“Shit, the key. I need a key to get up there.” If luck was dealing out winning hands, Damien felt like he was pulling up all aces. Sionn’s access key was still lodged in its slot, its glow-in-the-dark fob swaying from the elevator’s descent. “Fuck me, thank you, God. Red fish for you as soon as I figure out what the fuck’s going on.”
“Come on, come on….” Damien coaxed and pleaded, but the elevator jerked and whined its way up to the top floor. Another eternity passed before the doors slid open to let him out.
Just in time to see Sionn and another man falling out of one of the loft’s windows.
“Sionn!”
There wasn’t space in his mind or heart to contemplate the horrors of what was around him. A pile of body parts and Leigh, breathing and pink, were affixed to chairs, but the one was too far gone for him to help and Leigh seemed to be alive enough for him not to worry.
If he were honest enough in that split second, he wasn’t worrying about anyone but Sionn, because staring at the man’s hands as they clung to the windowsill, Damien felt like his heart was dangling right alongside him.
“Hold on, Irish.” Damien stumbled over the remains of a chair and a fractured wooden bowl. He kicked away as much of the glass as he could, grabbed his lover’s wrists, and held on. “Fuck, how do I do this? You’re bleeding all over….”
“Just listen to me, a rún.” Sionn sounded a lot calmer than Damie felt. “Put your feet against the wall. That’ll give you some leverage.”
“Dude, there’s too much glass. You look like you’re doing Jesus role-play right now.” Shoving his sneakers against the wall, Damie anchored himself carefully. “I told Miki to call 911. Don’t you fucking fall on me.”
He thought he could never be more frightened than he was right then. Fear tasted terrible, mottling his saliva with a bitter stickiness. Sionn was heavy, and his weight dragged Damien forward. He fought the pull, straining to keep himself steady enough for his lover to pull up over the sill.
“Hold on. I’ll be right there,” Sionn crooned. His voice was rough, raw with emotion. It was a hard fight. Then suddenly a shift of glass broke, tinkling to the floor. Damie held on tighter, not willing to let his lover fall. “I’m okay, love. I’m going to put my leg up now. Don’t let me go.”
“Never going to fucking let you go,” Damien growled.
Their eyes met, catching both of them unaware, and Sionn smiled slowly, warming Damien’s insides.
“I know, babe,” Sionn whispered softly as sirens tore the air apart around them. “I know you’ll never let me go.”
Chapter 20
D, how come there’s nothing that really rhymes with orange?
Sinjun, you are one crazy fuck.
You’re wearing a pair of boxers with hippie sharks on them and I’m a crazy fuck?
They’re not hippie sharks. Look at them. They’re Rastasharkians.
And we’re back to you being the crazy fuck. Find me something that rhymes with orange.
—Living Room Session, 3 a.m.
“I CAN’T believe they’re friends,” Sionn whispered into Damien’s ear. “It’s like watching the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse riding down upon us. God help us if Edie and Aunt B find the other two.”
By the second whiskey on the rocks, Edie had sashayed over to Sionn and left a bright red lipstick mark on his cheek. He’d initially been fearful of the woman both Miki and Damien depended so heavily on. She was lean and definitely mean, eyeing him like a piece of meat that she’d not yet decided was good enough for the dogs, much less herself. And his anxiety certainly wasn’t laid to rest once he realized the band’s manager and his Aunt Brigid appeared to be soul mates.
Such cohesiveness did not bode well for his sanity.
And from the twitch in Kane’s left eye, he knew his cousin was thinking the same thing.
“Here, drink up.” Kane handed Sionn a bottle of chocolate stout. “I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”
It was a celebration of sorts at the Morgan house. The siblings were gathered around Donal’s altar to the fire gods, and the smell of barbequing ribs filled the late afternoon air. Dude spent most of his time wandering from person to person, begging bits of devilled egg and chips, and despite Kane’s continued threats to unload a farting dog on his parents, the Morgans continued to feed him.
Every lawn chair the family owned had been dragged out, and a few of the sturdy kitchen stools somehow made their way outside as well. Claiming one of the Adirondack loungers, Sionn sat back and let Brigid pamper him, keeping a watchful eye on the begging dog when Miki gave him a plate of chips, cut veggies, and dip.
“Oh, go off, you beggar.” Kane shooed the terrier with a gentle shove of his foot. The dog seemed to grin back at him, then trotted away, circling the picnic table Miki and Damien were sitting on top of. Nodding his chin at the pair, he grumbled, “You know, if we’d done that, Mom would have had our asses. How many fucking times have we heard ‘No sitting anywhere we eat,’ huh?”