Page 78 of Go Luck Yourself
Loch’s eyebrows rise into a sardonic twist. “I did already come to that conclusion on my own.”
“Then—” I scrub at my face, fighting for clarity. “The transfer never entirely took. So what’s to stop you from… taking back control from Malachy? Basically cancel the initial attempt at a transfer, since it was never completed? You wouldn’t need Malachy’s participation likely, since he isn’t in full control and was never supposed to be.”
Loch’s face throws me into quaking silence. Eyes wide, lips parted, brow furrowed.
“You’ve likely already tried that,” I say to my nearly empty beerbottle. “Of course. It was dumb of me to assume you wouldn’t have tried everything. I—”
“No.”
I frown up at him.
He’s watching me in that absorbed way he’s done a number of times now, like he can listen to my inner thoughts if he focuses hard enough, can see straight into my soul if he wills it. And god, Ifeelthat, his lidded-eye gaze an overhanging thunderhead.
“I have na tried that,” he whispers. “What you’re suggesting is a coup.”
“Maybe I am here to instigate treason.”
Loch finishes his beer, plunks the empty bottle onto the table, and scrubs his hand over his mouth. “This day has been too long to entertain acoupon top of everything else. AndChrist”—his eyes go from the bandage on my forehead to the one now hidden under my sweater—“you have to be feeling like shite.”
I shrug. “The vodka is doing wonders, honestly.”
He bends across the table, reaching for the bottle.
I pull it back.
“Kris.” He cocks his head, chastising. “I should na have even let you drink.”
“I’m not broken. You aren’t in charge of taking care of me.”
“Who does take care of you, then? It sure as hell isn’tyou.”
“My brother is excellent at—” Well, no, he isn’t.Itake care ofhim,and that’s part of the reason he’s pushing me to do different things, because I spent so much of my life being the one making sureheate enough and slept enough and drank enough.
No one does that for me.
Until.
I stare at Loch.
The realization I’m fighting rises up, up, pounds on my swollen throat with angry fists.
I take another drink of vodka.
Another.
A third, to be safe.
Loch snatches the bottle from me. “Jesus, you’re gonna vomit.”
“Vodka isn’t whiskey.” That doesn’t matter; a lightweight is a lightweight. “I’m perfectly fine with—” My body chooses this moment to hiccup.
Loch cuts a smile. “What’s your brother excellent at?”
“Oh. Um. Drinking. You’d like him. He’s got the same burdens as you and channels them into unfunny humor the same way.”
“He’s who that tattoo is for, eh?” He points at my right arm.
I gawk at him. Click my mouth shut. “Yeah. How did you know that?”
