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It was a Wednesday.
Declan was not particularly hungry, and he had too much to do, so he opted to skip breakfast. Or he would’ve if Aurora hadn’t intercepted him as he tried to sneak past the kitchen.
“Declan, honey, I’ve got waffles.” Her voice drifted down the hallway and swirled up through the foyer. He could smell the waffles. He could also hear the shuffling sounds of Ronan and Matthew goofing off. He wasn’t sure what lured him in.
The sun had lit the kitchen in a soft golden glow that morning, prettier than most. Ronan had half a waffle sticking out of his mouth. But even his usual manufactured dishevelment looked tidy compared to Matthew, with syrup in his hair and his florescent green t-shirt already dripping with sweat.
“Thanks,” he said. “But I’m not hungry.”
“You have to eat.”
There was work to do. He wasn’t sure when his father would be home. Did he have two hours or two months? There was no way to know for sure. But if he came back to find Declan slacking off…
He didn’t want to think about that. He wanted to eat waffles. He took a seat.
Aurora turned back to the waffle maker with a subtle grin. She poured some batter into the machine and left it, collecting an extra plate and some napkins. The waffles wouldn’t burn. They couldn’t burn. Nothing at the Barns could burn. Sometimes Declan dreamt of burning the whole damn property to the ground. But that was why Ronan was the dreamer and Declan did the dirty work.
“What are you boys getting up to today?” Aurora asked.
Ronan and Matthew shared a glance, a silent agreement between brothers. Neither of them looked at Declan.
“We’re going swimming,” Matthew said.
“Oh,” Aurora said. “In the creek? That should be fun.” She smiled at them and presented Declan with a waffle. She handed him a bottle of syrup, but he politely declined. He chewed nervously at it, and it settled like a brick in his stomach. “Are you going to join them?” she asked.
He started to say no. He should’ve said no. Declan toed the line between brother and parent, and sometimes that meant Ronan wanted time away from him.
“Well,” Ronan said. “Are you?”
Declan refused to be flattered. It was pathetic at times how much he cared. It didn’t matter. He was meant to protect them. But once upon a time, when the stakes had been much lower, he’d been allowed to chase them through the field behind the house for hours. They’d let into cow piles and chased chickens until sunset. And sometimes he missed that. “I guess I am.”
Matthew whooped, mouth full of his third waffle. Declan tucked what was left of his first into a piece of aluminum foil to finish later.
After changing into his trunks, Declan found Matthew waiting on the back porch. It was appropriately hot for Virginia in July. The sun beat down on them and he considered going to look for Ronan. Even through the layer of sunscreen, he could feel the UV tearing through translucent Celtic skin. He brought extra with him and reminded himself to make sure Ronan and Matthew were both wearing plenty.
When Ronan came to meet them, he held himself strangely, arms wrapped around his stomach. He glanced over his shoulder, and Declan worried he may have fallen asleep. Worried he’d dreamed something worth running from. Hoped he hadn’t dreamt the thing that would finally kill them all.
But he was grinning, devilish. He looked like Niall when he did that. He looked like a bastard.
Sometimes it felt like Ronan was a helium balloon. He was floating further and further away every day, and one of these days, he’d float too high, and Declan wouldn’t be able to reach him.
“Fucking cold,” he hissed, pulling a Guinness from under his shirt. He pulled out a second and offered it to Declan.
“Ronan,” he warned. “Dad’s going to notice they’re missing.”
“Relax.” He wiped his hands off on his trunks. “He won’t care.”
He definitely would care, of course. It was just that Declan would take the brunt of the punishment.
He continued offering the second beer, but Declan shook his head, sipping on his water instead. Ronan shrugged. “More for us.” He tossed it to Matthew instead.
“Are you kidding?” Declan said as Matthew wrung the can nervously between his hands.
“It’s fine, man,” Ronan said. “He’s fourteen. We were younger than him when we started drinking.”
“That certainly isn’t an endorsement.”
In the face of scrutiny from both of them, Matthew held onto the beer anxiously, tossing it between his hands. He didn’t like to come between them, and Declan knew this. Ronan did too. This was the part where a younger Matthew would have burst into tears, and while the tears weren’t present, the emotion behind them still was. “You can if you want to,” Declan said. “Just don’t feel like you have to because he wants you to.”
And maybe, just once, Declan wished Matthew wouldn’t do whatever Ronan wanted. Be your own person, Matty. Don’t let him have this power over you.
Matthew cracked open the can and took a long drink.
He didn’t let it sting for long.
“Let’s go,” Ronan yelled, stuffing the rest of the beers under his shirt and running ahead. Declan followed with Matthew at his side. His blonde curls bounced as he walked, but he did not meet Declan’s eyes. That was fine. Declan let his hand rest on the back of Matthew’s neck. They didn’t need words.
The creek had grown with the boys. When they’d been very young, the water had stayed shallow no matter how much it rained, but in recent years, it’d grown deeper to allow them enough room to swim comfortably and it didn’t show signs of stopping. Declan and Ronan had both finally hit the 6’ mark and Matthew was following quickly behind them.
Ronan jumped in without hesitation. He hit the water with a splash that sprayed Declan. “Are you coming in?”
He shook his head, wiping the worst of the dampness off with his towel before laying it out on the grass beside him. He sat down and dangled his feet over the water.
“Suit yourself.”
“Come on, Declan,” Matthew said, allowing himself to tumble gracefully into the water. “It’s hot. Come swim with us.”
Declan held up his copy of Othello. “Summer reading,” he said.
Ronan made a fart noise with his mouth but surprisingly didn’t push further. Instead, he popped his head under the water and pushed the curls back out of his face. Then he let out a pained gasp.
“Ronan?”
“Shit,” he said. He grabbed at something beneath the wet, possibly his leg. “Fucking shit.”
“What happened?” Declan rushed toward him, leaning over to get a closer look.
“Here,” Ronan said, hopping toward him. He held out his hand. “Help me up.”
Declan reached out and pulled, watching for signs of pain or injury, but instead, Ronan flashed him a wild-eyed grin. Then he jerked Declan forward face-first into the creek.
Matthew’s delighted giggle and Ronan’s hysterical gasping broke through the surface of the water, and Declan came up spitting and angry. Then he saw them, both of them, not much younger than him, but so fresh, so innocent. He wanted them to be like this. He didn’t want them to turn into him. Cautious, calculating. That was the price he paid for being the oldest. He didn’t always like it, but what was the alternative?
This was the way things were, and he was comfortable with that. He didn’t want anything to change.
Because if stayed vigilant, if he watched their backs, Ronan and Matthew didn’t have to care about any of the other bullshit Niall was dragging him into. They could spend the whole day swimming in the creek. And maybe this was the best way to watch their backs. To remember he was one of them.
Ronan was filling out, but Declan was still older and had a good inch and a half on him, allowing him to get the upper hand when he dove at his brother, full-force, crashing them both under. They came up together, spitting and coughing. Ronan swore as he scrubbed water from his eyes.
“You bastard,” he yelled, but it wasn’t angry.
They left the creek a few hours later as the worst of the midday humidity hit. They made their way to the kitchen, where their mother waited with sandwiches and lemonade. All four of them ate on the porch, gathered around the old glass table Niall had brought back with him from his recent trip to Venice. He hadn’t said where he got it, but when they placed their cups on it, the glass turned cold, keeping their lemonade perfectly cool.
“What are you boys up to now?” Aurora asked.
“Air hockey?” Ronan asked.
Matthew drummed his hands against the table, tilting it slightly. He grinned sheepishly at the rest of them as they shuffled glasses and plates, catching everything before it tipped. “You’re gonna play with us, right?” he asked.
“Of course,” Declan said. Because he was beginning to realize Niall didn’t know what he was talking about. He’d gone on for years about how they were in danger, warning Declan to stay vigilant, to stay careful, but the truth was no one had come for them yet. Sure he’d always have to protect Ronan and Matthew, but they were growing up. They could look after themselves. Maybe they didn’t need a protector. Maybe they just needed a brother.
Niall could stay gone forever as far as Declan was concerned. He knew the constant pressure made him hard to be around. He knew that when Niall was around, he wound himself so tight he snapped at anyone who crossed him. He hated it. He hated what he was becoming, but was powerless to stop it. But without Niall, he was free. He could play with his brothers. He didn't realize how much he'd missed playing.
And so they played several rounds of air hockey. They turned it into a tournament and made detailed brackets with construction paper and markers. And Declan couldn’t even bring himself to be mad when Ronan won because he was smiling. And that was what mattered. Ronan was happy and Matthew was happy. It was the best day they’d had in a while.
In the morning, when Declan came downstairs, he went straight to the kitchen.
“French toast?” Aurora asked.
“Yes, please,” he said. The quiet hum of rain washed over the house, and it made the place feel that much cozier. It was their shelter, their castle. So long as Niall was gone, they were kings, and they ruled this kingdom. There would be time to finish the paperwork and the calls. He’d get it done before his father returned. But he was going to spend the day with Ronan and Matthew. “Rematch?” he asked his brothers, shoving a hearty bite of french toast in his mouth.
“Only if you’re okay with getting your ass kicked,” Ronan said.
Aurora gave him a stern look as she used a napkin to wipe syrup off Matthew’s face.
“I play winner,” he said, wiggling away from their mother’s hands.
Aurora finished cleaning Matthew and scurried off to the laundry room.
Ronan rose from his seat and dumped his empty plate in the sink, casually leaning against the counter behind him. He peaked through the doorway to make sure their mother was out of earshot. “Wanna make it interesting?” he asked.
“No gambling,” Aurora called from down the hall. Or maybe she was just that good. Maybe that was something Niall dreamed into her. Declan didn’t let himself dwell on that for long.
“Sorry Mom,” Ronan called back. He laughed and shook his head like he was stupid for thinking he could get away with it. Like he knew she’d hear him, but said it anyway. Like he was invincible, which Declan supposed he was.
Good. Invincible meant safe.
“Hey,” Ronan called, turning to look at the large windows over the sink. “Dad’s here!” He ran around the counter and out the front door to greet him.
A knot curled in Declan’s stomach. He wasn’t ready. He was stupid for putting things off. He knew how important this stuff was and he knew Niall would be pissed. He hated himself. He hated Niall. He hated Ronan and Matthew for dragging him into things, except that he didn’t and he’d had fun.
Ronan’s scream tore through the kitchen.
Niall never got the chance to ask him about the paperwork he didn’t finish or the calls he’d never made.