by Sam Burns
If anyone knew about loss, it was his best friend.
He sighed, and leaned his head in his hands. “I just don’t want to disappoint him any more than I already have, Mick. He worked his ass off to take care of me and O, to make sure we were safe and had everything we needed. He still does.”
“That’s ‘cause he’s your dad, Key. Not ‘cause he expected you to give him something back. And sure, he’d probably like you to get back in, but he’s also proud of what you are doing. He just—he just loves you. He wants you to be safe and happy.”
Keegan looked up at Mickey, eyes wide. Mickey liked to talk, but he wasn’t usually anything resembling eloquent, especially when talking about emotional things. That had been completely unexpected.
A buzzing sound interrupted what should have been an important moment. Keegan and Mickey both reached for their phones, then their eyes met over the table and they both shook their heads. They looked over to the nightstand where Brendan Quinn’s phone sat, moving ever-so-slightly with the vibration of an incoming call.
Everything in Keegan froze. It was like a horrible metaphor for everything that he was struggling with.
Your father’s business calling, Mister Quinn, will you accept the charges?
Keegan was still frozen, staring at the phone, when Mickey stood and walked over to look at it. He frowned at the readout. “Owen? Why the hell would Owen be calling your dad?” Without a moment of hesitation, Mickey picked it up and accepted the call. “O? What’s going on?” He yanked the phone back from his ear almost immediately, blinking.
He crossed the room in a few paces, sitting in his chair at the table and pressing the screen a few times. A sudden stream of words poured out of the speaker, Owen’s voice, but too fast and high-pitched to be understood. “Owen,” Mickey said in his usual Owen-soothing voice. “You gotta slow down. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”
Owen’s voice stopped altogether for a moment, and all they could hear was panting breaths. “We finished our presentations early, so I left the building and I was walking to my car, and there was this guy, and I got scared ‘cause I’m all alone, and—” his breathing ratcheted up and his voice started to speed again.
“I’m here, O,” Mickey said. “Everything’s gonna be okay. You just gotta keep calm, and tell me where you are, and what’s going on.”
Again, Mickey’s voice seemed to calm Owen enough to speak more clearly. “I think this guy is following me. No. I know he is. He followed me from the school all the way to this diner. I went to the brightest, busiest place I could find. It’s that diner just off campus. The one we went to last year after I finished finals. But now he’s sitting at the counter staring at me.”
“What’s he look like, O?” Keegan asked.
“Um, black hair. Stubble. Intense blue eyes. Square jaw. Kind of hot if he didn’t look like he was planning to stab me and dump me in an alley.” Owen paused a moment, and when he started again, his voice was more calm, and even sounded slightly annoyed. “What am I talking about? Lemme just send you a picture.”
A picture came through just a moment later, and the subject not only knew his picture was being taken, he’d smiled for the camera.
Mickey shot out of his chair. “Christiakov. Son of a bitch has some fucking nerve. I oughta call Douglas and—”
“Mickey?” Owen’s voice was small again, the scared kid that he was. “Would you come get me?”
Keegan’s heart melted, and at the same time he recognized his brother’s cleverness. It would be a little harder for Mickey to plot murder when he was occupied saving Owen’s life.
“’Course, O,” Mickey answered automatically, then he looked to Keegan and Brendan.
Keegan waved him off. “Go get him. Christiakov isn’t going to try anything in public, especially with witnesses and after he’s had his picture taken. He’s trying to scare us. It’s a power play. You remember where it is?”
Mickey nodded, but his eyes were narrow and he grumbled, “Still oughta call Douglas in.”
As much as a small part of Keegan agreed, wanted to kill the smug bastard himself for scaring an innocent kid like Owen, he wasn’t even remotely tempted to actually have it done. All the situation told him was that he and Owen didn’t belong in the family. Ironic, really, since it was their family.
Mickey grabbed his keys and was out the door while Keegan kept Owen on the line and calm. He instructed him to order food for both himself and Mickey, then asked him about how his presentation had gone. Owen was still nervous, but chattered away about astronomy and light pollution, which had apparently been the subject of his project, and why it had been at night.
Keegan knew the exact moment Owen caught sight of Mickey, because all the tension in his voice released, and he slowed down and dropped a full octave.
“You good, kiddo?” Keegan asked.
“Yeah, Key. Thanks.” Owen sounded sheepish, like he was worried he had overreacted. Mickey was sure to set that straight. That, and eat every piece of meat Owen had ordered.
When he finally let Owen go, he went to set his father’s phone back on the nightstand and found the old man looking at him.
“You did good,” the old man told him, his voice still raspy.
Keegan shrugged. “I’d do anything for O, you know that. Mickey too.”
“I know,” his dad agreed. “You’re a good brother.”
There was a long moment of silence where Keegan contemplated how he could possibly answer that, especially when he didn’t know if he agreed. Owen had asked for Mickey, not Keegan. And he’d called their dad—again, not Keegan.
“You’re a good son, too,” his father said, interrupting his thoughts. “Mick’s right. Stupid doctors say I could drop dead tomorrow. I need to tell you things like that now in case I can’t later. Can’t keep fighting with you about nothing.”
“Nothing?” Keegan asked, selfishly hoping his father meant the argument about Jon. Then he remembered the thing he was supposed to be bringing up. “I wanted to—I mean, I should have asked you a long time ago, about what’s going to happen to the business if something happens to you.”
His father gave a rough chuckle. “You mean who runs the city if I drop dead?”
That wasn’t exactly what he’d wanted to say, but Brendan Quinn wasn’t a man to pull punches. He and Owen were so alike. “Yeah, Dad. O can’t do it, I—I can’t do it. So, do you have somebody?”
“Not much faith in your old dad, huh? Thought I was going to saddle you with it and laugh all the way to hell?” Brendan asked with complete sincerity.
It made Keegan cringe, being reminded that his father was as devout a Catholic as any man, and firmly believed that he’d carved himself a place in hell with the life he’d lived. He wondered if his father’s vision of Catholicism allowed him to be forgiven with repentance. They had never discussed it.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I didn’t know, Dad, because I never asked. So now, I’m asking.”
His father gave another hoarse laugh. “It’s all handled. You, Owen, the business. Everything is arranged. I’ve been in this business too long to go a day without a plan. It was set before this mess.”
Keegan had never felt like such an idiot.
“Been worried about this, have you?” his father asked. There was a surprising amount of amusement in his tone. “Let me guess. Think the business is going to interfere with chasing your fed?”
Letting out a sigh, Keegan sat back down in his chair. “Yeah, Dad. That’s exactly what I was worried about. Not you, or the city, or the family, or the people who’d be hurt, just my sex life.”
There was a long pause, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that his father’s eyes were still open, he’d have thought the old man had fallen asleep. “Now you’re fucking him?”
Keegan wanted to groan in frustration. He was trying to have one conversation, and his father seemed determined to have a different one. “Yeah, Dad. I’m fucking him.
I’m dating him, and I’m pretty sure I’m gonna keep dating him for a long time. Unless we get married, ‘cause I guess it doesn’t count as dating after that.” He didn’t know why he’d added that, but he needed his father to get over it, and the sooner that happened, the better off they were. He wanted to spend time with his father, and he didn’t want to have to keep that separated from the rest of his life.
“I’m not promising to like him,” his father said matter-of-factly, as though they’d been having a civil conversation all along, “but you’ll bring him to your brother’s birthday party.”
“I will? You want me to ask him to hang out with criminals?” The idea didn’t surprise him, and he was less worried about it than he probably should have been. Jon would, as always, be scrupulous in following his rules. Keegan’s dad liked a man who followed his chosen code of ethics, even if he didn’t like the code itself.
“You think your brother is going to agree to a party with my friends? He’ll like your boyfriend better.”
Keegan decided not to mention that they’d already met, but his dad was right—Owen had seemed to like Jon. “Okay, Dad. If everything goes to schedule, you ought to be recovered enough from your surgery for a quiet dinner at home by then. I’ll ask Jon to come.”
“You will?” The amusement in his father’s tone had dried up, and there was a note of surprise in the question that Keegan didn’t like.
As was often the case, it seemed that the best way to deal with his father was just to tell him the truth. “Yeah, I will. I want you to meet him. It’s stupid, but I want you to like each other.”
“Talk to Wilkes,” his father said. “We’ll make sure nobody’s here that might cause trouble. Except me.”
Keegan couldn’t help the laughter that burst free at that. “Hell, Dad, you’re always the biggest troublemaker.”
His father gave a giant grin. “‘S my house. I’m allowed.”
“Yeah, you are.” Keegan blinked away the tears forming in his eyes. What the hell was he going to do if his father died? “He’s a good guy, Dad.”
“I know. Mick’s been telling me for the last week. Won’t damn well shut up about it.” He tried hard to sound annoyed, but failed. If anything, he sounded pleased.
Trust Mickey, Keegan thought to himself. Always there, always trying to make things better for everyone. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve such a friend, but he was grateful to have him.
“I should go back to sleep I guess,” his father said. “Doctor says I should rest my voice. Easily healed and the least of my problems, he called it.”
Keegan snorted. “He obviously doesn’t know you. Your voice is always your biggest problem.”
That brought on a chuckle. “I miss having you here, boy. You should visit more. But I guess cat’s in the cradle and all that.”
“Bullshit. This is all on me. You were always there when I needed you as a kid,” Keegan consulted the calendar in his head and sighed. “I’ll have Tuesday off. I could come for dinner.”
“That would be nice,” his father agreed. “I’ll tell Wilkes to expect you. He’ll be thrilled. Likes you better than I do.”
Keegan laughed. “Don’t I know it. Now go back to sleep and rest your throat. Love you.”
His father muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “fuck off,” followed by an even more incomprehensible, “Love you too.”
Keegan sat there thinking for a long time after his father was snoring again.
He didn’t know if Jon could, or would, actually agree to go to a dinner with his father, but he was damned well going to follow through and ask. He suspected that they would argue about it. After their time in the hospital, though, he knew that he could trust Jon to make a decision with all the information instead of just his instinctive dislike of Brendan Quinn.
He knew he could trust Jon.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, and when he pulled it out, Phil’s name flashed across the screen. His stomach twisted up a little at the sight, and he thought back through the tangle of threads Phil had left in his life, past and present.
It wasn’t all bad. In the past, it had been much more good than bad. When he’d breezed back in this time, though, Phil hadn’t brought much good with him.
In the last month, Keegan had obsessed over one thing after another: Jon, his father’s health, the family business, hiring a new employee. Every time, it had worked out for the best when he stopped vacillating, made a decision, and followed through.
He answered the phone.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jon Gets a Shovel
Jon arrived early to pick Keegan up from work, but he didn’t think Brigit would object to his presence in her dining area.
He considered heading straight back to Keegan’s office, but decided against it. It was a place of business, and he didn’t get to go wandering into the office whenever he wanted just because he was dating the boss. Keegan might be doing an interview in there or something.
When Brigit caught sight of him, she looked conflicted. She smiled and waved, but the look in her eyes was troubled, and it made him worry. The fact that she was there on a Sunday night was wrong enough, and the expression just made it worse.
He took a seat at the bar and before he so much as looked at the bartender, the man was putting a glass of water in front of him. He smiled up at the man who delivered it. “Thanks. Mario, right?”
The guy lit up like Jon remembering his name was some kind of great compliment. “Yeah. You need anything else, Special Agent?” The woman sitting next to Jon at the bar turned and looked him over, eyebrows raised and expression assessing. Mario frowned at her. “He’s the owner’s boyfriend.” He gave her the evil eye until she turned away, then went back to Jon.
Jon had to work hard to hide his amusement. He was going to have to start spending his free time at Wilde’s if all of the employees were going to beat off suitors with glares like that. “I’m good, thanks Mario. You can call me Jon if you want. Keegan in his office?”
Mario turned that million-watt smile back on him. “I think he went out for a while. He looked a little annoyed, so I figured it had something to do with his dad.”
“Huh.” Jon looked at his watch. “Well, I’m early, so maybe he’s planning on being back before I was supposed to be here.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t want to keep you waiting,” Mario said earnestly. “He’s just got a lot on his plate right now, you know?”
“I do.” Jon nodded, and picked up his glass, tipping it in Mario’s direction. “Thanks again.”
“Anytime, Special A—Jon,” he said. He blushed and ducked his head before heading over to take care of another customer.
There was a chuckle behind him, and he turned to find Keegan’s friend Mickey standing there. “Heya, secret agent man. Or do you prefer Jonny Law?”
Jon laughed, shaking his head. “How long have you been holding onto that one?”
“Since that night in the hospital,” Mickey answered. Since Jon was sitting in the last stool at the bar, Mickey just leaned against the dark, polished wood next to him. “Seemed like a bad time to try it out, though.”
Jon nodded in acknowledgment. “Good point.”
“So how about it, Jonny Law? We’re gonna be friends, right?” Mickey asked, his face utterly serious.
“Presuming you’re asking for yourself and in a literal sense, then I’d like that.” Jon answered, just as seriously. He wanted to be friends with Keegan’s friends, but he didn’t want to blunder into an illicit agreement with a mobster.
Mickey laughed. “I figured Key was exaggerating about you, but he wasn’t. You’re just like he said.”
Jon squinted at the other man, trying to figure out if that was meant as an insult. He decided it wasn’t. “Thank you. I like being easy to understand.”
“You should.” Mickey gave him a sharp nod at that, then his expression changed and his eyes twinkled with mischief. “I like you being easy.
Key needs that in his life. He’s had too many people yanking his chain instead of just being straight with him.”
Jon took a moment to parse that, and Mickey laughed at his hesitation. “You’ll get used to me.”
Before Jon could respond, Brigit came up behind them, pressing in close. “Did Keegan call you guys? Is everything okay?”
Mickey’s eyes narrowed to slits, and his whole body tensed.
Jon had the urge to hold him back, but quashed it. “What happened? He’s supposed to be meeting me here in about half an hour.”
She nodded. “He said he should be back in time to meet you, but he’s been gone a long time. Or maybe it just feels like a long time.”
“Where’d he go?” Mickey asked.
Her mouth clenched into a displeased moue. “To see creepy-stalker ex. He said Phil was coming over to his place to talk. Now I wish I hadn’t asked him to exile the guy. He could have met him here, in a nice, crowded, brightly lit place.”
Trying to be reassuring, Jon put a firm hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Phil isn’t a great guy, but there’s been no indication that he’d get violent with Keegan.” He tried to put the arrest record out of his mind. Keegan wouldn’t let himself be pushed around like that. He could take care of himself.
Mickey let out a gusty sigh. “Yeah, that’s what I came to see him about.”
Brigit’s eyes rounded as she turned to look at Mickey. “Phil being violent?”
“Not—not exactly,” Mickey hedged. “I don’t know if he’s violent, but the way he showed up and started sliming around bugged me, so I started asking questions.” He broke off with a sigh and a shake of his head.
“And?” Jon prompted.
“And it turns out that he might have been spying on Key, back when they were dating,” Mickey said, looking apologetic, as though he felt responsible for the news.
Brigit looked stunned and horrified. It might have been the only time in their short acquaintanceship that Jon had seen her speechless.
Jon ran the scenario through his head. Keegan had said Phil looked shell-shocked when he’d found him in the bedroom after a fight with—