Page 13 of Beat of Love
Rafferty met his brother’s stare. “I don’t think so,” he said, recalling the revulsion in Aidan’s eyes.
He blotted up the spilled coffee.
If only his own life were that easy to clean up.
4
Welcome home
Following the doctor’s visit yesterday, he’d claimed exhaustion and returned to his room.
Where he’d remained since. Hiding, licking his wounds.
The man had recommended a drug rehabilitation facility in Colorado, and before he could back out, Rafferty had consented to a month’s stay.
He was leaving first thing tomorrow morning.
But first, he had to get through the remainder of the day.
He had to face his family.
A lunch.
To celebrate Esther.
And …him.
And he might’ve found some solace in it — if not for Aidan’s outright contempt.
A balmy breeze filtered in through the sliding screen door. With it came the scent of freshly cut grass and a chorus of loud greetings and gleeful shouts from children. The last time he’d been home, the only kids around were Dax and Caitlin — Caitlin just a baby back then. Now, with all his siblings paired off — and a mix of biological, step, and adopted kids in the picture — that number had grown.
Siblings …
Aidan despised him.
Sullivan had written him off as a lost cause.
How would his sisters react?
And Cecelia? He hadn’t seen his sister-in-law since Charlie’s death. Something she, rightfully, blamed him for.
Should’ve died in that fucking jungle, Trick.
The crunch of gravel wrenched him from his self-loathing, and his head snapped up.
His grandmother stood just beyond the small veranda fronting his room. He watched as Mammy climbed the two steps with surprising agility for a woman in her eighties.
“Come sit by me,” she called, settling onto the rattan three-seater.
He wanted to ignore her, tell her to leave him alone, but he found himself pushing to his feet.
There was just something about the old woman — something that made you listen, made you obey when she spoke.
The wicker creaked as he sat beside her. Stretching his legs out, he leaned his head against the high back. The breeze had picked up, but the air was sullen and muggy. His skin prickled as perspiration formed. He fisted his hands, stealing himself from scratching the damned itch.
“I wish my Aidan were here today,” Mammy said.
He blinked at the left field comment. Newly embedded in the Irish mob in Philadelphia when his grandfather had passed away, he’d only heard about his death long after the event.
