by Fox, Nicole
Sean puts both his hands on my shoulders. “We will always be brothers,” he says. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“What about Kian?” I ask. “You’re going to leave without saying goodbye?”
Sean’s face falls. “He won’t understand, Cillian.”
“For fuck’s sake, I barely understand.”
Sean sighs deeply. “This is hard for me, too. All my life I’ve been surrounding by you shits. I don’t want to leave you and Kian behind.”
“And yet…”
“Don’t be an asshole.”
I smile, but it feels stiff. “I’ll try and explain it to him.”
“Tell him I’m sorry,” Sean says. “Tell him I love him.”
“You’ll come back right?” I ask. “One day?”
“Maybe. Maybe.”
But he doesn’t meet my gaze as he turns back to his suitcase. He closes it and zips it up before pulling it off the bed.
“Wanna walk me to the bus station?” Sean asks.
“Scared of the dark?” I ask. “Maybe you’re right to leave. No don has ever been quite such a nancy as you are.”
“Asshole,” Sean says, lightly punching me in the arm.
I cover my burgeoning sense of loss with a painfully forced laugh and follow Sean out of his room. He makes a point of stopping and shutting the door decisively behind him.
I swallow the lump in my throat and we walk downstairs.
We’re at the front door when I see a shadow appear at the corner of the passageway that leads to Da’s study.
It’s Ma.
She takes a step forward. She looks drawn and tired, though her eyes are dry.
She sees us there. The bag in Sean’s hand. The look in his eyes.
And she knows at once.
“Ma,” Sean says, turning to her.
I brace myself, waiting for—hell, I’m not sure what. But something.
I get nothing. She just gives him a small nod.
“Stay safe, my son,” she says.
Then she turns and disappears down the passageway.
Sean stands there for a few seconds longer, as though he needs to process the enormity of the decision he’s making.
Then takes a deep breath and walks out the door.
I have no choice but to follow him.
“That wasn’t a real goodbye,” I say, unable to keep my mouth shut.
“Ma is as much a don in this house as Da is,” Sean tells me. “It was more than I expected.”
* * *
The walk to the bus station is quiet. Neither one of us even suggest taking a car. Walking will take longer and I want these last few moments with my brother to stretch out for as long as possible.
The night air is chilly, but I’m glad for it.
It lends a numbness to my body that I’m craving at this moment.
“Do you think I can do it?” I ask suddenly, breaking the morose silence.
“Of course,” Sean says without hesitation. “Without a doubt. So long as you’re not distracted by beautiful redheads.”
I snort with laughter. “She was beautiful, wasn’t she?”
“A fucking vision,” Sean agrees. “You were salivating at one point.”
“Fuck you.”
Sean throws me a sideways smile. “Will you check on her for me? The both of them?”
My body tenses suddenly. Does he know that I’d been planning on doing just that? Is this his subtle way of giving me his approval?
“I… yes,” I agree. “I can do that.”
“If her father dies…”
“That wasn’t a killing shot.”
“If he dies,” Sean insists, “just… make sure she’s okay. Make sure she knows that I didn’t… didn’t mean to…”
He doesn’t finish his sentence, and I realize he can’t.
Guilt can weigh heavy on a person. Especially one with a conscience.
“You’re too good for this life, brother.”
He smiles. “That’s kind of you,” he says. “But that’s not the word I’d use.”
“What is the word you’d use?”
“I’m a coward, little brother,” Sean says.
“That’s not fucking true,” I say, furious that he would even use the word.
He doesn’t take it back.
“If I weren’t a coward, I’d have stayed and spoken to the men. I would have found the girl, apologized to her myself. I would have said goodbye to Kian.”
“That doesn’t mean a damn—”
“Instead, I’ve passed the responsibility to you, my younger brother,” Sean tells me. “Because I know you’re twice the man I am.”
“Jesus,” I say. “Are you trying to make me fucking cry?”
Sean laughs. “I won’t tell if you do.”
The bus station is quiet when we arrive. There are three buses in the lot, only one of which is scheduled to leave in the next few minutes.
Sean buys a ticket. I walk him to the front door of the idling vehicle.
His expression warms as he turns to me. “I’ll see you around, kid.”
He hasn’t used “kid” on me since I surpassed him in height three years ago. My eyes mist up as I reach out and wrap my arms around him.
He returns the hug for a long minute before he finally breaks it.
When we part and he sees my unshed tears glistening in the overhead light, he smiles softly.
“If you tell anyone about this, I’ll fucking kill you,” I warn him.
He chuckles. “I believe you.”
“I’m practically don now,” I tell him. “I have unlimited resources at my disposal.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He pats my shoulder and gets onto the first step of the bus. “Don’t hate me too much,” he requests, glancing back at me over his shoulder.
“Never.”
“And take care of them for me,” he says. “All of them.”
I nod. Sean mounts the final stair.
Turns.
Slips deeper into the bus.
Then the doors close on him with a final wheeze. I stand dead still as the bus slowly pulls out of the massive lot.
I expect the loss to engulf me immediately, but it doesn’t.
I just linger there, feeling numb.
I wait for it to hurt me.
As the bus picks up speed.
As it rounds the corner.
As it turns into a tiny dot on the horizon, and then to nothing at all.
And after all that, when the hurt still isn’t there, I start walking back home. To a house that will never be the same again.
* * *
I’m almost halfway home when I hear a high-pitched mewling next to the high fence that lines one side of the pavement.
I pause for a moment before the owner of the grating sound makes an appearance.
It’s a tiny, malnourished kitten. Its’ fur is dappled white and ginger and it stares at me with big brown eyes.
“What do you want?” I croak. My voice cracks from the cold.
The kitten just purrs helplessly at me.
I take a step forward, and the creature coils up low on its paws. But it doesn’t bolt like I expected it to.
I crouch down and run my fingers through his mangy fur. After a few seconds, it relaxes a little.
“Do you have a name?” I ask. “Ginger, maybe. No? Too on the nose, huh?”
I sigh and straighten up.
He mewls again.
“I have enough problems, buddy,” I inform the kitten matter-of-factly. “And you’re not one of them.”
I start walking again.
The mewling follows me down the street.
“Whoa, whoa,” I say, turning around and glaring down at the tiny thing. “Did you not just hear me? I’m not gonna take you home with me. You’re not my responsibility. Who do you think I am, Sean?”
The moment I say his name, the loss that I’d been waiting for back at the bus depot hits me.<
br />
It hits me so hard that I feel my stomach plummet and my heart rate skyrocket.
I’ve had my big brother around my entire life. He was the one constant that I could count on. My first friend. My first protector.
The one person who stood between me and the force that was Ronan O’Sullivan.
I’m not even sure who I am without Sean.
But I am sure of who he is.
And I wished I’d had the forethought, the fucking presence of mind to have told him that when he was standing in front of me.
He’s no coward.
He’s not weak.
He’s kind. Resilient. Strong. Compassionate.
He’s the bravest fucking person I know.
He’s choosing to walk away from everything and everyone he’s ever known—solely because his conscience wouldn’t let him play a role he didn’t believe in.
Whereas I’m the kind of guy who walks away from a stray kitten because looking after it would be too damn inconvenient.
Sean would never. Sean brought home a stray dog with severe trauma and tried to rehabilitate it despite everyone else telling him it was a lost cause.
And when the cause was finally lost, what did Sean do? He looked that fucking dog in the eye when he shot him.
Then he’d buried the animal himself.
That is the kind of man my brother is.
That is the kind of man I want to be one day, whenever the hell I grow up.
It’s the first time I’ve ever thought about growing up as something to aspire to.
But sometimes, time doesn’t change you.
Moments do.
And in this moment, staring down at this ratty little kitten, I feel myself changing.
I bend down and scoop the cat up with one hand. I hold him close to my body as I walk back to the mansion. He purrs contentedly the entire time. Far from being annoying, I actually find it soothing.
Despite the hour, the house is still lit up when I enter.
I head to the kitchen and pour some milk into a saucer. I’m watching the kitten drink when I feel a shadow at my back.
“Ma.”
“You bought home a stray,” she observes.
“It’s what Sean would have done.”
She walks into the kitchen, rounds in front of me, and her blue eyes find mine. She already looks like she hasn’t slept for days.
“That is the last time you’ll mention his name,” she tells me.
Her voice doesn’t shake. Not even a little.
Sometimes I wonder if Ma gets her strength from Da, or if it’s the other way around.
“Are those your orders?” I ask. “Or Da’s?”
“We are one and the same in this matter.”
“Then what were you arguing about before?” I challenge.
Her eyes turn cold. “That is none of your concern.”
Of course it isn’t. It’s never mattered how fiercely they disagree—Ma and Da always put up a united front.
I used to think it was one of their biggest strengths.
Now, I see how dangerous it is. How toxic.
“I won’t ever stop talking about my brother,” I tell her defiantly.
“My son…” she murmurs, using the same tone she used to use on Sean all the time. She reaches out to cup my face in her hand.
I flinch back.
She ignores me, her hand coming to rest gently against the side of my face.
“You are the heir now,” she says softly. “Don’t let us down.”
It’s less a command and more of a plea.
And I feel it then—what Sean felt.
The weight of it all.
The responsibility.
I close my eyes and try to push it back.
Before it crushes me whole.
7
Saoirse
Three Days Later—Clontarf Hospital—Dublin, Ireland
I walk into Pa’s hospital room and stop short when I see the tall, burly man standing by his bedside.
“Ah,” Pa mumbles to him, relief coloring his features, “that’s my daughter.”
The man turns to me. He’s wearing a crisp white shirt and dark pleated pants, but I’m mostly focused on the shining badge attached to his belt.
My gaze flits up to his face as fear starts to pound through me.
Is he one of the good ones?
Or is he like Tristan?
For now, I can’t see anything but apathy.
But I stay alert anyway.
“You must be Saoirse,” he says, turning to me.
“I am.”
“I’m Detective Mark Donahue.”
“Detective?” More nervous energy floods my system immediately. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“There is, actually,” he says evasively. “I have a few questions to ask you.”
I keep my expression neutral as the detective walks towards me. I spare a glance at Pa, who’s already closed his eyes.
But I know him well enough to know that he’s not really sleeping. He’s just feigning fatigue to avoid a conversation he doesn’t want to have.
Not the first time he’s pulled that trick.
“Can we step out?” I suggest. “My father needs rest.”
“Of course. Right this way.”
His tone borders on polite. But not quite.
The moment we step outside of Pa’s hospital room, Donahue turns to me, all business.
“I’m here to inquire about the incident that took place outside your home three days ago,” he starts.
I’m not expecting this at all. I thought the whole point of involving Tristan was that I wouldn’t have to answer a lot of complicated questions.
“I already gave a statement.”
“To Tristan Rearden,” the detective confirms. “Yes, I know. I work closely with him.”
Oh.
So I can’t trust this man after all.
I’m starting to think that should be a general rule when it comes to the male species.
Trust none of them.
Cillian appears in my mind, quick as a flash. Along with a thought: I could trust him. Deep in my bones, I know I could.
Then he’s gone. And it’s just me and the detective again, all alone in this freezing corridor.
“Okay?”
“I just spoke to your father,” the detective continues. “He has a slightly different account of what happened.”
I tense instantly despite myself. “What did he tell you?”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I wince. Why did I ask it like that? Like I have something to hide?
The detective’s expression doesn’t change, but I can sense he’s playing closer attention to me now. He’s perceptive, this one. Doesn’t miss much. I need to be careful.
“You told Tristan that members of the Kinahan mafia were involved in your father’s shooting,” he says. “You mentioned an individual named Brody Murtagh.”
“Yes…”
“Your father mentioned two other names,” the detective says. He makes a show of checking his notepad, but I know damn well he already has these names memorized. “Cillian and Sean O’Sullivan.”
“Everything happened so fast,” I tell him with as innocent of a shrug as I can muster. “‘Kinahan’ and ‘Murtagh’ are the names I heard. So that’s what I told Tristan.”
“So you didn’t hear either of the O’Sullivan boys’ names?”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” I say, standing my ground.
He eyes me carefully. “Did the O’Sullivans attack or threaten you in any way?”
Why is he trying to steer the conversation away from the Kinahans? It’s confusing me. Making me less and less willing to talk to him. Deep in my gut, an uneasy feeling is brewing.
“I think they came to collect a debt that my father owed them,” I tell him. “But neither one of them threatened me. The others did. The Kinahans. And Brody Murtagh.”
“You just claimed not to
have known the difference between the two groups.”
I’m fighting hard to keep the tremor out of my voice. “Like I said, everything happened fast. They were both there to collect money, or so they claimed. All I know is that Brody Murtagh seemed intent on hurting my father and me. The O’Sullivans didn’t.”
“Interesting.”
“Is it?” I press in a sudden spark of defiance. “Well, I find it interesting that you’re so focused on the O’Sullivans instead of the ones that I’m telling you you should be going after.”
“Your father just told me that he was shot by an O’Sullivan.”
This time, I don’t react.
“No, that’s not true.”
The lie escapes my lips so quickly, so seamlessly, that I believe it for a moment.
“It’s not?”
“They were fighting, gunshots were going off, Pa was in the middle of it. He didn’t see who shot him.”
“And you did?”
“I did. It was one of the Kinahan men,” I say confidently.
I don’t know why I’m protecting the O’Sullivans. I owe them nothing.
But my instincts are kicking into survival mode and I know the only way I’m going to get my father out of the mess he’s in is to be smart.
I’m the only one I can rely on.
Not Pa.
Not Tristan.
Not even Cillian.
Just me. No one else.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes,” I say. “I can give you a description of what he looked like.”
He cracks a fake-warm smile that reminds me weirdly of Brody Murtagh. “That won’t be necessary.”
Of course not.
“If I have more questions,” he adds, “I’ll find you.”
Joy.
I meet his gaze and nod. “And I’ll be happy to give you a full description of the man who shot my father as soon as you’re ready to do your job. You’ll find I have a great memory.”
His eyes are already cold, but they ripple with understanding and an undercurrent of anger. He gives me a curt nod and walks away, leaving me standing in the broad hallway.
Trying my best to stay strong.
* * *
It takes several more minutes before I feel calm enough to walk back into Pa’s room.