30 January 1999
The pre-dawn hours were something Murphy MacManus held dear. The bite of the brisk Winter wind wasn't a bother as he watched his breath gather for a split second, before it was whisked up and away into the increasingly lightening sky. The pre-dawn hours held a profound peacefulness, a unique calm, Murphy craved. It was there, and it was his, even in a city such as Boston and a neighborhood such as theirs. The only thing that was his alone, at least that he dared utter aloud.
Everything and anything else was theirs. Connor's and Murphy's: always theirs.
The pre-dawn hours might've been Murphy's, but even as he lit his first cigarette of the day, folding in on himself to protect the flame, while the rickety old fire escape creaked and groaned, his mind drifted to his twin.
Murphy's mind never wondered far from Connor. It wasn't always a conscious thought, more of a presence that made it impossible. He could always feel Connor. His twin was always with him, even when he wasn't. It was the best way Murphy knew how to describe it. Then again, even if he did know a better way, he probably wouldn't share. No one would truly understand; not really. Not even Nana, who'd always been the most understanding, even if she could never really know.
Unbidden the memory of the first time Murphy felt the strength of their connection, as well as the first time Murphy recalled earnestly crying, and the first time he'd ever been truly afraid popped into the forefront of his mind. Murphy would never deny he was a bit excitable, a tad quick to anger; loud, but he never considered himself emotional; not really.
Murphy was simply more than; more than Connor.
Comparing things was what people did, how they operated, learned, and differentiated, so it was logical for Murphy to be compared to Connor. As twins it was done more often and more openly. As twins the differences were amplified, because one was more than the other. Connor and Murphy were different in many ways, but the differences people latched on to seemed to be their "more than" traits.
In fact, Murphy could count on one hand all the times he'd earnestly cried in what today made their twenty-seven years. He needed all of his fingers, pinky and thumb included, but it was still one hand. It was something Murphy found comfort in, because while he wouldn't consider himself emotional, he was more emotional than Connor, which meant he was emotional.
Five times, and they were all because of Connor. It was always Connor, though "because of Connor" wasn't exactly fair. It made it seem like it was Connor's fault, which it wasn't. It was more so about Connor, for Connor, even with Connor, but never "because of Connor"; not really. Not unless Murphy was mad, and even then he only blamed Connor for one, still no matter how mad, he never dared utter it aloud.
In the end it was because of Murphy.
The first time Murphy recalled crying in earnest they were six, which was better than five, but not as good as seven, or so Connor insisted. Murphy's tears had been about Connor, and maybe a little for Connor, but not "because of Connor". The memory, even after all this time, caused Murphy's stomach to swoop uncomfortably. He could still somehow taste Connor's fear mingling with his own, which had been worse than the physical pain, even if it lasted but a few seconds.
It wasn't the sort of event that one would hear recounted and immediately think "significant". Not from the outside looking in. A lot of kids fall out of trees. It happens. Kids play; kids get hurt, and Connor and Murphy were no exception. They actually tended to collect more bumps and bruises than the average lad. Mostly at the hands of one another, and it drove their Ma mad.
It was why they'd been banished outside that day. They'd been particularly ornery, so she bundled them up and told them to stay where she could see them. It was their birthday, and while their Ma never really had the means for a "proper celebration" she'd promised to take them to the park. Their little hearts were just bursting with excitement.
It didn't matter that it was January, or that it was freezing out, the snow was simply scenery to them. Murphy liked the cold anyway, and Connor could endure it as long as he got to swing.
"Murph?" Connor had whispered into the night.
"Aye?" he'd whispered back, much to his twin's surprise.
Normally Murphy ignored Connor's ramblings, especially at night, who was constantly thinking and talking; planning. It didn't matter if Murphy replied or not, Connor would keep talking, sometimes into the wee hours of the morning. More often than not, Murphy remained silent. He just let the soothing sound of his brother's voice planning for things, like what they would do with the extra half an hour before bedtime that came with finally turning seven, lull him to sleep.
Tonight, however, his own excitement mixed with his brother's, and made it impossible to find sleep.
"I know six isn' as good as seven…" Connor was still whispering, but suddenly Murphy felt his nerves.
"Wha' is et, Con?" Murphy whispered back curiously pushing up onto his elbow to look at Connor when he trailed off.
"Well, et's still better than five," Connor said after a moment keeping his eyes on the ceiling. "An' we're only goin' tae turn six once, ye know…"
This time when his brother trailed off Murphy stayed silent. While he had no idea what it was Connor wanted, it suddenly felt very important. It was a bit unsettling. He wasn't sure he liked it.
"An' et is our birthday, an' I know ye don' really like swingin', so I don' wan' tae ask ye to swing with me…"
Murphy's brow furrowed when his brother paused again. It was true he didn't like swinging. It felt a bit too much like falling for him, but he wasn't sure what his brother wanted from him, and had no idea what would make him so nervous. He definitely didn't like it.
"Spit et out, Con," Murphy whispered impatiently after what felt like eternity.
"Will ye push me Murph?" Connor asked quickly after another beat and Murphy swore he could see his twin's blush in the dark as he pressed on when Murphy failed to respond right away. "Ye don' have tae, ye know? Et's jus', I know ye don' like tha swings much, no' like me, but et's our birthday…"
"Why?" Murphy wondered aloud surprised by the odd request.
"Forge' et, et's stupid," Connor rolled onto his side so he was facing away from Murphy. "Jus' forge' et."
"No," Murphy said quickly pushing up and onto his feet.
Murphy hated when Connor turned away from him because he was embarrassed about something or another, or worse mad. Murphy was guilty of it too, but he still hated when Connor did it.
"I'll do et," he grabbed his brother's shoulder and force him to look at him. "I wan' tae. I was jus' wonderin' why, is all." Connor was looking up at him in a way he never had before. As though he was looking for something, or trying to gauge whether or not Murphy was being serious or making fun of him. "Ye don' have tae tell me if ye don' wan' tae." Murphy added quietly a bit hurt. "Jus' Don' be mad at me, please. I'll push ye all ye wan', Con."
"I'm no' mad a' ye, Murph," Connor responded quickly and adamantly. "An' ye don' have tae…"
Murphy was glad his brother wasn't mad at him, but he absolutely didn't like the idea of Connor being unable to tell him or ask him anything.
"I wan' tae," Murphy interjected a bit more enthusiastically than necessary. "I'll push ye, Con. I'll even swing with ye if ye wan'."
"Ye don' have tae do all tha', Murph," Connor told him a bit sheepishly, but wearing a relieved sort of smile. "I don' wan' ye doin' anythin' ye don' wan' tae 'cause a me."
"Alrigh', then I'll push ye," Murphy decided, not wanting Connor to feel like he was asking too much, and a little relieved he wouldn't have to swing.
"Ye mean et?" Connor's face lit up in a way that made Murphy a bit sad and his belly flutter at the same time.
He loved when Connor smiled like that, so he pushed away the sad, and returned it with an enthusiastic nod. Murphy held out his hand with his pinky extended to show his brother he really meant it; just like Nana when she made them promises. It was binding. Connor smiled even wider. A nearly imperceptible tug after they sealed the promise told him his brother wanted something else too. Smiling Murphy crawled under the covers with his twin.
Before Connor made his strange request Murphy was sure he wouldn't be getting any sleep that night, but now with Connor's soothing voice making promises of snowmen, and wondering when they're finally 7 if they'll be able to take themselves to the park, his eyelid began to fluttered closed. Just as he was on the edge of sleep Connor's voice became so soft he could barely hear it.
Murphy wasn't all that sure it wasn't part of a dream, but he liked it.
"I love ye, Murph," his brother whispered. "I wan' tae share everythin' with ye, even if et is stupid; everythin'."
Murphy continued to drift with a contented smile on his lips, because he wanted that too, and even without a pinky promise, he took it as one.
Unfortunately, while Ma had promised, being a single mother with two growing boys meant working full time. Finding out Murphy was allergic to bees, and Connor didn't like "fresh" honey as much as he thought he would, meant a second job. So when their Uncle Ced called forgoing a traditional greeting for an apology their Ma's irritated sigh followed by a string of curses told them their hopes of swinging together on their sixth birthday were dashed.
Murphy was surprised to find he felt as disappointed as Connor looked, maybe more than, but there was nothing for it.
"Don' you give me tha' look, ye scoundrels," she chastised, but without any heat, as she bundled them against the cold, for the ride to the bar their uncle owned. There was nowhere else for them to go, and on a day like today it would be all locals, who were used to the boys being around. "Maybe next time ye should think before ye go an' poke a hornet's nest."
"Bees," Connor corrected quickly and seriously. "Murph's allergic tae bees, Ma, ye can' forge'; bees."
"I know full well wha' he's allergic tae, ye little shit," she zipped Murphy's jacket, who still felt bad about the whole thing and was looking at the floor. "I ge' tha Dr.'s bills twice a month, thanks."
"Bees," Connor repeated looking up at their Ma as she went to zip his coat too in a way that demanded confirmation.
"Aye, bees, ye little brat, bees," their Ma's features softened a bit as she patted Connor's cheek dropping all her mock bluster. "Ye, go' yer pen, lad?"
Connor narrowed his eyes at their Ma for a moment as if he could intimidate her into remembering bees then nodded, pulling out the Epi-pen he insisted on carrying; just in case. Murphy flushed, because he didn't have his. There were no bee's in the Winter, not that he knew of anyway, which had been good enough for him when he realized he left it at Nana's, but not for Connor.
Connor always had his Epi-pen, even as they slept, it sat on the night stand between them, never more than an arm's length away.
Murphy suddenly felt a whole new pang of disappointment. Connor was always looking out for him, and while Murphy looked for Connor too, he knew today meant a lot to his twin, sharing the swing, and even if he didn't know why, Connor did, which was good enough for him.
"Good, now put the rest o' yer shit on, tha both o' ye," she gestured in the general direction of their hats and gloves. "An' ge' yer arses in tha truck."
When they passed the turn off that led to the park Connor frowned out the window. Murphy discretely reached out and squeezed his brother's hand as a way of apologizing, and letting him know while he didn't like the swings, not like Connor, he was sad too. Connor gave him an almost forlorn, but genuine smile as he interlaced their fingers, before squeezing back.
"We ca' still build yer snowman, Murph," Connor told him trying to sound much more cheerful than he felt. "An' I'm sure Uncle Ced will let us 'ave a carrot fer his nose, an' maybe even some coal fer his buttons an' eyes, if we wash some dishes."
"Aye?" Murphy felt some of his disappointment ebb, warmed by the fact even though his brother hated the snow and cold, and Murphy wasn't going to push him on the swing like he promised, he was going to still help Murphy build his snowman. "Ye think, Con?"
"Aye," Connor nodded seriously. "I bet we ca' even ge' 'im to give us a hat, an' maybe a scarf. Et's our birthday after all."
"Aye," Murphy nodded enthusiastically, his excitement mounting. "We ca' build a proper snowman, Con, an' he'll have all the righ' stuff. Maybe even a pipe!"
"Everythin'," Connor promised.
Murphy beamed at feeling his brother's determination to help him build a proper snowman. Too excited to pay much else any mind, Murphy almost missed the loving smile their Ma wore as she pretended not to listen. It was the same one she always wore when she thought they weren't paying attention. They caught her at it often, and though they never spoke of it, it made them love her all the more.
The bar was surprisingly packed, especially for the weather. As their Ma pushed open the door, Murphy was assaulted by noise and the surprisingly comforting scent of tobacco and beer. It might not have been proper, but Connor and Murphy basically grew up in their Uncle's bar. They were homeschooled, and spent more time than most thought appropriate sitting at the beat up old mahogany bar doing their homework as their Ma worked.
Occasionally their planned lessons were interrupted by regulars, who had knowledge in fields they found much more interesting than what they were supposed to be doing.
That was how they'd learned Russian, and a bit of boxing, until Murphy gave Connor what turned out to be a brilliant shiner. Their Ma shut that down right-quick, telling Mr. O'Leary they did enough damage without any real know how, and if she caught him at it again, he could take them home, and let them destroy his house. They were perfectly fine with that, because it had been their favorite lesson yet, but Mr. O'Leary apparently wasn't.
Murphy was the reigning champion having won their first and only boxing match. The others didn't count, because it wasn't proper boxing. No matter how many times Connor insisted they did, and returned his first shiner with interest. Not even when they were nine, and Connor rang a bell before he ambushed him.
In boxing there was a referee, and their Ma shouting at them to "knock et tha fuck off," after they'd broken Murphy's night stand didn't count either.
Their moods were much improved, even if they couldn't swing together on their birthday, they were going to build a snowman together, even if it was stupid. Happy Birthday's and hair ruffling was what they got as they followed their Ma up to the bar. It made them blush and smile, because six was better than five after all.
As an apology for ruining their trip to the park, their Uncle Ced didn't even make them wash the dishes for their carrot and coal, though he only had two lumps. Mr. O'Leary had given them his pipe, and Miss. Kathleen her scarf, pink wasn't so bad, not really, and Mr. O'Malley's bowler hat was perfect. Even without a buttons it was the most proper snowman Murphy had ever built. What was more, he got to share it with Connor, so the buttons didn't even matter; not really.
Cheeks flush, mittens soaked, but smiling brightly Connor and Murphy admired their work.
"I wish I had buttons fer ye, Murph," Connor said suddenly frowning.
"He doesn' need buttons, Con," Murphy told his brother earnestly. "He's a proper snowman without 'em. He's our snowman, and tha's better than havin' buttons. He doesn' even have a shirt, he doesn' need buttons; no' really."
Connor looked at his brother frowning slightly, as though the absence of buttons meant he'd somehow failed to do right by him. Murphy definitely didn't like it, and he was about to tell Connor so when his brother's face lit up.
"I know!" Connor exclaimed excitedly, before running back towards the bar, to the edge of the garden.
Connor dropped to his knees and began digging through the snow. Murphy wondered what he was doing, and was going to ask, but Connor let out a triumphant "Ah Ha!" Without so much as a word his twin ran back to their snowman, something clutched in his hands, smiling like a loon. It turned out to be three somethings. Murphy felt a bit overwhelmed as he watched his brother press three, admittedly small, but no less heartwarming, rocks into their snowman's mid-section.
"There! Now, he's a proper snowman!" Connor beamed once he'd finished. "Happy Birthday, Murph!"
Murphy wasn't sure why, but his eyes began to sting, and he felt like his heart was about to burst. He didn't know what to do with the sudden burst of, whatever it was, but he knew he loved his brother, if it was possible, more than ever in that moment. He did the only thing he could think of. He tackled him.
"Oi!" Connor exclaimed when they landed in the snow in a heap, but Murphy just laughed, he couldn't help it.
Connor laughed too, once his confusion at the sudden assault was swept away, and he did the only thing he could think to do, he wrapped his arms around his brother and rolled so he was now on top. Then it went from there. The boy's ruckus laughter and shouting as they rolled in the snow drew their Ma's attention, who mistook their play for actual fighting, which wasn't an uncommon occurrence.
"Oi!" their Ma shouted from the doorway. "Ye knock tha' shite off! Come an' ge' some lunch!"
Murphy beamed down at his brother for another moment, who was beaming back, before he pushed to his feet. Connor wasn't far behind. When he caught up with him near the door he grabbed Murphy's arm and yanked him back to take the lead. Normally, Murphy would tackle him or clock him, but right now he could let Connor win.
It was the least he could do after the wonderful gift that was their proper snowman.
Jackets, now shed, and wet gloves, hats, and scarfs drying near the fire, the boys sat happily at the counter eating their birthday lunch. Murphy couldn't stop smiling. He didn't really know what to do with himself, and wanted nothing more than to give his brother something that would mean as much to Connor as their proper snowman did to him. He came up with nothing, instead, he settled on kicking his brother, though not too hard, who simply kicked him back, smiling all the while.
Lunch finished and nothing else to do, they continued with their usual display of affection, bickering and shoving one another lightly. It was the best Birthday Murphy ever remembered having, and he wasn't so sure Connor was right. Six might just be better than seven. He wasn't sure how much better than this it could get. Maybe seven would be as good as six, though.
With that thought he shoved Connor a bit harder than intended.
"Oi," their Ma barked as Connor tipped over off his stool. "Ye'll knock tha' shite off righ' now, or yer goin' back outside!"
Normally, that threat would be enough to keep Connor from retaliating. Connor didn't like the cold, not like Murphy, but his cheeks flushed when he felt everyone looking their way. He looked very much as he had when Murphy had given him the black eye, and their Ma had screeched at them and Mr. O'Leary. This time Murphy wouldn't get the last shot, not again, snow or no snow. Suddenly Murphy found himself on the floor, and it went from there.
"Ye shouldn' 'ave shoved me like tha'," Connor scowled as the door slammed behind them.
"I didn' mean tae," Murphy replied honestly.
Connor didn't reply, he only scowled and kicked at the snow drift near the door. Murphy felt awful. He hadn't meant to shove Connor, not like that, he'd just gotten a bit overwhelmed, but he didn't know how to tell Connor that, so he kicked the snow drift too. After a moment Connor walked away and Murphy knew his brother didn't want him to follow. It hurt, and Murphy wanted to apologize for getting them banished, but he didn't know how to do that either.
His eyes stung as he kicked the snow drift one more time, before heading into the opposite direction of his brother, maybe six wasn't even better than five.
Murphy wondered through the snow, simultaneously cursing Connor and trying to think of a way to make it up to him, when he reached the shed out by the old oak tree. It wasn't far from the bar, but it was out of bounds. Still, he wondered if maybe they could go inside, then Connor could get out of the cold, and maybe not be so mad at him. Murphy peaked in just to see, they never really ventured over here before, but if it was warmer, it would be worth it.
Murphy hated when Connor was mad at him.
It wasn't any warmer than the outside, but it did block the wind. There was really nowhere for them to sit or anything, but maybe if Murphy got Connor out of the wind he wouldn't be so mad anymore. Just as Murphy decided a scolding and a spanking was worth Connor maybe forgiving him something caught his eye; rope.
Suddenly he knew exactly what to do for Connor.
Murphy didn't like heights all that much, but he thought of his brother's brilliant smile to get him through it as he heaved himself up into the nearby tree, the rope wrapped around him so he could use his hands. It was a bit slippery, and his mittens made it difficult, but he managed to tie each end of the rope to one of the higher branches, just like Uncle Ced taught them, when they'd had their knot tying lesson. At the time Murphy thought it was useless, but now he was glad for it.
When he jumped down he saw that Connor would have to climb a little ways up the tree to actually sit in the make shift swing, but Murphy could still push him, even if it was only by his feet. Excitement course through him once again and he bounded off to go find Connor.
Connor was sulking as far away from Murphy as he could get without being out of bounds when Murphy skidded to a halt in front of him. Too excited for words he just grabbed his brothers arm and roughly tugged him along behind him.
"Murph, wha' the hell are ye doin'?" Connor snapped once his surprise at his brother's sudden appearance and manhandling wore off.
"Ye'll see," Murphy said excitedly.
Connor narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but allowed Murphy to tug him along, curiosity suddenly over riding his anger. They were five feet from the tree when Murphy pulled up sort beaming. He expected the same from his brother, but Connor simply looked irritated.
"Et's no' a real swing," Murphy said a bit deflated. "But I ca' still push ye, Con. Tha's if ye still wan' me tae."
Connor looked at him with his brow furrowed before he looked back at the tree, then he saw the rope and he smiled too. It was better than Murphy imagined. A laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep in Murphy's belly.
"Well, do ye wan' me tae push ye or no'?" he asked impatiently.
Connor nodded enthusiastically, before he let out his own laugh, and shoved Murphy into the snow. Murphy wasn't even mad as his brother immediately began scaling the tree to get to the make shift swing laughing all the while. It was a bit sketchy, and Murphy held his breath until his brother got himself situated, then with a relieved sigh, rushed over to push Connor; just like he promised.
"Happy Birthday, Con!" Murphy smiled as he stretched up to reach his brothers feet.
Connor let out a laugh, even though he didn't really go anywhere, and Murphy felt so proud, pushing him harder and higher.
"Higher, Murph!" Connor encouraged.
Murphy was now positive six was way better than five, and seven had a lot to live up to.
Murphy eventually had to jump to reach him, but he managed. The tree groaned and creaked under the strain, but their delighted laughter and shouting drowned most of it out. One particularly loud creak, or more accurately crack, as he jumped to shove his brother's feet made his heart skip a beat. Then Connor reached the top of his swing, the part Murphy hated the most, and an even more heart stopping crack cut through the air.
Murphy's stomach dropped, and he felt his brother's fear as acutely as his own when the branch the rope had been tied to snapped completely when Connor swung back towards him. Murphy barely got his hands up to protect his face, and even then Connor's snow boot connected with his head. Murphy cried out more so in fear than pain, but that fear was nothing compared to when after colliding with Murphy changed his trajectory, Connor slammed into the truck of the tree.
Feeling Connor's fear had been awful, even nauseating, but it was nothing compared to when he didn't.
Murphy scrambled to his feet having been knocked down when Connor's boot hit him. He vaguely felt the hot liquid trickling down his face, but he only had eyes for his brother's crumbled form. He called Connor's name as he pulled his shoulder to flip him over, but got no answer. When he managed to get his brother on his back, he saw why.
There was blood, so much blood, and Murphy could hardly breathe.
He called Connor's name and shook him. The snow under Connor was now red instead of white, and Murphy had never been so fucking scared in his life. Connor wasn't moving, and it was his fault. He'd done this. A sob escaped him as he did his best to scoop his brother up from the ground, shaking all over but determined.
He had to get help. He had to get Connor inside. He was going to be sick.
Hysterical, terrified, and stumbling under the weight of his twin's limp body was how their Ma found him. She'd looked out the window and at not seeing Connor this time, and having assumed when she'd seen him before that Murphy wasn't too far away, she'd come looking. Her miffed admonishment died in her throat when she caught sight of them and the trail of crimson they'd left in the white powder behind them.
"Ma!"
It was all he could get out between his sobbing, and the toll the physical excursion of carry his brother had taken, not to mention his absolute terror. Part of Murphy knew Connor was alive, he'd feel it if he wasn't, but with everything else his terror won out. With his Ma and Uncle Ced barreling towards them Murphy's last bit of strength gave out, and he tumbled forward into the snow bringing Connor with him.
The shouting barely registered, and even as his Uncle tried to lift Connor again, Murphy screamed and held onto his brother. Connor needed him. It might have been his fault, he knew that, but he couldn't leave his brother; not now. Connor needed him. Instead, of fighting him, his Uncle Ced, who was a bear of a man, lifted them both up into his arms.
Murphy's sobbing had scared them just as much as all the blood, and there was a lot more shouting as they were carried into the bar. Their Ma was suddenly there, and when Murphy saw Connor's eyes flutter open, it sent him into a bit of a tail spin. His body shook with heaving relieved sobs, and his hand tightened around his brother, who looked confused, but immediately attempted to comfort his brother when he saw Murphy's tears and tasted his was still so fucking scared. He'd never been so scared in his life.
That was when Murphy learned, no matter what, he could never live without Connor, and even if it was physically possible, he never wanted to.
Six was the absolute worst.
At 27 the memory still made him feel a bit nauseous. As he lite another cigarette he noticed the sky had lightened considerably while he was lost down memory lane, and he felt his brother stirring a bit as he surfaced to consciousness. Coincidentally that had been the reason he'd ever discovered the unique calm of the pre-dawn hours.
Connor had been alright in the end. Six stitches, some medicine, a lot of threats from their Ma, and a clingy car ride later, he'd fallen into a deep slumber, but Murphy couldn't find sleep. The residual terror wouldn't allow it. He stayed awake all night simply watching his brother, and telling him how sorry he was. Connor never wanted an apology, and when it was all said and done, he insisted it was still one of the best things Murphy had ever done for him.
The sounds of the normal hustle and bustle of a new day in city such as Boston reached him, as he took a long drag, before lighting another cigarette with the one he'd just finished. He shrugged out of his coat, clamping the newly lit stogie between his teeth. Just as the sun climbed enough to almost be visible on the horizon, the window behind him slid open noisily, catching on old globs of paint and rust.
Connor, shivering, cursing and still half asleep grabbed onto Murphy's shoulder as he clumsily climbed out onto the fire escape.
"Fuckin' freezin'," Connor grumbled as Murphy held out the newly lit cigarette.
Connor maneuvered his head and clamped it firmly between his lips, then nodded gratefully. Murphy suppressed a smile when Connor inhaled shakily, as he draped his own coat over his brother's shoulders. Murphy took a moment to run his hands down Connor's arms in attempts to warn him a bit, then when Connor could finally hold his cigarette in his hand without dropping it, Murphy ruffled his brother's hair affectionately, earning a scowl he privately thought adorable.
Connor's grumbled some more as Murphy climbed back through the window shaking his head. As per usual since, coming to America, Murphy went over to their open bay of showers and turned the water on full blast. There was hardly ever any warm water, and if there was it took a while to heat up, so naturally Murphy always took first shower.
The cold didn't bother Murphy, not like it did Connor; not really. Murphy could endure a slightly less than lukewarm shower for his brother. He would do anything for his brother, and his brother would do anything for him, even if it was stupid.
That was one thing that had never changed, even if other things had.
As Murphy stepped under the weak spray of not so freezing water and grabbed the soap off the shelf, he wondered what 27 would bring. He wasn't as good as Connor at making plans, and had given up making any of his own entirely when they were 6, unwilling to be responsible for anything remotely close to what had happened that day, but he was sure regardless of what 27 brought, it would at least be better than 6, and probably 26 too.
Hell, something told him 27 could be the best yet.