“Well, if the shoe fits…”
His mouth twists into a snide smirk. “I guess it was a hard pill for you — the precious Reyes golden boy — to swallow. After all that work, all that dedication… you’re going to end up no better off than our parents. Just another blue-collar stiff, slaving for the man. About as far from the lights of Fenway Park as you could find yourself.” He laughs, like this entire scenario is hilarious to him. “Me? I’m making something of myself. I’m going places. Take a look at yourself in the mirror, Archer. Can you say the same?”
That’s it.
The final straw. The camel’s back breaks. And my my control, already stretched perilously tight, breaks right along with it.
“Bastard!” I roar, hurling my body down the docks headlong in his direction. “You ruined my fucking life!”
Jax sees me coming a mile away. And, judging by the eager expression on his face, he’s been craving this altercation for a long while. “I didn’t ruin your life, brother. You did that all by yourself.”
“Fuck you!”
His smile is laced with vengeance as his arm cranks backward in preparation to throw a punch. He’s always been bigger than me, but even after my injuries I’m still faster. I duck his powerhouse right hook and slam into him full-force, catching him in the midsection with my left shoulder. The impact tosses us both off balance. We tumble down onto the docks in a pile of limbs.
Rolling across the splintered wood, we curse at one another as we trade jabs. We’re clawing like wild animals, all sense of sportsmanship abandoned. He hauls me into a headlock, one thick arm roping around my neck. I jerk my skull back into his nose with a sharp snap that makes him scream. There’s a grim satisfaction burning in my veins when I realize I’ve likely broken his nose.
Good.
He deserves it.
He deserves all the pain I can possibly inflict.
And then more.
My damaged hand screams in pain, pulsing violently as I clench it into a fist and send it flying into Jaxon’s left eye socket. I’m probably undoing six month’s worth of physical therapy, but in this moment I am unable to summon the common sense to care. All that matters right now is retribution. Making my older brother suffer the same way he’s made me suffer. A fair trade of devastation, delved out in frantic punches and uneven uppercuts.
By the time bystanders from nearby vessels manage to pull us apart, we’re both banged up. My lip is swelling to twice its normal size; Jaxon’s left eye is turning a deep shade of eggplant. Blood trickles from both his nostrils — his nose is definitely broken. Panting for air, our eyes stay locked in twin glares as we’re hauled in opposite directions by the intervening fishermen.
“This isn’t over, little brother!” Jaxon’s voice carries to me on the wind, each word imbued with gloating malice. “I’ll see you again. Soon. Count on it.”
I don’t say a word. Turning on my heel, I shrug off the restraining grip on my shoulders, spit a gob of bloody saliva into the water, and walk straight toward the only place I know will offer a modicum of comfort.
I’ve been at Biddy’s for nearly an hour when the stool beside mine screeches against the hardwood floor as someone drags it backward. I glance over just as a burly, bearded man in his late thirties settles his large frame onto it. I recognize him instantly. One of the regulars. He’s here even more often than I am. Harvey, the bartender, sets a frothy beer in front of him before his ass is fully on the seat.
“You’re Mahoney’s deck hand, aren’t you?” he asks, taking a long sip.
I shrug noncommittally. The last thing I want to do is make smalltalk with a stranger — not after the week I’ve had. Not ever, really. I guess my fuck-off expression needs practice.
“I’m Deacon Hayward. Everyone calls me Dee.”
Everyone knows Dee Hayward. He captains the nicest lobster boat in the harbor, a forty-footer tricked out with all the bells and whistles.
“Reyes,” I offer flatly, my voice half-muffled as I swallow down a gulp of my whiskey.
“What happened to your face, Reyes?”
“I tripped.”
“Into someone’s fist, from the looks of it.”
I grunt noncommittally.
“Message received — none of my business. I’m not looking to make your day worse, kid. Just wanted to stop over and tell you I heard what happened yesterday. About the Ebenezer, sinking in the storm.”
I grunt again.
“Not many secrets on these docks. Word travels fast.” Dee takes another sip of his beer. The foam clings to his thick beard as his throat works. “Don’t beat yourself up too much, kid. Insurance will cover the loss, payout should be plenty for a new boat — or an early retirement. Tommy should be thanking you, far as I can see it. That old rig of his was cursed right from the start. We all told him it was bad luck to give a boat a man’s name, but did he listen? Of course not. That’s Tommy Mahoney for you, though. Stubborn as a damn mule and twice as ornery.”
My lips twist.
He’s not wrong.
“Talkative chap, I see.” Dee chuckles. “Perfect fit for Old Tommy. He never was a chatterbox, either.”
“We get along just fine.”
“That so? Well, I’m glad to hear he hasn’t scared you off the trade entirely. Miserable bastard, he is. Not that you can blame him. Never met a man who’s lost so much in one short lifetime.”
I glance sharply at him, curious despite myself. “What do you mean?
“You don’t know? Ehh, I guess that’s no surprise. He wouldn’t tell you himself. But Tommy Mahoney used to be a family man, if you can believe it. Beautiful wife, three kids, the whole shebang.”
This surprises me. I’d figured someone like Tommy had been alone since the day he was born.
“What happened?” I ask.
“House fire. Tommy was out early one morning, hauling some traps. Came home to find the place burned to ash. His family in their beds along with it. Not even the dog made it out.”
I stare into the dregs of my whiskey, swirling it around the bottom of the glass. My chest feels uncomfortably tight. Suddenly, my bad day — my bad year — doesn’t seem so bleak. “Jesus.”
“Nightmare-fuel, truly. Not sure how a man recovers from something like that.”
“Suppose he doesn’t.”
Dee nods. “No one talks about it… and I ain’t even sure how true it is, so don’t quote me or nothing. But back then, rumor was that Tommy left a stove-burner lit when he went out fishing that day. Fire started in the kitchen, traveled up the stairs while they were all still sleeping… Smoke got to them before they had a chance to run for it.” Shuddering, he takes another long sip of his beer. “Losing your family in a freak fire is one thing. Finding out you’re the one responsible for setting it… Well, you can see why Old Tommy is the way he is.”
I feel like I’ve been clobbered over the head. My chest is tight; my throat blocked with emotions I can’t seem to swallow down, no matter how many sips of whiskey I take. I don’t know if Dee is expecting a response, but he’s not going to get one. I’m incapable of formulating any sort of speech.