Page 35 of Hustle

Seamus Doyle is a man of his word.

We sleep, and fuck, and sleep, until early afternoon. Seamus orders us some greasy takeout—not in his usual food regimen, I’d wager--and I call the shop to see if someone can feed Hank. Joey is there, but she says no, Hank bites. Fair. He has his kibble so he’s far from starving, but I’d hear about the delay in serving his canned food.

The Chinese food arrives, and it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Seamus and I laugh and chat, and it’s easy, like it used to be. I think back to the Lovers Tarot card I pulled, and wonder.

“So how long do we have, with the injunction?” I ask around a salty mouthful of vegetable fried rice. I’m sitting cross-legged on his couch, wearing one of his silk pajama tops and a pair of his boxers. It’s all too big for me, but I can tell from Seamus’ expression that I make it look good.

“Probably no more than a month,” he says, deftly picking up a spare rib with his chopsticks. “Stacy has friends on the bench who will challenge it immediately.”

“But you also have friends,” I say, “librarian friends.”

He smirks at me. “What do you have against librarians?”

“Mrs. Howe was such a bitch to me,” I say. She was our high school librarian and was always sending me to detention for talking during study hall.

“Mm,” Seamus replies, nodding and eating another spare rib. The grease was shimmering across his lips and I wanted to lick them. “Did you know she went to school with your father? I wonder if there was some history and she took it out on you.”

I roll my eyes. “Who didn’t have history with that asshole?”

I see something cross Seamus’ eyes. He puts his plate down.

“Evi,” he says, “I owe you an explanation.”

His tone is so serious that I put my plate down, too.

“I wanted you to go to college,” he says.

“No shit,” I reply.

“And it’s because you’re talented, Evi. But also because I thought you could benefit from being away from the neighborhood for a while.”

“Seamus, you’re not my father,” I say snidely.

“No,” he snaps. “I’m not.” He closes his eyes, and his tone softens. “We were friends. And my dad…he asked me something, Evi. And I’m not sure if I made the right decision.”

I regret the grease of the fried rice as fear turns it into a cold slick in the back of my throat. Where is this going?

“My family. We didn’t like how your father was constantly in and out of trouble, making things hard for you and your Ma. I told my dad he hit you.” Seamus looks up at the ceiling, and back at me. “I told him because I knew he could stop it.”

I’m stunned into silence.

The world’s starting to spin.

“You know what I mean, right, Evi?”

I nod. My throat feels tight now.

“My dad would’ve been happy to do it. He hated your father. But he asked me if it’s what you wanted.” Seamus gets up and sits next to me on the couch. “I should’ve asked you, Evi, but I couldn’t. So I said no. And I hoped you’d just leave for school because I felt like a coward. I couldn’t pull that trigger. I couldn’t have my dad pull that trigger. I’m sorry.”

“Jesus Christ, Seamus,” I say, leaning back into the sofa. “You’re sorry you didn’t let your dad kill mine?”

I repeat each word slowly and carefully to make sure I’ve got this right.

“He’d have done it himself,” Seamus offers lamely. “He always took care of the jobs he thought were the most important personally.”

“Oh my god,” I say. “This is so fucked up.” Absurdly, I start laughing.

“Honey,” I say, looking at Seamus. “Your big bad secret is that you didn’t knock off my dad.”

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