Page 22 of Dirty Legacy

“Be more specific.”

“You met a woman and got married. You did it twice. How’d you pull it off?”

He lets out a low rumble from his throat and takes a long drink. “Still wondering that myself.”

“I was handed over to Sinead. I almost can’t screw it up even if I wanted to, and believe me, I’m sure I’ll have my chances. So how’d you make them both last?”

“Patience.”

“That’s it?”

“Bourbon. Communication. Indulgence. With your mother, it was all about apologizing, and afterward, vigorous lovemaking.”

“Fuck’s sake, Dad.”

“You asked.”

“God damn it, I regret that now.” I rub the bridge of my nose. “Make sure Danielle gets that stupid phone. It’s on me.”

“You’re a good son.”

“Yeah, bullshit. And Rowan needs new shoes. Her old ones are falling the fuck apart.”

“What would that girl do without you?”

I tilt my chin to the ceiling and close my eyes.

Without me? She’d be fine.

But without Angie?

That girl would be dead.

6

ANGIE

“Honestly, I never thought this moment would come.” Nadia drags me by the wrist into a moderately crowded bar. “You’re always hurrying back home after work.”

“I need to check on my mom, you know that.”

“Your mom’s a grown woman.”

“With a crippling dependency on marijuana and the uncanny ability to set literal fire to her life.”

“Both fair points, but come on. You’re young. Drinks after work is practically a God-given right!”

She steers us toward a booth in the back. It still has old, half-empty glasses, but Nadia’s got this effortless way about her. Instead of complaining, she stacks everything neatly for the runner to handle when he gets a chance. The waitress comes over and Nadia asks for wine, but I stick with a Diet Coke, which earns an annoyed look from across the table.

“Come on, it’s drinks after work, not sodas.”

I smile sheepishly, heart racing. My palms are damp and I feel like I’m going to crumble to pieces.

And she’s got no idea.

Nobody does. Not even my mom, and I kept trying to tell her, but it was never the right time. Instead, I’ve been carrying around this weight like an anchor around my throat, dragging me into inky darkness.

Nadia chats amiably, carrying the conversation until our drinks arrive. I take the chance to clear my throat, sitting up straight, panic threatening to make me black out, but I have to tell her. I’m desperate to tell someone.