Torin (Hope City #9) - Maryann Jordan Page 0,6
know it’s not our fault. But I’m so fuckin’ pissed right now.”
He bent and kissed his sister’s forehead and said, “I don’t want you going home alone. Why don’t you head upstairs to my place and you can crash in the guest room?” He thought she was going to argue, but she finally nodded and walked down the back hall toward the stairs that led to the second-floor apartment he called home. After everybody left, he locked the door and sent the other employees home. They had already begun cleaning, so it wasn’t as though the pub was a wreck. But right now, he just wanted quiet.
By the time he made it up to his apartment, he’d hoped Maeve would have been asleep. Instead, she sat on the sofa, a whiskey in her hand. Her eyes met his and a sigh escaped her. Walking over to the kitchen counter, he grabbed a glass from the cabinet and poured some of the amber liquid for himself. Sitting in the chair opposite the sofa, they were silent for a moment, then lifted their glasses at the same time before both took a generous gulp.
“Gramps’ll be in when he hears,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“And he’ll tell you the same thing that Rory did. It’s not our fault.” She sighed heavily. “But it sure feels like it, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
Silence filled the room for a moment, then she asked, “Do you ever think of what we’d be doing if we didn’t have the pub to run?”
He snorted. “You’d probably have some fancy job in accounting or business instead of slinging drinks and keeping up with our payroll and taxes.”
She cocked an eyebrow and scowled. “Yeah, and you’d still be in the military, making a career of the service.”
“Nah… the Army was never what I wanted to do for a career. It was just a chance to get out of Hope City for a while. Figure out what was important. Grow the hell up.”
“And did you?”
“Grow up?”
Now, she barked out a laugh. “No… figure out what was important.”
His mirth slowed and he nodded. “Yeah, I did. Family. The family business. Being my own boss. Continuing a legacy and making my own mark on it.”
“Me, too. Everything you just said goes for me, too.”
No more words were spoken as they continued drinking. Their sibling bond ran deeper than many he knew. Forged from loss, leaning on each other and family legacy, they worked together like a well-oiled machine. He dropped his head back and closed his eyes, the vision of the woman being wheeled out on the stretcher filling his mind.
“She’ll be okay,” Maeve said, cutting into his thoughts. “And we’ll be more vigilant.” He opened his eyes and watched as she slammed back the rest of her drink before standing. “I’m off to bed. Thanks for letting me crash here.”
“It’s your place whenever you want it, sis.”
She held his gaze once again before offering a slight smile and nod. He heard her disappear into the second bedroom and then finished his drink.
Tucker Family Home
Timothy Tucker sat at his kitchen table, staring at the cup of coffee his son, Bob, had placed in front of him.
“Come on, Pop. I’ll fix some breakfast, and you get that coffee in you. You’ll feel better.”
“Ain’t nothing going to make me feel any better right now. But dish up some breakfast, and keep your mouth shut.”
“I hear Marty might have a line on another job.” Bob pulled out the skillet, obviously ignoring his dad’s insistence that he stay quiet. “Looks like another one of the warehouses on the harbor might be hiring. Thought I might check ‘em out, too.”
“Like that does me any good,” Timothy grumbled, taking a too big sip of the hot brew, then wincing as it hit his tongue. “Hell, boy, you can’t even make a good cup of coffee.”
Bob looked over his shoulder and grinned. “Just because I don’t put whiskey in your coffee when you’re trying to get over a hangover don’t mean I can’t make a cup of coffee. Anyway, maybe the warehouse will take you on, too.”
Timothy’s meaty fist pounded the table, then he winced again as the sound reverberated through his head. “Who the fuck is going to hire someone fifty-six years old and disabled?”
“You’re back ain’t that bad, Pop. There’s jobs you could do.”
“The fuckin’ city bought out the fuckin’ Stepanov Warehouse and got rid of all our jobs. You think anybody’s paying for me to get hurt again?”
While Bob scrambled eggs and popped