Page 93 of A Favor Owed

“You didn’t!”

“You’re right,” he says. “I didn’t.” I exhale heavily and press my hand to my heart in relief. “My mom did.”

“Brady!”

He winks at me.

“I’m going to kill you,” I fume, but that just makes him grin.

“You can take your aggression out on me later,” he says.

Fortunately, I’ve met most of Brady’s extended family several times, most recently a few weeks ago, after Brady and I attended the 9/11 memorial ceremony with his family. He has aunts, uncles, grandparents, and a ton of cousins of all ages. They’re warm and welcoming and genuine, entirely different from my own extended family, who are mostly products of a world where money and power mean more than anything.

When we get to O’Mara’s, it sounds like Finnegan’s on a Saturday night—loud music and packed with people. Brady silences my protest with a kiss. “Chill out, Pines. Have you ever not had fun with me?”

He has me there.

Once I’m over the initial shock of having such a big and boisterous birthday party, I do indeed find myself having fun. Even when Brady isn’t by my side, his family and friends surround me. And I’m not just a guest. I’m one of them. They treat me like Brady and I are a package deal.

“You look like you need a birthday shot,” says one of his cousins, a girl around my age. Siobhan and I are sitting in a booth with her, taking a break from dancing.

“No!” shouts Siobhan before I can answer.

“What?” her cousin and I say at the same time.

“I mean, um, I’ll get you both one in a minute.”

“Cool,” says the cousin. “So when are you and Brady getting married?”

Siobhan spits out her soda all over the table.

“What’d I say?”

“Nothing,” says Siobhan, coughing and mopping up the table.

I feel a stab of hurt at Siobhan’s reaction that I quickly try to tamp down. I don’t blame her for not wanting her brother to be married to the mob. (I talk to my mom once in a while and, even though I can never see myself speaking to my father again, it’s just a matter of time before he pays off or threatens enough people to get out of jail.) But even though Brady gives me no reason to doubt it, I still sometimes struggle to believe that one day I’ll officially be part of this family that I love so much.

“Where is that idiot, anyway?” Siobhan asks, looking around for Brady.

“I don’t know,” I mumble. Someone puts a shot of something down in front of me with a “Happy birthday” and a kiss on the cheek. I knock it back without thinking, then cough when the tequila burns my throat.

“Okay, that’s enough for you,” says Siobhan, looking panicked. “I know Brady doesn’t want you wasted.”

“What?” I say, my eyes wide with indignation.

“I mean… I just mean… Jesus Christ, where the hell is he?”

“Well, since he’s gotyoumonitoring my alcohol intake, I guess it doesn’t matter where he is,” I huff.

“Oh crap.” Now she looks distressed.

I’m just about to go look for said idiot and ask him why the hell he has his eighteen-year-old sister making sure I don’t get drunk at my own birthday party—at a bar!—when the music suddenly cuts off and the DJ speaks into his microphone.

“I’m going to ask everyone to clear the dance floor for a minute or two,” he says. “I’ve had a special request.” The crowded floor clears quickly, people shrugging and mumbling.

“And I’m going to need Angela Pines to come on over here.”

I freeze and gape at Siobhan. “Did he just say my name?”

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