“You finish the shoveling already, boy?”
Sasha’s father is a sight to behold. He’s in a filthy patchwork recliner wearing a Bruins jersey with holes in the chest, tufts of gray hair poking out. Though it’s only close to eleven am, a beer rests on his aptly named beer gut, which folds over ratty sweatpants frayed at the hems. His feet look more like hooves sticking out of the end.
It’s hard to believe this man fathered either Sasha or Benjamin. He sees me in the doorway and sneers.
Sasha hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d called him a loser.
“Who the fuck are you?” he slurs.
“He’s a friend of Sasha’s,” Benjamin says. “She’s staying with him for now.”
“Good for her.” He waves his beer at me. “Maybe you can offer her something better than a few days in the ICU. Told her organizing is men’s work.”
If it’s men’s work, then why isn’t he doing it? Disgusting.
“Besides,” he continues, “I’m pretty sure our delicate little princess is still a virgin. I knocked her mother up before she was old enough to drink so she doesn’t get that virtue from her. Still, you’re going to want to hit that before those rich guy’s goons come back and finish the job.”
Benjamin surges toward his father, and I hold him back.
“He’s not worth it,” I say softly, as if I’m talking to my teenage self. “Don’t sink to his level. Just get the fuck out and take Sasha with you.”
I’m surprised to hear myself say it.
“Awwww,” her father says. “Tough guy. Don’t worry, Benji. I only hit her when you’re not here. She should thank me. It probably prepared her for getting her ass handed to her back in July.”
Jesus Christ. This man is a monster. I try not to think about what that makes me. With an effort, I keep my hand on Benjamin’s chest and push him toward the stairs.
“She told me you’re going to school for engineering?”
His eyes are hazel too, though muddier than hers.
“Benjamin!” I snap.
He focuses his attention on me.
“Yeah,” he says, blinking the tears of rage from his eyes. “Engineering. Fuck. I didn’t know he still hit her.”
It’s like an episode of reality television. I’ll do what I have to to protect myself and my family’s interests, but if Sasha cooperates, she and her brother could be free of that despicable man.
“You need to get to college, Benjamin. She’ll leave when you do. August will be here sooner than you know. She can do that. She’s a strong person.”
I’m raising the stakes again. I have a lot to share with Sasha when I get back. Her brother sucks in a deep breath and takes me to her room. It’s small, but neat. Benjamin picks up a travel bag and hands it to me.
“You’ll take care of her until her ankle’s healed?” he asks. “Keep her away from here?”
“As long as she’ll let me,” I say.
“She’s done so much for me,” he continues. So earnest, this boy.
Which gives me another idea on how to convince Sasha to cooperate.
“If I can find out who hurt her?” I offer.
His eyes flash. “You’ll let me know?”
“I will.”
And maybe I’ll tell him if she doesn’t give me what I want.
He leaves to let me pack a bag for his sister. Her clothes are all trash. I was right—she spends nothing on herself. Looking through her lingerie drawers, it’s all cheap cotton panties and bras.
Never mind. I don’t want to bring this junk into my home. I carry the empty bag out, shake her brother’s hand, and head back downstairs. Her loathsome father smokes a cigarette. Inside the house.
“Listen!” he shouts at me. I stare at him, though every inch of my being tells me to leave this train wreck behind. “I don’t expect someone like you to stay with trash like Sasha, but if you do deflower her, make sure you give me my due. I’ve kept her pure this whole time.”
He coughs, the sound juicy and thick.
Deflower? Did he honestly use the word deflower? I want to deck him, knock his pathetic ass out of that chair. Instead I just leave, driving to my family’s house in Back Bay and shake off that horrific encounter.
I can’t let pity for Sasha cloud what I need to get done. It’s time to put her pig of a father out of my mind. Her situation is unfortunate, but she has an opportunity here to make it better. She’d foolish not to take it. She’s not trash, not like him, but her future isn’t bright if she doesn’t work with me.
When I enter the house, my baby sister Bridget greets me.
“Finn!” she says, running over and tossing her arms around my neck. I don’t know why she’s always happy to see me. She’s an outlier in our family. We’re all tall: even the women, but she stopped growing at five foot four —around the same height as Sasha, now that I think of it. Her hair is a deep auburn, whereas Siobhan and Catriona have strawberry blonde hair.
“Hi, honey,” I say, hugging her. “Is Dad home?”
She pouts. “You didn’t come to see me?”
“No such luck.”
“Is it bad?” she asks, her green eyes widening in concern. “Finn, do you need anything?”
My sweet baby sister. It’s hard to believe she’s a Carney sometimes.
“No, honey, it’s fine.” I don’t want her to worry. Not if she doesn’t have to. “Just a few issues with the casino staff. We’ll figure it out.”
“I have to get to practice,” she says, “but if you need anything…”
“Is someone driving you?”
Bridget’s a ballerina and a terrible driver.
“It’s just down the street. I’ll walk.”
“It’s icy as hell out there. I don’t want you getting hurt. I’ll walk you first and then check in with Dad.”
A ripple of…something…runs through me, thinking about Sasha back at my place with her bruised neck and sprained ankle as I make the offer to Bridget.
Bridget’s face lights up as she slips into her coat and picks up her gear. I’m twelve years older than she is, and I feel the heaviness of that in this moment. I take her gear bag from her and drape it over my shoulder. When we get outside, she catches my arm and threads her arm through.
“Are you going to the gala on Thursday?” she asks.
It’s for the investors. I have to go. “I am.”
Her arm tightens around mine as we hit an icy patch of ground. The sidewalk is all brick here. It looks interesting, but it’s not at all functional. As the mortar decays, ice settles in, pushing the bricks further apart. It’s uneven and more hazard than anything else.
“Yay, good.” She chatters on gleefully about what she’s going to wear and whose cute sons could be there. As if I’ll let anyone get close to her. It makes me think of how someone should have protected Sasha’s mother from her terrible father. When we get to the studio, I hand her her bag.
“Can someone walk you back?” I ask. “I’ll be gone by the time you’re out.”
She pouts again. “Already? You’re not staying for dinner?”