person’s life and pick through everything that could help me.
By the third cup of coffee, Aodhan finally resurfaces again, his face blank but his eyes are bleary. He looks tired but that bone-weary type of exhausted that doesn’t come from lack of sleep.
It comes from losing your best friend.
“Do you want some coffee? Pancakes? A steak?”
He huffs and stretches until his back cracks and pops. “Do we even have a steak in the fridge? I’m fine, Queenie. I need a shower and a shave, then I might be human again.”
He stumbles off to the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind him. Everything about him is muted, deflated, and just quiet. I get it and I’m not expecting anything at all from him, but it’s still fucking heartbreaking. I would do anything, anything, to go back in time and take the Bear out before he could write that fucking list of his.
I hope he got thrown in a tub of acid.
I need to ask about that.
There’s not much else I can do with the pictures and boxes of information I have here, so I pull myself up off of the floor and wash my coffee cup. Then I wipe down every last surface area in the kitchen, sweep, mop, and wipe over the glass on the oven door.
When the shower finally shuts off, I peel the rubber gloves off of my hands and take a seat on the mattress to wait for him. I feel… lost. Like I’m waiting around with nothing to do, but with a mind that won’t stop spinning until I think I’m going to pass the hell out. I can’t leave here and get back to work, or tear my house apart to quiet the storm brewing in my head, but I also can’t stay here and slowly but surely go insane.
Is this what grief feels like? I’ve never had to grieve someone like this. The only person I really cared about who died was my mother and I was a child… and also terrified because I knew my father had done it and he immediately began his psychological warfare on Ash and I.
I didn’t have the time or the maturity to grieve.
The bathroom door opens and interrupts the spiraling panic building in my brain. Aodhan is cleanly shaven and fully dressed, but he still looks absolutely wrecked.
I smile sadly at him and he drops down onto the mattress next to me, his fingers threading through mine. “I’ve gotta go see the family. Cian and Patrick need to be told in person and we need to decide where we’re burying him.”
I nod and run my fingers through his hair, pushing it back and out of his eyes. It’s all messy and unruly from the shower, and he hasn’t bothered taming it.
I don’t blame him.
“I’m going to head home for a few hours. There’s some files there I need and I need to… clean. I need to organize for a few hours.”
He nods, his eyes drifting over to the window-slash-door. “I’ll drive you home, see you in safe. I’ll come stay with you tonight if I can. I don’t know how this is going to go down; I might take a leaf out of Illi’s book and just get them both fucking wasted.”
I smile ruefully because, well, we both survived the night thanks to that tactic. I was able to focus on Aodhan and he could focus on not focusing, so clearly, there’s a method to that madness.
“How old are his brothers? How old was Jack?” My voice breaks saying his name, but I say it anyway.
I’m not going to let him fade away.
“Twenty-one. He was six months younger than me. Cian is eighteen and Patrick is seventeen. They’ve both been working for the family, doing what they can to get us back on our feet. Cian is seeing a girl from the slums; he’s been trying to get her off of the streets and staying with us, but she’s worried about the O’Cronin reputation. Makes sense, she’s too street smart to just listen to some guy she’s messing around with. Patrick is… wild. He’s been dying to come to parties at the docks but Jack put his foot down about it. I think he was worried about him getting his drink spiked and stolen out from under us.”
I giggle because it’s all painfully sweet. “So Patrick is too charming for his own good? Noted.”
He smirks and blows out a breath. “He’s the spitting image of Uncle Éibhear.