Skin (McCullough Mountain 2) (8 page)

“Hey, Finn,” Luke called from the table.

He turned and pasted on a smile. “Yeah?” he
said, heading over to finish his lukewarm beer. He settled into his
chair.

“What was that teacher’s name who always
wore the lacy slip we’d peek at in middle school?”

“Ms. Fitzpatrick.”

Luke clapped his hands. “That’s it! She had
a set of legs on her.”

Finn gave a charitable laugh, feeling sorry
for his brother. Being his twin, they were somehow closer than the
rest of them. Finn had known Luke was gay since they were thirteen.
Fifteen years later, he’d hoped his brother would have the
confidence to come out.

He wasn’t sure how many of his siblings knew
or if his parents were aware, but he was certain Tristan knew, as
Finn was certain the two had been in a relationship for some time.
It was one of the reasons Luke moved out.

Tristan lived with his cousins. He’d moved
to Center County from Texas after college. From there he started
working in the log yard with the rest of them and more nights than
not, Finn caught his truck at his brother’s.

Luke had been devastated when he blew out
his knee in college thereby blowing his free ride. For two years,
Finn worried his brother might never smile again, and then Tristan
showed up and something changed.

It took Finn a few months to realize what
was happening, especially since Tristan flirted with women
constantly and Luke made jokes as though he were a hound with the
ladies. But it was there, in the way the two glanced at each other,
the subtle way they seemed to look out for the other, and in the
not-so-subtle way they always left together.

What bothered Finn was the secrecy. Did Luke
think they wouldn’t accept him? All they wanted was for him to be
happy. If Tristan made his brother happy then he was happy for
them. Sometimes he wondered if any of his other siblings knew Luke
was gay.

Finn glanced at Sheilagh. She was doing
better. Finn suspected she’d found out their brother’s secret as
well. Since meeting Tristan, she’d had a crush on the man.
Something happened about a year ago that changed her. She no longer
seemed like the baby she’d always been. There was something a
little colder in her green eyes that had never existed before, sort
of like when a child learns the truth about Santa.

One of the waitresses appeared with a tray
of shots. “This round’s on Kelly. He said to wait for him.”

They dealt out the shots and Kelly came to
join them. The lot of them were rowdy and beyond manners at this
point. Finn wasn’t feeling it anymore, but tossed back the shot
anyway.

Luke nudged him and whispered, “Hey, what’s
up with Erin? She’s getting awfully cozy with Tim over there. You
gonna say something?”

He shrugged. “She can talk to whoever she
wants.”

“You’re way more forgiving than I am.”

Finn gave him a look, tempted to ask how he
could declare such a thing when every bit of Luke’s private life
remained private and Tristan flirted with his share of women, but
never men. Maybe it didn’t mean as much because they were only
women.

His gaze snagged with Mallory’s. She tipped
her head and frowned. He shook off her questioning glance. Her
mouth moved.
You okay?
He nodded. She turned to say
something to Sammy, but her eyes kept returning to his.

The night went on until the bar was ready to
close. Finn was sober, so he took Sheilagh’s keys to her SUV and
shuttled out the first group of drunks. When he returned, it was
only Kelly and Mallory sitting at the bar.

“What happened to everyone else?”

“Pat called Aunt Colleen to take the lot of
them home.”

“I told him I was coming back.”

Kelly shrugged and bent to carry a tray of
clean glasses to the back. Mallory was resting her head on her arms
over the bar. “Hey, you alive?”

She grumbled something and lifted her head.
Her lashes fluttered as she focused on him. “Your family got me
drunk.” She hiccupped and he laughed.

“They have a tendency to do that. Come on,
I’ll drive you home.”

“Thanks,” she slurred, stepping off the
stool and losing her balance. He caught her elbow and steadied
her.

“We’re taking off, Kel.”

“Drive safe,” his brother called from the
kitchen.

He ushered Mallory out the door and helped
her into the SUV, figuring Sheilagh could take him to get his truck
in the morning and he’d run Mallory to get her car.

She stumbled and cursed. “The ground’s
wobbly.”

He chuckled. “You’re wobbly. Those shoes
probably aren’t helping.”

“I like my shoes,” she announced then
giggled. “Wanna know a secret, Finnegan McCullough?”

“What’s that, Mallory Fenton?”

She leaned in and whispered, her whiskey
scented breath a warm tickle at his cheek. “I can tell you because
we’re friends.”

“What?” he whispered back.

“My jeans fit.”

It took him a minute to follow and then it
occurred to him that this was something monumental for her. He
assumed they hadn’t fit before she’d started starving herself and
training like she was preparing for the Olympics. “That’s
good.”

“That’s great!” She corrected then informed
him in a serious voice, “These are great jeans.”

He looked down and evaluated said jeans.
They were blue and denim, like every other pair to ever exist.
“They sure are. Here, let me help you in the car.”

He opened the door for her and she slid in.
Her head rolled on the headrest. She was like a fish out of water
on its last flop. His lips twitched as he fought the urge to laugh.
Reaching over, he buckled the seatbelt and stilled when his hand
accidently grazed her supple chest.

He cleared his throat. “Sorry.” Backing up,
he realized she’d passed out.

The ride back to her place was silent, being
that his passenger was comatose. When he parked Sheilagh’s car out
front, he pulled the key and nudged Mallory. “Philly, wake up.
We’re home.”

She snuffled and shoved him away. He got out
and went around to her side. She was snoring softly when he opened
the door. He undid her seatbelt and shook her knee. “Hey. Mallory.
Come on, we have to go in.”

She sighed. “Thanks for getting me to go out
tonight. I had fun.”

Leaning into the car, he stared into her
eyes. They were blue like the ocean off the coast of the Caribbean.
A small sprinkling of freckles showed through the powder on her
cheeks and she smelled like soft flowers. Everything about her was
soft.

He tugged her hand. “Come on. I’ll help you
up the stairs.”

She climbed out of the car and stumbled as
she plucked off her shoes. Once she removed her heels she shrank a
good five inches, coming only to his chest. He followed her up her
steps and waited as she fumbled in her purse for her keys. The task
seemed to exhaust her. When she finally fished them out she had a
hard time unlocking the door.

“You got to put it in the hole,” he
commented.

She snorted. “That’s what she said.”

He laughed and took the keys, making quick
work of opening the door. She stumbled in and went straight through
the door he assumed was her bedroom. He placed the keys on the
counter and waited. “You gonna be all right?”

Something fell to the floor in a clatter and
she cursed then burst into peals of laughter. He ran into the room.
She was flopped over the mattress and her lamp was lit, but lying
cockeyed on the floor. She laughed and then moaned. He knew that
moan. That was the moan that came when your insides decided they
wanted to be on your outside.

He quickly righted the lamp. Her bedroom was
cute and neat. Teals mixed with lime greens in geometric shapes. It
was girly, but cool. Not too frou-frou. “Come on,” he said taking
her hand and hoisting her up. “Let’s get you to the bathroom.”

“Don’t wanna…” she mumbled as he brought her
to her feet.

“I don’t think you have much of a
choice.”

He ushered her into the small bathroom and
propped her down on the lip of the tub. Let her wait it out a
moment. If nothing happened he’d take her back to her bedroom.

Her head hung like dead weight between her
shoulders and her soft brown hair teased at the pink bathmat. Her
shower curtain was black with white and pink polka dots.

“Whiskey’s the devil,” she grumbled.

He laughed from where he stood propped
against the doorjamb. “I’ve been there.”

“How come you’re not drunk?”

“Someone has to look out for the rest of
them.”

She peeked through the curtain of her hair
and smirked. “You’re a nice guy, Finnegan McCullough. I’m glad
you’re my friend.”

“Me too.”

Her hand swatted at her hair, pushing it
over her shoulder. “I really should—” her shoulders jerked and she
swallowed. Her face paled and then she fell forward and gripped the
toilet.

“Fuck.” He went to her side and gathered her
hair as she emptied her stomach. Once he had her hair wrapped
around his fingers and out of the way, he ran a hand over her
back.

She whined and gripped the bowl. “Get
out…”

“It’s fine. I’ve been there. Just get it all
out.”

“I can’t puke in front of you!” Her next
sentence was cut off as her body proved her mouth a liar.

He waited there, rubbing her back and
offering her tissues until the worst of it seemed to pass. “I’ll be
right back.” He went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water. He
looked in her cabinets for crackers, but found none.

When he returned to the bathroom she was
sprawled over the toilet, her face pressing into the cool lid.
“Here, drink this.”

She took the water and guzzled it down. “I
can’t believe you just heard me puke.”

“Saw you puke too.”

She shot him a mutinous glare and finished
her water.

“Do you have crackers?”

“No crackers. Carbs are the devil.”

“I thought whiskey was the devil?”

“They’re both evil.”

He lowered himself to the floor, figuring he
should wait a few minutes before moving her. “Did you have fun
tonight?”

“Yes. You’re family’s really cool. I like
Samantha a lot.”

“Sammy’s great. You’ll have fun working with
her.”

“We’re gonna have lunch together on
Monday.”

“That’s good.”

She sighed and snuggled into the toilet as
if it were a down pillow. “Hey, what happened to Erin?”

Finn sighed. He stretched his legs over the
narrow space of tile. “We had a fight and sort of broke up
again.”

“What did you fight about?”

“The same old bullshit. Me not giving her
enough attention. Her wanting me to move out of my parents’
house.”

“To live with her?”

“To buy my own place.”

She frowned. Her lashes drooped over her
eyes and he knew she wasn’t at her cognitive best at the moment.
“How does you moving out of your parents’ house affect her?”

“Because I think she assumes my house will
eventually be hers.”

“Does she live with her parents too?”

“Yeah.”

“Well then why doesn’t
she
move
out?”

“Exactly.”

She rolled her eyes and mumbled something he
didn’t catch.

“What?”

“Nothing. If you ask me…”

“What?”

“Nothing. Never mind. It’s not my
place.”

“Say it. We’re friends. I want to know what
you think.”

She seemed to hesitate. “I think you can do
way better than her.”

He frowned. “You don’t really know her.”

“I know the kind of girl she is.”

Erin was someone he cared about on some
level. It was hard not to come to her defense. On the other hand,
Mallory had never been anything but honest with him and she wasn’t
the type to put people down for no reason. In truth, he’d never
heard her say a bad thing about anyone aside from herself. “What
kind of girl is she?”

“The kind who is always looking for a
better, faster solution.”

“What do you mean?” For not truly knowing
Erin, she seemed awfully insightful.

“I saw her talking to some guy before you
got there tonight.”

He stiffened. “Who?”

“The guy who came out of the bathrooms after
me. Should I be telling you this?”

“Yes. What was she saying to him?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t close enough to
hear, but they were real cozy and she kept checking the door. The
minute your family showed up they acted like perfect strangers and
she sat alone for a while. Then when I went to use the
bathroom…”

He forced himself to breathe slowly. “What
happened at the bathrooms?”

“I found them in the hall. He was leaning
over her like he was about to kiss her or just had.”

His teeth clenched. “Did she look
angry?”

Mallory’s lips tightened into a sympathetic
smile. “No.”

He looked away. He was pissed, but not that
some guy was hitting on Erin. Strangely, he was pissed she’d made a
fool out of him. He really didn’t feel any sort of jealousy for her
when he pictured her with Tim. The two of them actually made sense
as a couple on some level. It was weird that he could admit that to
himself.

“Are you mad I told you?”

“What? No, of course not. You’re just being
honest and telling me what I asked.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“But now you’re sad.”

“Mallory, I’m not sad. I’m angry and curious
how long whatever they have going has been going on, but I’m not
really sad about it.”

“Are you going to go back to her if she asks
you?”

He sighed and pressed his head into the
wall, staring up at her ceiling. “I don’t know.”

“Finn, she’s cheating on you!”

“You don’t know that. You didn’t actually
see them kissing, right?”

She scoffed and sat up. “No, but it was
obvious they’d kissed before.”