by Zoey Parker
If he did know about the pregnancy and I ignored him, he could reach out to someone else in the compound, and accidentally spill my secret trying to get in touch with me. Or, if he was as bad as everyone said, he could spill my secret on purpose. But if I did call him back, I could be starting something I wasn’t prepared for, putting myself and my baby in danger.
I rubbed my hand on my stomach, wondering when I’d started thinking of the baby as “my baby.” Adoption had been a real option, still was, but somewhere along the line, I’d subconsciously staked a claim on this little life. Should I keep it?
I sighed and threw myself back on the bed. There didn’t seem to be enough room in my head for the amount of insane questions I had floating around in there.
Niall’s funeral was only two days away, and I’d offered to help with the planning, so for the time being, I would focus on that.
Niall’s mom had been gone for a long time, and Liam wanted his son’s funeral to have a feminine touch. He asked my dad if I would be available to help, and, despite my dad’s aversion to the O’Donnell’s, he wasn’t in any kind of position to deny a grieving father his wishes.
I was glad. Planning Niall’s funeral, despite how little I actually knew him, gave me a sense of closure. It helped me mourn the loss of the family the baby and I could have had; the support system we had accidentally gained and so suddenly lost. If nothing else, it allowed me to not think about Killian O’Donnell for at least two more days.
Chapter Three
Killian
The church was a tall, thin cathedral with gothic points stretching to the sky, but the chapel inside looked modern. Niall had never attended church so I couldn’t understand why his funeral wasn’t being held at the mortuary. That is until I stepped inside.
Wall to wall people filled the entrance hall, navigating around tables littered with pictures of Niall over the years—a doughy-faced baby, a skinny middle schooler on the baseball team, and the most recent picture, him leaning against the motorcycle he’d bought a few months back, his arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses hanging low on his nose.
A quick glance told me I hadn’t made it into any of the pictures, which I suppose made sense. They thought I murdered him, and displaying a picture of the deceased with their murderer wouldn’t be exactly kosher. Still, being visibly cut out of his life hurt.
Despite the cream-colored stone of the church, the pale blue carpet, and the large panes of stained glass windows, the whole church was dripping in black. Women wore black veils and gloves, men wore black suits with black button ups, black sashes hung from the pews like it was decorated for a party at the Addams family’s mansion.
It looked more like a funeral scene from a movie than one from real life. Everyone’s heads were bowed out of respect as they shuffled to their seats. Looking around the room, I realized I didn’t recognize over half of the people. I’d never met them, and I doubted Niall had either.
“This is a private event.”
I whirled around and found myself face-to-face with my father. His black hair—the same hair he’d passed on to Niall and me—was slicked to one side with a visible layer of gel. He had on a suit I’d never seen before, pearl cuff links sparkling at his wrists. He looked older than I remembered, deep lines and blue circles around his dark eyes, the same color as Niall’s.
All three of us looked alike. When we were all together, there was no denying we were related. The only difference being that I had inherited my mother’s blue eyes while Niall took after Dad and sported brown. Everyone was always pointing out how similar they looked; how Niall could be Dad’s twin. Every time the topic came up, Dad swelled with pride.
“Come on, Dad,” I said, my voice a whisper. I hadn’t come to make a scene, and I didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention to myself.
“Killian, leave.” His voice was barely restrained, both sadness and anger overwhelming him, threatening to overflow.
“He’s my brother. I can’t go.” It was true. I felt incapable of walking through the intricately carved church doors and back onto the sidewalk, missing my last chance to properly say goodbye to my baby brother.
“Killian—” My name came out as a quick, loud bark. Sudden and loud enough to draw the attention of the people in the lobby around us. A few gasped when they got a look at my face and realized who I was. Like I said, there was no denying we were related, and they all knew Liam O’Donnell only had two sons: one was dead and one was a suspected murderer.
A shadow appeared to my left, and I turned to see Kevin Rourke, silhouetted by the stained glass windows on the wall behind him. He towered over me, making sure to stand at his full height, so I got the full effect of his immense size. “I believe you’ve been asked to leave.”
He placed a hand on my upper arm, and I jerked away from him, taking a few steps back and bumping into a table, a picture of Niall and Dad at a baseball game toppling over. I reminded myself that I didn’t want to cause a scene. This wasn’t a bar fight or a disagreement at a card game; this was my brother’s funeral.
I took a deep breath and unloaded as much venom into my next few words as I could muster, hoping to make it clear that I was not to be trifled with. “And I believe this is a family matter, Kevin.”
“Kevin is family,” Dad said, placing a hand on Kevin’s shoulder and giving me a pointed look.
Kevin’s expression didn’t change. He kept the same narrow-eyed glare leveled at me the entire time. Dad’s face was serious, somber, but I could see the deep hurt behind his eyes. I knew his face as intimately as I knew my own, and I also understood the meaning of his words. He no longer counted me among his family.
He hadn’t just lost Niall; he felt he’d lost both sons. The harsh truth laid bare before me, sent me over the edge. The idea that my own father could think me capable of murdering my own brother… It was too much to handle.
“This is bullshit,” I said a notch or two too loud, especially since we were in a church. “I didn’t kill him, and I’m not leaving.”
Kevin reached for my arm again, but I dodged him. “Come on, Killian. Don’t make this worse than it needs to be.”
“I don’t think this could be any worse, Kevin. And I only came here to sit in the back row and attend my own brother’s funeral service. You’re the ones making this an issue,” I said, my finger pointed at Kevin’s face, my voice loud enough that I was certain it was beginning to carry into the chapel, echoing off the high stone walls.
I felt bad taking the attention away from Niall, away from the tragedy that was his death and the joy that was his life. Though, to be fair, it wouldn’t have been an Irish funeral without a scene. So, in that sense, I was giving the event some authenticity, and if Niall were here, he would have laughed, perhaps even thanked me.
Before I could react, Kevin had a handful of my shirt, one of the buttons popping off in his fist, and he was dragging me towards the double doors. I tried to resist, tried to pry his fingers open and force him to let me go, but nothing I did seemed to affect him.
Then, just as I went limp, resigned to missing my brother’s funeral and being forced to listen to the echoes of the service from the concrete steps, a woman stepped in front of Kevin.
“Dad,” she said. “Isn’t this a little extreme?”
Heather? It was Heather. I realized then how long it had been since I’d actually seen her. She had her fiery red hair pulled into a twist at the base of her neck, and a form-fitting black dress that hugged at her breasts, her hips, and her butt. I scanned her mid-section, though I knew it was definitely too early for there to be any sort of bump.
Kevin leaned forward, my shirt still balled in his fist. “He can’t be here.”
“Why not?” she asked, looking from my dad to hers. “He wasn’t bothering anyone. Like he said, he just wants to sit in the back and be here for the funeral. Why don’t we let him? Because right now, you’re making the guests nervous.”
Kevin turned around and bla
nched slightly at the number of curious eyes that were on us. People were beginning to whisper and point. The news was visibly moving from the back of the chapel towards the front. Soon, everyone would know something was going on.
“If he starts causing trouble, you can throw him out,” Heather suggested, looking up at her dad with her green eyes wide and pleading.
Kevin let go of my shirt and turned to my dad. “Do you agree, Liam?”
My dad nodded once, just a quick jerk, and then turned away without looking at me.
Kevin turned to look at me, his finger pointed directly at my chest. “One peep from you and I’ll spill your blood on the pavement.”
He walked away, and I tried to smooth out the wrinkles in my shirt. There was a gap in the fabric where I’d lost the button, but there was nothing I could do about that now. I looked at Heather.
“Thanks,” I said, feeling awkward. I’d sent her the message three days before, but she’d never responded.
“No problem.” She shifted from foot to foot.
We stood in a tense silence for a few more seconds before Heather gave me a tight-lipped smile and hurried into the chapel. I watched her walk away, the way her body moved beneath the tight fabric of the dress. I looked at the ceiling, shaking my head. With those kinds of thoughts running through my head inside of a church, there was no way I wasn’t going straight to Hell.
###
Heather
I didn’t stand in line to see Niall’s body before the Mass started. It felt wrong. Like snooping through someone’s drawers when they weren’t home. Plus, I didn’t feel like I knew him well enough to ogle his corpse.
When the pallbearers closed the casket for the start of the Mass, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. As the priest began speaking, though, that weight seemed to shift to my stomach. It started as a nervous, jittery feeling, but quickly transformed into a knot.
I pushed my fists into my stomach, trying to dispel the weirdness, but nothing seemed to help. It felt like all the air was being sucked from the room and I couldn’t catch my breath. I tried to regulate my breathing—three deep breaths in, three deep breaths out—but the feeling wouldn’t pass.
Then, just as one of Niall’s aunts rose to sing a hymn, I realized what was going on. Nausea. I was experiencing morning sickness for the first time during my baby daddy’s funeral. Really? Could the world truly be so cruel? My stomach twisted, and I grimaced, clamping my teeth closed to be sure I didn’t projectile vomit on the mourners. Yes, the world could absolutely be so so cruel.
During the second verse of a screeching rendition of “Amazing Grace,” I knew I couldn’t hold it anymore. I was going to blow. Mercifully, I’d chosen an aisle seat, so I grabbed my clutch and stepped into the aisle.
Immediately, heads began to turn. Disapproving eyes followed me down the aisle, judging me for interrupting the funeral. Oh, if only they knew the vile and explosive way I would have interrupted the funeral had I stayed, I thought. Then they wouldn’t be so bothered with me quietly excusing myself.
Halfway down the aisle, I realized how dire the situation really was. If I didn’t find a bathroom in the next thirty seconds, “Amazing Grace” was about to have a much different ending. I sped up my pace, doing my best to balance on my heels. In my day to day life, I preferred wearing flats, but the only pair of black shoes I owned were a pair of two-inch heels I’d bought as part of a slutty nurse costume a few Halloweens ago.
By the time I made it through the double doors and into the lobby, I was in a panic. My stomach was tossing and turning, and there was a tightness in my chest I only ever experienced moments before throwing up. Thankfully, I spotted the women’s restroom off to the right and made a mad dash.
When I got inside, the room had strong notes of fake floral and soap, and there was no time to make it to a stall. I leaned over the trash can next to the door and heaved.
Once the contents of my breakfast and the granola bar I’d eaten just before the funeral started were in the trash can, and I’d taken a moment, hands clinging to the sides of the toilet, to catch my breath, I turned to the mirror to freshen up.
My eyes were red and watery, which wasn’t out of the ordinary considering I was at a funeral, and my nude-colored lipstick had smudged off. I took a handful of water from the sink and swished it around my mouth, desperately wishing my clutch had been big enough to also fit a pack of breath mints.
As I was reapplying my lipstick, I heard the door open.
It was Killian. He slid through a small crack in the door and leaned his back against the inside of it, staring at me. I froze, lipstick poised on my lips.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I lowered the lipstick and nodded.
“Good.” He seemed nervous. Color stained his tanned cheeks, and his eyes kept alternating between my face and the floor.
“What are you doing here?” I finally asked.
“At the funeral…or?”
I gestured to the bathroom stalls, the lack of urinals, my eyebrows raised.
“Oh, right. Well, I saw you leave, and I thought it would be a good time to talk.”
“You thought the middle of your own brother’s funeral would be a good time to talk?” I tried to sound tough and feisty, but inside my heart was racing.
Despite days of mulling it over, I hadn’t made up my mind about Killian. I’d heard the rumors, but I couldn’t be sure if I believed them. Maybe he did kill his brother. Maybe he was out for me next. Or perhaps he had been wrongly accused, and he was the only person who I could count on to help me protect my baby. My hand instinctively fluttered to my stomach, but I dropped it to my side when Killian noticed.
“We need to make a plan about…” He cast his eyes at my stomach and back at my face, raising his eyebrows in question, asking if I understood his meaning.
He did know about the pregnancy. Clearly.
“We don’t need to do anything. You aren’t involved,” I said, tucking the lipstick back in my clutch and moving to leave.
Killian didn’t budge from his position in front of the door. “I’d like to be involved though.”
At that moment, he looked tender, genuine. I could understand why he was with a different woman every night. Because he could be. He had the kind of boyish charm that made him endearing, but simultaneously a ruggedness that made him seem dangerous. Even now, his shirt wrinkled where it had been held in my dad’s fist, one button missing, his eyes red and swollen with emotion, he looked devilishly handsome. His blue eyes had a tinge of silver in them, and his stubble highlighted the sharp edges of his jawline.
Even though I didn’t know him, and I certainly didn’t know if I could trust him, I found myself wishing he could be a part of the baby’s life. Wouldn’t it be nice that, if the baby couldn’t have their father, they could have the next best thing? Could I really deprive them of an entire half of their family?
“Why?” I asked. “Why do you care about the baby of some girl you barely know?”
“Because that’s his baby, too,” Killian said, his voice breaking around the edges. “That baby you’re carrying is the last piece of Niall left.”
Of course. I felt like a grade A asshole. It was Niall’s baby, too. This child would pop out, and it might have the O’Donnell’s famous black hair or Niall’s single dimple. This baby wasn’t just mine. Obviously, Killian would want to be involved.
“I need to get back,” I said, wanting to apologize but not knowing how. Also, I was beginning to realize how long I’d been gone.
“We still need to talk, Heather.”
Something about my name on his lips sent a shiver down my spine. “I’m not sure if that’s possible. I’m barely allowed out of the compound without a chaperone and security has tightened since… Niall’s murder.”
He nodded, his lips twisting while he thought. “Maybe you don’t need to leave the compound.”
“There’s no way you’ll be allowed in. You were nearly thrown out of
the funeral by your own father. No one is—”
“Listen to me,” he said. “There is a loose board in the fence along the east side of the compound right behind an old storage shed. It’s not visible from any of the security cameras or the windows. I can get in through the fence and meet you there. Okay?”
I didn’t respond, but just stared at him, my teeth biting my lower lip.
“Tonight, during the wake. Eight o’clock?” He raised his eyebrows, urging me to say something, anything.
Just then, someone pushed on the other side of the bathroom door, and it bumped into Killian’s back, jolting him forward. He stepped to the side, and a heavyset woman in a white apron stepped inside, pulling a mop bucket behind her.
“Excuse me,” she said, looking nervously between Killian and me, trying to decide if I was in any sort of imminent danger.