“He ever mention me?” Mal’s face rose into a sly grin. He had more lines around the mouth than Max, and his teeth weren’t nearly as white. Lounging barefoot against the breakfast bar in a t-shirt that said “Give me head ’til I’m dead” and showed off tattooed biceps, he made the expression “evil twin” spring to mind all too easily.
“Not … much.” She stood helpless in the hallway and plonked her basket down. “Look, um, maybe I shouldn’t hang around if he’s not awake.”
“Ah, he’ll be up soon enough. Come on now, you can’t be going on out again in that storm. Wait ’til it eases up, like.” Mal grabbed the basket and cocked his head toward what appeared to be the living room.
Curiosity warred with caution. She could well believe him to be an ex-convict. He had this hardness about him. But also an air of negligence that was sort of attractive and reminded her of Tyler in a weird way. And there was something else … an undercurrent of childlike kindness. She decided to trust him. For now.
“Okay.” She switched Darcy on again. He’d detect panic in her voice if necessary and figure out a way to help. She searched the minimally furnished hallway for somewhere to hang her coat.
Mal expertly slid the coat off her shoulders and opened an inbuilt wardrobe that blended so seamlessly into the walls it was invisible. She trailed after him into the living room, drinking in the details greedily: tastefully muted light, cream and chrome furnishings. Some pictures in the Bauhaus style. Very Max. There was also a mess on the coffee table, an empty pizza carton and some cans of beer. Very not Max.
“He’s in his room.” Mal’s eyes glittered, challenging her in the same way Max could, by doing nothing at all.
“Oh.” Awkward. How many doors were off this living room anyway, and what were the chances she’d walk into the wrong room? Asking Darcy was an impossibility with Mal watching her.
“Here, I’ll show you,” he said.
He indicated the second door on the left, not the one she’d have chosen.
She peeped in through a chink in the doorway. Max lay asleep, stretched out on his back on the bed. The dressing gown had fallen open, revealing the toned chest she had come to daydream about. One hand was splayed in the center of his breastbone. The day-to-day tension was wiped off his face as if with a magic eraser, leaving him serene, like a Greek statue. His hair was matted to his head, making it appear darker, almost black. It did weird, aching things to her heart to see him like this. Oh, to be left alone with him—and to fulfill her Nightingale fantasies.
When she found her voice again it came out as a croak. “I’d better not disturb him.”
“Yeah, let him sleep.” Mal steered her back toward the living room. When they sat down at opposite ends of the sofa, he seemed to be appraising her. “You have it bad, don’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He smirked. “I was just on with the sister before you called.” He pointed with his foot at a laptop sitting amidst the beers.
She wanted to clutch at the information, wrench it out, and gobble it up, but she didn’t want Mal to figure out that Max had told her nothing.
“How is she?” she asked nonchalantly.
“Ah, she’s grand.”
“That’s good.”
“Well, as good as she can be under the circumstances.”
Yes, he was testing her to see how much she knew. Curiosity won out.
“Circumstances?”
Mal told her.
“Five years,” she breathed after hearing about Maeve’s trials, waiting for a proposal that never came and her recent recourse to Prozac. “That’s, um, a long time to wait.”
“Yeah. Do you have any womanly advice to dish out at all?” Mal rose, grabbed two beers from the fridge, and handed her one. The action was so natural, so congenial, she accepted without a whisper of protestation.
“Well.” She snuggled back into the sofa, relishing the cold beer and the warm appeal. “I’m thinking she must be feeling pretty low about herself, and I guess Dermot’s only seeing that side of her and that’s making matters worse. It’s a vicious circle, you see. Someone needs to break that circle.”
Mal tapped the bottle opener against the glass. “That could be true, all right.”
Encouraged, she said, “If you get on with your sister, then she might appreciate having her brother come over and show her in a great light to this dithering boyfriend of hers. At the least you could take her out of her environment and cheer her up a bit, right?”
“Hmm, are you saying I should show her up in a good light, or are you talking about a certain other brother?”
“I … I’m sure you’d both do a credible job.” Her cheeks were growing warm.
“You’re a smooth one,” he said with a loud laugh. “Just like him. I see why he likes you.”
“Really? He said that?” A treacherous grin broke out on her face, and she gave up trying to suppress it. Third-party information on Max’s feelings. It didn’t get much better than this. Talking with Mal was so easy. “See, you’re both lucky, you actually like your sister. She calls you looking for help. That already is a kindness in itself that you owe to her. Not all siblings have such a connection. One of you should definitely go over and show her a great time.”
“Yeah, I get what you’re saying. Max’d have a better shot at it, but sure, he’ll not go near any of us.”
“Why not?” She leaned forward, dying to know.
“Oh, he’s been mooning over Shauna Kearney since God knows when.”
Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. “Shauna who?”
“Ack.” Mal waved a dismissive arm. “Someone who was never right for ’im anyway.”
“Tell me.” She took a long slug of beer, hoping it would cushion the blow.
“They were ready to get engaged and all. Well, he was. She wasn’t. I seen it coming a mile away. But Max with his fancy job there in California, he didn’t see the shitstorm. He had this notion she’d be sitting by the fire waiting for him.”
“And she wasn’t?” Zoe edged closer, morbidly fascinated, despite battling the sensation that the floor had just opened up beneath her and all her dreams were being sucked into the pit.
“Nope.” Mal laughed.
There was a scuffling sound behind her. The living-room door eked open, and Max stumbled in, hair awry, nose red, and forehead crumpled in a frown that was exacerbated by the purple rings under his eyes.
She slid a few inches away from Mal. They’d been sitting close together, she realized belatedly.
Max’s gaze darted from one to the other. His dressing gown hung off one shoulder, revealing skin, muscle tone, and a smattering of chest hair. She focused on his throat because up or down seemed dangerous ways to go. Presumably, he had boxer shorts or something on under that gown.
“What’s going on?” Max asked, voice cracking.
Mal held up his palms. “Calm down, bro. I didn’t touch.”
She stayed mute.
“Just having a nice chat, like.” Mal wiped something off his bare feet. “While waiting for Sleeping Beauty to show.”
Max turned to Zoe. “Why did you come here?”
“I came to see you.” She rose, brushing down her t-shirt. “We’re only talking.” Okay, that sounded guilty, but his look was so accusing and there was no other way to say it. If he was going to be like that, then she didn’t need to be here. She strutted past him to the hallway.
“Wait.” He shuffled after her, at half his usual speed.
She lifted her coat from the hanger. “In fact, we were talking about you.”
“What about me?”
Her fingers were like sausages as she buttoned up the coat. “You and someone called Shauna Kearney.”
“Yeah, my ex. What about her?”
“The ex you were going to marry.”
“What of her?”
Mal’s harsh laugh rang out from the living room. “Shauna was never going to marry you. She’d gone and told half the country how bored she was waiting for you.”
Max shuddered. His whole body seemed to stiffen. He trudged back to the living room. Eager to hear, she trailed behind.
“You’re lying,” Max said in a defeated voice. Hearing that resignation, so incompatible with his personality, made her want to throw her arms around his neck and say, “Forget about her.” Surely Shauna was in the past and could stay right there?
“I’m telling you, she was bored. Sure, didn’t she fuck Tommy Sheenan just the week before that?”
Max clutched the doorframe. “That’s not true.”
“Yeah, I just made it up for fun.”
“You must have. And why are you telling her? Why don’t you tell her how you fucked Shauna too?”
Zoe met his gaze. “‘Her’?” She thumped her chest. “I’m right here, Max.”
Mal rose from the sofa, no longer looking like he wanted to play peacemaker, not that he’d been doing a good job of that. “Listen,” he said. “You were prancing about with your fancy job in California, wanking on about how you’d emigrate and live the big life. Oh yeah. And Shauna was hanging around at home, and she couldn’t decide if you were worth the risk. Well, one day Maeve comes to me with the lowdown—the story about Shauna and Tommy. Maeve says it’s just tip of the iceberg. I says bollocks, I’ll try it on with Shauna too, at her birthday bash, to sort it out once and for all, like—to prove that Shauna wasn’t that kind of girl. I was trying to save her reputation for you, ya big dick. That’s all it was.” Mal paused and regarded the bottleneck with a faint smile. “Didn’t think she’d let me go that far.”
Zoe found her voice again. “Sounds like Mal did you a favor, Max.”
He rounded on her. “Funny, but I just can’t see it that way.” The fury in his eyes turned them electric blue. The force of that passion made her back away until she hit the wall.
Max covered his face with splayed fingers. “Leave. Everybody, just … leave. I need to be alone!”
She was still paralyzed, but Mal led her by the arm into the hallway. “I don’t know how long you’ve known him,” he said in a hushed voice, “but once he gets in a mood like this you can forget it. Never mind. I’m glad you came.” He pulled on a battered biker jacket. “Come on down to the pub with me.”
“No, thanks. Not a great time.”
“All right, another time. Well, thanks for the basket and the womanly advice.” Mal patted the small of her back.
“What advice?” Max growled from behind them.
“Oh, you heard that, did you?” Mal said with a mocking smile. “Zoe thinks you should take your finger out and get over to Dublin to sort out poor Maeve.”
“I-I didn’t say that,” Zoe protested, “or not quite like that.”
Max gave no response and simply trudged back into his room.
She watched his door close and then turned to Mal. He pulled her into a brief hug. “Don’t mind the grumpy sod. I’m glad he’s found you, darling.”
“Thanks, Mal.” It was weird being held by someone who was so like Max. Same body structure, same strong arms and broad chest, but different smell. This was the closest she was going to get to any physical intimacy tonight, that was for sure.
“And don’t worry.” Mal winked as he stood in the doorway. “I’ll be out of your way very soon.”
• • •
Instead of hitting the bed, as he knew he should, Max slumped in the armchair. He picked up a football and rolled it between his bare feet and then slammed it against the wall. Shauna and Tommy Sheenan? Why would Mal make up that story with someone as dull as Sheenan? Besides, Mal didn’t need to make up a story about why he stole Shauna, because he was proud of it. It was one of his more impressive life achievements, after all.
But if Shauna’s disregard for him was true, then everyone—his whole family, his friends—had known all these years and nobody had said a word to him. Not one hint. He’d actually spent all this time wondering if Shauna regretted her flash of madness, giving her the benefit of the doubt, putting the full blame on Mal. He’d even entertained the possibility that she’d been passed a date-rape drug that night, because he wouldn’t put it past his brother to pull a stunt like that.
It hurt. In the back of his mind he’d pictured seeking Shauna out one fine day and getting her to tearfully admit her huge mistake, that moment of lustful madness, if she didn’t come crawling back to him first. That wasn’t going to happen; he had to let go of that delusion. Yeah, it was just his ego hurting. He could see that. But to call what Mal did a favor, as Zoe had done, was heartless beyond belief.
He looked at the laptop. Maeve’s Skype window. Good, she was online. She’d be able to confirm this story one way or the other. He pinged her.
“God, what’s wrong with you?” Maeve said. “Ebola?”
“The flu, but I’m okay.”
“Right. Did Malachi talk to you about a garage?” she asked before he could get a word in.
“Yeah, he did all right.”
“Did he sound like he was going to do it?”
“I’m lending him money for it if that’s what you want to know.”
“No, I want to know whether he sounded like he was going to do it or not.”
This was weird because Malachi tended to elicit gushy words of worship from Maeve, not a terse line of questioning. “Yeah, actually, he did. He was all fired up about it. He even asked me to join him.”
“Okay, so not just a front.”
“Front for what?”
“For running drugs. I don’t know. Maybe heroin. The McKinnon boys have been after him since the day he got out. They’re even calling me, Max. I hate them.”
“Does Ma know?”
“No.”
“Good. Keep it that way. We’ve got to handle this, Maeve. Sooner the better.”
“By throwing money across the sea, as always?”
“Money helps,” Max said. “And you can talk him out of it, can’t you? I couldn’t get him to drink a pint; he’d fling it in my face instead. But you can talk some sense into him.”
“Yeah, right,” she said. “So are you lads not getting on over there?”
“He’s getting on fine.”
Maeve sighed into the microphone. “Right. I’ll see what I can do. When he’s home.”
Her voice was so dejected, he felt compelled to keep her online. “How’re things with Dermot?” Flaming, procrastinating, chicken-livered Dermot. He’d strangle the guy if he didn’t propose to her by the end of the year. It was the least he could do for his sister.
“He’s fine. Everything’s fine. I’m just tired, you know? Of it all. I went to the doctor, and he gave me these pills, and they dull it for a while, but you know they make me even more tired.”
He sat up straighter. “Pills? What kind of pills?”
“Antidepressants, Max. Oh, don’t act all surprised. You never head of Prozac?”
“I never knew you took it, no. Are you really depressed?”
“No, I just like the taste.”
“Maeve … ” He blew out a breath.
“I have to go.”
“No, talk to me, Maeve, what’s going on? Don’t hang up like you always—”
The screen went blank.
So much for that. He’d been relying on her to guide Malachi along the right path once he got to Belfast, but she needed help, too, and there would be nobody to keep Mal away from the evil McKinnons and vice versa. Mother would turn a blind eye to the prodigal son’s antics, just as always, because in her eyes, Malachi could do no wrong.
Darcy was right. Even if the timing was the very worst possible, he couldn’t just sit here and let his family go to the dogs. Once he got his strength back, he’d get over there and talk some sense into his siblings. He had to sort out the Bob situation first though. Then Zoe could hold the fort for him while he was gone.