Free Edge of Midnight by Shannon McKenna Page A

unstable that your brothers have to follow you around to make sure you don’t hurt yourself when you go out drinking and whoring?”
    “Whoa! Harsh words! Those girls were not whores! They just like to party! They were very sweet, cute, ah—sexually emancipated—”
    “Aw, shut up,” Davy snarled. “Imagine the scene if we hadn’t followed you. Can you tell us where you were the morning of August the eighteenth, Mr. McCloud? Uh, well, Officer, I was having a drunken clusterfuck with some chicks that I met at the Hole, but I don’t remember their names. They had nice butt cheeks. Gave great head.”
    “I do, too, remember their names!” Sean pondered for a moment. “Their first names, anyhow,” he amended.
    Davy snorted like a maddened stallion and kicked the wall.
    “It’s not like you guys have to follow me around all the time,” Sean argued. “I’m usually a good, solid citizen. It’s only on August—”
    “The eighteenth, yeah. Think about it, if you remember how that’s done. Is it in your best interests for anybody to remember that today is the anniversary of your twin brother’s truck bursting into flames?”
    Sean sat without breathing. “Maybe not,” he conceded.
    Davy slammed both fists onto the countertop. The jars rattled nervously on the shelves. “Where the fuck is my whiskey?”
    Sean got up with a frustrated sigh. He spotted the bottle, in plain sight on top of the propane refrigerator, and handed it to his brother.
    Davy yanked out the stopper and sloshed a shot into the glass. He drained it, and fell into the chair. It creaked under his weight.
    A heavy silence fell between them. Davy was a master at heavy silences. Sean was not, as a rule. He liked movement, dynamism, noise. But he felt tired enough to stare blankly into the dark today.
    He chose his words carefully when he finally broke the silence.
    “You’ve already ripped my head off about my past stupid stunts,” he said. “I don’t feel like getting lectured for them all over again.”
    “Oh, no.” Davy poured another shot. “No, you did plenty of brand new stupid stuff. The last time you got within a hundred yards of Liv Endicott, you landed in jail. Did that fun fact flash through your head?”
    “If I’d stayed away, Liv and Madden would be fine particles in the stratosphere, and there would be a crater where the Trinket Trove Gift Emporium used to be.” Sean pointed out. “Be glad that didn’t happen.”
    “That’s not the fucking point,” Davy muttered.
    “Then what is the point? For Christ’s sake, enlighten me.”
    “The point is, you’re doing it again. Putting yourself in the worst possible place at the worst possible time! Throwing yourself in front of a locomotive because you’re bored, or someone dares you, or you want to impress some girl. Or you feel like shit and can’t handle your feelings. You never apply logic. And I’m getting déjà vu. I’ve said this all before.”
    “Many times,” Sean confirmed, his voice heavy with resignation. “Lecture 967. Impulse Control. Part C: Actions Have Consequences.”
    “And you know what burns my ass the most?”
    Sean cringed. “Uh…shoot, Davy, I’m not sure if I do.”
    “This is all about your dick!” Davy yelled. “You can’t keep your pants zipped to save your life, so you end up in custody, surrounded by people who would love to see you burn in hell. Every fucking time.”
    “What was I supposed to do? Slink away like a whipped dog?” Sean flung his hands up, helpless. “The thing with the police, I don’t know why the fuck that keeps happening to me. I swear to God, I don’t go looking for them.”
    Davy snorted. “Right. No clue. Like when you lost your scholarship and got thrown out of school. Why? For boffing the Dean’s trophy wife. No thought for consequences. No thought for your future. Your brain just kicks back and lets your glands run the show.”
    Sean fidgeted on his chair. “She came on to me,” he