Wild Chance (Wilder Irish #13) - Mari Carr Page 0,17

trust me, that is not an invitation for you to send me a dick pic,” she added with a laugh.

One Padraig didn’t share. “Guys are sending those to you?” There was no mistaking from the angry tone that he was no longer playing the game.

She shrugged. “A few. And I obviously blocked them on the app after that. I was just joking around, Paddy. It’s not a big deal.”

“I’m not sure this online dating is a good idea. Might not be safe.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s fine. I block the creeps, message with the nice ones for a few weeks to feel them out, and I’m only setting up dates where I meet the men in public.”

“After Wednesday’s date, why don’t you wait until the pub reopens before you go on any more. You can meet the guys there where I can keep an eye on you.”

She shook her head. “Hell no! I don’t even want to think about you, your dad, your uncles, and your Pop Pop hovering around, giving my date the evil eye. I’ve heard the horror stories from Sunnie and Darcy, so I know how you all are.”

“You need someone to look after you since your brother isn’t around.”

Emmy snorted. “Sam wasn’t around enough for us to ever get very close, and I would never use the word overprotective to describe him. Though one time, he…he came through for me.”

“What’s that mean?”

Emmy hadn’t told anyone about the last time she’d seen her brother, mainly because at the time, there hadn’t been anyone to tell.

And then, after enough time passed, she didn’t want to think about it again.

“He moved back in here after my dad died.”

“I didn’t know that,” Padraig said.

“He didn’t stay long. Only a month or so. Said with our parents dead, it fell to him to look after me. I pointed out I was twenty-four and not a kid, but he insisted.”

“Why did he leave after a month if he wanted to protect you?”

“I’m getting there. Sam had been crashing at a friend’s house before moving back. The last time he’d been home when my dad was alive, he’d stolen a bunch of stuff to sell for drug money. My dad had kicked him out and told him not to come back until he was clean. I know that sounds bad, but the truth is, my dad had tried a hundred different ways to help my brother, but…Sam has always been his own worst enemy.”

“I don’t think your dad was wrong to kick him out. You know what they say about having to hit rock bottom.”

“Sam hadn’t hit it when he moved back in. He only came back because Dad was gone. So, you know, free place to stay, free rein to steal stuff. I hid everything of value, everything I cared about, in my bedroom, and put a lock on the door. Sam’s friends started coming by, getting stoned, drunk, basically trashing the place. I stayed in my room, sneaking out for food whenever they left or passed out.”

“Jesus,” Padraig muttered.

“One night, I woke up to a loud crash. One of Sam’s friends had kicked in my bedroom door.”

“Fuck.” Padraig shifted closer, his expression so fierce, she felt a tremor of fear, even though she knew it wasn’t directed at her. “What did he do to you?”

“Nothing. He never laid a finger on me.”

“What?” Padraig asked, unconvinced.

“He was walking toward my bed, but before I had time to reach for something to use as a weapon or scream, Sam was there. He pulled the guy out of the room and pummeled him. Then he kicked him—and everyone else—out of the apartment. The next morning, Sam was sitting on the couch when I came out of my room. Said he was leaving. And he was sorry.”

Padraig reached for her, and she accepted—needed—his hug. A lot of the guilt her father had felt in regards to Sam had transferred to her after his death, and she’d spent more than a few sleepless nights wondering if there had been some way to reach him, to help him.

She gone to visit him in jail shortly after his arrest—intent on bailing him out—but he’d refused the money and to see her. Sent word through his state-appointed attorney that he wouldn’t accept the bail and that she was better off without him in her life.

She’d refused to accept that, so she started writing him letters after his conviction, and after a year or so, he’d finally relented and agreed