Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
“Get drunk?” I catch a little huff of a laugh. “Smoke? I don’t smoke. But if you want to, I’ll do it. Or we can… swim? That’s why I go in the ocean.”
He turns now, looking at me with glassy eyes.
What? But I’m not even whispering now. It’s just my lips moving inside a moment of silence.
“What are you trying to forget, Irina?”
My shoulders drop and I let out an exasperated breath. I don’t want to talk about me. This is not about me, this is about him. I’m just trying to be polite.
He lets out a little laugh. “If you could only see your face right now. You’d think I asked you to kill someone or something.”
“Well, here’s the thing, Eason. You’re the one acting weird. Not me. I’ve got no desire to talk things through.”
“Neither do I.”
“So… well… what are we even doing then? You come on all strong, trying to talk me into shit, and now you’re just… pushing me away. Is this some psychology bullshit? To make me wanna stay?”
“Is it working?”
“That’s not what you’re doing, I can tell.”
“Then why ask the question?”
“Because…” I exhale in annoyance. “Because… I don’t know if I can handle your story, Eason.” My face goes tight and I have to hold my breath to keep all that pushed-down pain inside me. “I don’t know if I can.”
“It’s all right.” His shoulders do a little insecure shrug. “I wasn’t gonna tell ya anyway.”
Which is a lie. He wants to tell this story so bad, he’s out of control. And I have to make a decision here. Because if I stay, I have to listen to it. If I stay, I have to be there for him. That’s just how it is. If we’re partners, then we’re partners.
Our eyes are locked while I have this internal debate. He breaks the silence first. “What are you thinking about?”
I’m not really that great of a liar. Not for big things like this that come with so many emotions. So I just tell him the truth. “I’m wondering if I should walk out on you and never look back.”
“So go.” He points to the door.
“I’m not sure I want to do that.”
“Why?”
“Why do you get to ask all the questions?”
“Because I want to know things and you just want to hide from them.”
“Says the man who’s desperate for me to coax his secrets out of him.”
“Is that what ya think I was doing?” He scoffs. “Irina, I was talking myself out of killing ya.”
“Fuck you.”
He smiles. “I was. But not really. Because it’s not your fault. Ya didn’t know.”
Wait. Did he just admit he was serious? “Why would you want to kill me? What did I ever do to you?”
He scrubs both his hands down his face, then walks over to the couch and collapses down, sinking back into the cushions. He sighs out the word, “Benny.”
“Benny? Who the hell is Benny?”
“The guy who owned me.” Eason nods as he works the tension out of his jaw. “I didn’t start there with him. It was a winding road. I started off in Ireland. I’m Irish. Maybe you can tell.”
I smile at him. But he doesn’t smile back, and this makes my stomach clench up in dread. Because something bad is coming. I can feel it.
“I came up in Ireland until I was nine. My father ran a gym in Dublin. When he was comin’ up, it was mostly boxing. But then MMA kinda took off and that’s where the money was, at least in the underground fights. He had three sons at that time. Declan, Conor, and me. I was the baby back then. To say that Declan and Conor came out of my mam’s womb with fists up would be an understatement. Maybe it’s genetics, maybe it’s environment. Who cares? The point is, the Malones can fight.”
“Malone.” The word comes out before I can stop it. “That’s your last name?”
Eason slowly nods his head. Everything about him today is slow. Like he’s moving through water instead of air. “What’s yours?”
I don’t answer right away, even though I have an answer.
“Trick question?” He’s not mad when he says this. He’s trying to keep me talking, I think. Maybe so he doesn’t have to.
“No. It’s not a trick question. I was just thinking… it must be nice to know where you come from. My official last name is van Breda, of course. I mean, not ‘of course.’ I chose it, actually. When Cort got us all legal papers, I just took his name. Which isn’t even his name, he’s got no last name. Neither do I. And”—I look up at Eason—“that’s fucked up. And… unfixable. I mean, I can make up as many last names as I want. I can get new papers. But it doesn’t change anything, ya know?”