Me and the Devil

35.

The back path leading to Tannyhill stretches endlessly before me, each step weighted with urgency and dread. My heart pounds in my chest, my breaths uneven as Ward’s voice drifts through the open window.

“The plane’s ready, but the runway’s too short,” he says, his tone calm, almost casual. “Have the crew clear the trees on the south end. The weight’s pushing it to its limit.”

I freeze, my mind reeling. The weight. My stomach twists painfully. The gold. They’re moving it. Now.

I turn to leave, the need to warn the Pogues a fire in my veins, but I stop short when another sound reaches faint but unmistakable. Low, frantic. A voice raised in agitation.

Across the yard, on the deck of the neighboring Gallagher house, I spot Rafe. He’s pacing erratically, the flicker of a lighter in one hand and a bong in the other. His glassy eyes dart wildly as he mutters to himself, his movements sharp and unsteady. Beside him, Wheezie, his little sister, stands frozen, her small frame trembling against the railing.

“Wheezie,” I whisper, horror gripping me.

Rafe suddenly grabs her arm, pulling her closer as he continues pacing. His grip is too tight, his movements too erratic. Even from here, I can see the fear etched into Wheezie’s wide eyes.

My body moves before my mind catches up. I step toward the house, my legs shaking but determined.

“Rafe,” I call softly, forcing my voice steady even as fear coils in my chest.

He stops pacing. His head snaps toward me, his expression twisting into something between fury and desperation. For a long second, he just stares, chest rising and falling rapidly, as if trying to decide whether I’m real.

Then he lets out a jagged, bitter laugh.

“Look who finally showed up,” he sneers, his voice slurred but sharp. He drags Wheezie closer, his fingers digging into her arm. “Come to check on me? Or to remind me you’re done with me?”

“Let her go,” I say firmly, though my knees feel like they might buckle. “She’s just a kid, Rafe.”

“A kid,” he repeats mockingly, laughing in that hollow, jagged way that makes my skin crawl. “Yeah, well, this ‘kid’ is all I’ve got left. Isn’t that right, Wheeze?” He looks down at her, his grip tightening. She whimpers softly, her eyes glossy with unshed tears.

“Rafe, please,” I plead, taking another cautious step forward. “You’re hurting her.”

His expression shifts, darkens. His fingers twitch against Wheezie’s wrist, and I see it. That moment of hesitation. The second where I don’t know what he’s about to do.

And neither does he.

“Hurting her?” His voice is unsteady, like the words are unraveling inside him. Then, all at once, it snaps. “What about me, huh?” His laugh is sharp, brittle. “You think I don’t feel like shit? You think I don’t wake up every goddamn day knowing everyone - everyone - leaves me?”

His voice cracks.

The anger, the desperation, the spiraling self-destruction—it’s all colliding inside him, threatening to break through.

"Rafe—"

“You left me!” he suddenly shouts, his voice raw. The bong slips from his grasp, shattering against the wood as he clutches at his chest, his whole body swaying. “You said you cared about me. You—” His breath shudders. “I thought you loved me. And then you walked away. Just like Sarah. Just like Dad. Everyone leaves.”

I flinch. I thought you loved me. My breath hitches. Did I? I never said those words, but God. I feel them now.

“I didn’t leave you,” I say, tears welling in my eyes. “You left me no choice, Rafe. You lied to me. You—”

Rafe goes eerily still. Then, he takes a step toward me, dragging Wheezie with him.

“Lied to you?” he spits, his face inches from mine now, his breath reeking of alcohol and desperation. “What about you, huh? Running off with your little Pogue friends, acting like you’re better than me, like you’re not just as screwed up as I am.”

I suck in a sharp breath. “I’m not like you,” I say, my voice trembling. “I’m not a liar. And I’m not a—”

“Not a what?” he spits, his face inches from mine now, his breath reeking of alcohol and desperation. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

His words make my stomach churn, but I hold my ground. “Let Wheezie go, Rafe,” I whisper. “Please.”

His gaze flickers to his sister, and for a moment, something human flashes across his face. He loosens his grip, his hand trembling as he lets her go. She stumbles toward me, and I catch her, holding her protectively as she buries her face in my shoulder.

“Take her,” Rafe mutters, his voice cracking. He takes a shaky step back, his hands twitching at his sides. “Go on. That’s what you’re good at, right? Taking what’s mine and leaving.”

His words cut deeper than I expect, but I don’t respond. Instead, I tighten my hold on Wheezie and take a step back. Then another.

“Rafe, I—” I start, but he cuts me off with a bitter laugh.

“Save it,” he snarls, his voice raw and jagged. “You don’t get to act like you care. Not when you’ve already decided I’m not worth saving.”

The silence that follows is suffocating. And that’s when I realize he actually believes that. That no one will ever be there for him. That no one will ever choose him.  I want to tell him he’s wrong, that I still see the boy I loved buried beneath all the chaos.

But I hesitate just for a second. Long enough for my heart to betray me and Rafe sees it. I know he does.

His smirk falters, his expression crumpling into something vulnerable, something broken. Then, as if realizing he’s shown too much, he turns away. The lighter flicks in his trembling hands, the flame sputtering weakly in the warm breeze.

I stand there, holding Wheezie as my chest tightens with the weight of everything unsaid.

“Come on,” I whisper to Wheezie, my voice trembling. “Let’s get you back home.”

As I lead her away, I don’t look back. But I don’t have to. The image of Rafe’s face, the fury, the desperation, the unmistakable ache of a man spiraling toward his own destruction will never leave me.