign ignorance. Given the fact the copper’s didn’t press the issue, he could only deduce his mother had thought better than to draw any attention to herself with charges.
Pistol turned down the exit corridor, pushed through the double doors, and swung a left at the sign pointing to the pharmacy. He handed the slip of paper to the old guy manning the counter, and took a seat to wait on the painkillers. If he had to list the things that riled him up the most about the forsaken situation, he’d place not knowing if his car was okay right after his mother. He never left the rod parked anywhere he didn’t know, and who knew how many fuckers had put their greasy fingers over it by now.
Shit. Who needed kids when he had a car?
Not that you’d ever be a father. He’d ruled that option out right about the time he lost contact with his Da. If both of his olds had turned out to be such sorry excuses for parents, then lord knows what he’d be. How could an animal with so much hate in its heart ever be caring? Who’s to say what he’d do if the little bastard didn’t stop crying in the wee hours? The thought sickened him, but it was still a risk he wasn’t willing to take. No child deserved a loser like him for a father. Kids were supposed to look up to their parents. And what kid would look up to him? With him as an idol, he could only imagine what sort of prison regular he would create.
He powered up his phone, and noted no missed calls or texts from Steph. What’s she doing? Surely she would have at least text by now? So what, if they left each other on tense terms that morning, he had expected more from her. She knew how edgy he got when he didn’t know if she was okay. He couldn’t pass the option that she did it on purpose, just to stick it up him one. Oh well, you deserved it.
The pharmacist called out his number, and he stepped up to pay for the meds. His wallet had been emptied of cash, and he could only assume that would have been his mothers’ doing. Probably scrounging enough for her next hit. At least she’d left his plastic alone. He flashed his card at the reader, and the man handed him a paper bag. He headed into the corridor again, and followed the exit signs toward the dark of night. Smokers huddled around the entrance; some in hospital gowns, others visiting. He patted the pockets of his waistcoat, and swore. The bitch must’ve stolen his smokes, too. A young guy looked his way, and he decided to try his luck.
“Could I grab a smoke, brother?”
“Sure.” The man stuck a half-empty packet out, and handed Pistol the lighter.
“Thanks.” He drew a stick, and lit it, relishing the gritty taste. “You’re a life-saver.”
The young guy took the packet, and lighter back with a smile. “Not a worry.”
He patted his pockets down, and plucked a business card from the back pocket of his jeans. “Here.” He handed it to the guy, who nodded in thanks. “Hit me up for a drink when you’re in town.” Hell, it was the least he could do. After all—he wasn’t a complete asshole.
He drew another lungful of the toxins, and walked across the car park to the cab ranks. Not a singular ride sat available; the roadside empty bar a couple of strewn beer bottles. He turned, and headed for the bus shelter where he read the faded timetable. Five minutes until the next one. He could do five minutes.
The moment his backside hit the seat, his phone vibrated in the chest pocket of his waistcoat. He snatched it free, hoping Steph had decided to find out where he was—that she missed him. Jesus, how girly of you. Instead, Derek’s number flashed across the screen.
“How’d it go?” he asked the minute Pistol answered.
“About as well as expected.”
“She’s rung, and told me about the trip to the hospital.”
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “She’s still as hard-headed as I remember.” So, she had been discharged …
“You’re damn lucky she’s not going to charge you.”
He sneered. “I ain’t stupid, Derek. I know why. She’s violating her terms of travel by not staying with you.”
A moment of silence passed. “I couldn’t have her in my home, Pete. There’s a reason why I support your views on her.”
“Yeah, I know.” Nothing had to be said. Both of them came to the same conclusion about the safety of Derek’s family if she was that close. Pity the old man didn’t know what his youngest son had been involved in. “Find Richard?”
A deep sigh scratched in his ear. “Yeah. It’s not good, Pete.”
“How bad?”
“We, ah … we found his body at his house.”
Pistol smiled as he waited out the mandatory ‘shocked silence’. “Hell, Derek. My condolences to yerself, and Martha.”
“Appreciated. The police are investigating now. They think he was murdered.”
“Shit,” he hissed. He deserved a fucking Oscar for his performance. “They have any idea why?” Never mind who, that would simply insinuate he knew that Richard was a crook.
“No.” The old man sighed. “Anyway. That’s my issue, not yours. I’ll let you know if your mother is in touch again. Only wanted you to know I was up to speed on this morning’s activities.”
“Aye. Thanks.”
Pistol disconnected the call as the bus slid into the stop. He was man enough to admit he felt sorry for the guy, and even worse for being the cause of Derek’s pain. But things needed to be settled, and unfortunately, the minute Richard accepted a sum of money from Pistol’s ma for information leading to her son’s death, the guy had signed his own death warrant.
Nobody got to be a liability to his freedom, and stick about. He hadn’t left Ireland behind to try and start a new life a gazillion miles from his old one, only to be dragged back into it by some half-assed excuse for a gangster.
Fuck that shit.
He had a new future now—one without a conniving family, intent on bringing him to ruin. He had a future mapped out with a beautiful woman by his side.
Nobody would take that away—ever.
Steph edged around the sofa as her mouth did its best impersonation of a fish out of water. Words failed to form, and a strained squeak came out in their place.
“I know I said I got over it, Steph. But come on—do you think I could?” Ivan stalked toward her, matching every retreating step.
“Why not say something? Why leave it like this? Trick me into thinking you’re my best-friend?”
“How else could I keep you in my life?” Ivan stated matter-of-factly as he passed the counter. “If I had said how I felt, you would have run a mile. I couldn’t risk that.” He shook his head, a pained look twisting his features. “I think about you every. Fucking. Night, Steph.” His voice cracked in pitch as he smacked a fist into his open palm with each word.
“I … I … I guess all I can say is sorry.”
“Sorry?” He laughed, and her skin crawled. “Sorry won’t cut it, Steph. I dream about you, and I wake up every fucking morning with a hard-on, wishing I could roll over and sink it into you. I swear to God I can fucking smell you when I think about you. I can’t pretend to be your friend anymore. Hearing you talk about that guy rips me apart.”
“He’s no good, Steph. He’ll hurt you. He doesn’t know what you’ve been through, why you’re the way you are, what will break you. I do.”
“Exactly, Ivan. You know what happened. So why are you doing this.” She waved a hand between them.
“It’s not the same.” He shook his head, a pained scowl on his face. “I love you. He didn’t. What he did to you back then? It was a desperate act from a desperate man.”
She flashed a smile, and he stared at her. It took every ounce of self-control she had not to laugh at the ridiculous nature of what he’d said. Keep him talking. “I know Ivan, and that’s why our friendship is so important to me. You understand what happened. Not many people do.”
“Why do you keep saying we’re friends?” he yelled. “Why do you have Pete around? Can’t you see it should be me? Can’t you see how perfect we are together?”
Holy fuck. He’s truly lost the plot.
Steph moved incrementally as he vented. Ivan mirrored her. Slowly, but surely, she managed to turn them so her back was to the door. “You’re scaring me, Ivan.”
“You’re killing me, Steph.” He thumped his fist over his heart.
Now, or never.
Steph turned, and fled toward the door. Forget her bag—she’d worry about how to get into her house later. Her hand snatched at the handle, but it refused to turn. Her palm slid about the stationary door-knob, and fell away from her freedom. He fucking locked it? He’d planned this from the get-go. Panic rose in her chest, leaving a tingling in her shoulders. What now? What now? Think!
“Baby, what are you doing?”
Goosebumps erupted across her flesh at the sound of Ivan’s icily calm question. “I have to go, Ivan.”