Chapter 2 Eian
EIAN
“You’re gonna stop making fun of me now?” Harrison asks with that wiseass smirk on his face, then sips his espresso like he’s royalty or some shit. He kind of is, but I’m never saying that out loud.
“You’re always going to be older, cousin.” I smirk right back and sip my whiskey.
“Sure.” He shrugs. “But now you’re part of the fifties club as well. You’ve even got a little gray coming in.” He touches his temples then rolls his eyes. “Fucking finally.”
“Language,” Nan snaps at him.
Titan of industry, unofficial king of this city, billionaire, and fifty-four-year-old man or not, Harry snaps his lips shut at his mother’s chastising. My smirk grows into a smile and I shake my head.
“I don’t mind the grays, or being fifty. You’re the one who’s always been so touchy about your age.”
“Wonder why,” he mutters, but he’s not expecting a response from me.
We all know why.
Crawford men have always dropped dead between the ages of fifty and fifty-five. If his diet and exercise regimen have been successful, though, then I’ll still have a living cousin by next year, so that’s nice.
In reality, a man with Harrison’s money and influence shouldn’t have a problem making sure his heart doesn’t give out on him. Even if the vicious—but tiny—knot in my chest tells me to treasure every moment, I know it’s not intuition, it’s fear.
I can admit to myself—never anyone else—that I do fear my loved ones dying.
Only the worst monsters don’t. And though I know first-hand not all monsters are necessarily bad, and I impersonate one quite successfully every day, I know everyone has their weak spots.
The majority of mine are sitting around the table tonight to celebrate me being alive for half a century, but no one in my world knows that my nine companions are even remotely important to me.
That’s the way it’s always been and always should be.
My family: Nan, my father’s little sister; Harry and his husband Tristan; Harry’s children, Iris and Theo, who I consider my niece and nephew; as well as Theo’s husband Mike, and their twin sons, Mac and Harry.
My blood family.
“You’ll be fine.” Bran’s easy tone might be aimed at Harry, but it reminds me of my biggest weakness.
My son is the only person who has the power to turn me into a real monster.
My real life has always been and will always be something I’ll try to steer him away from, and I’m grateful every day he seems to like it that way.
I’ve never wanted him to be part of our world, even though it is his biggest protection.
At twenty-five years old he’s a well-rounded adult who takes care of himself, and I’m more proud of him than I could ever be of anything or anyone else.
Despite being the spitting image of me, the soft smile he’s offering Harrison isn’t something I’ve been capable of in a long time. That’s what I want to preserve in him. That quiet happiness and contentment.
“I know I will be.” Harry nods at Bran and offers him a smile back. “Now, come over here and tell me how law school is going.”
Iris and Bran share a significant look as they trade seats and she ends up next to me.
Nan is fussing over the twins—the way she has done for the eight months they’ve been alive—and nodding along while Mike compliments the cake Theo baked for my birthday like it’s something only the gods could’ve created.
He’s not wrong. I’ve never felt the need to analyze every little aspect of my food, but like Mike, I have a bit of a sweet tooth, and Theo’s creations are masterpieces, no one could ever deny that.
“Are you ready to come back home?” I ask Iris as soon as she sits down.
Her long sigh tells me she isn’t, but the fact that she doesn’t immediately tell me so is all the answer I truly need.
“Seriously?” I ask her quietly, leaning in because I’m sure she doesn’t want to announce it to everyone today. She’s not that kind of person.
“I love Boston.” It’s a simple enough statement, but it’s obvious there’s a lot more going on in that brilliant brain of hers because she takes her time selecting her next words. This is one of the many, many things I admire about her, so I give her the time she needs. “I know I’m needed at home.”
It’s like my skin stops fitting correctly around my body. I want to shift on my seat, stand up, change out of my damn clothes. I hate the defeated tone in her voice.
“No one needs you more than you need yourself.” I tell her the words I wish I’d had the opportunity to hear when I was twenty-one. I want to give her as many options as Bran has. I don’t want her to feel trapped.
“I like being needed,” she says, like she’s ashamed of that confession.
“Princess,” I sigh out the single word.
I started calling her that as a way to tease her—as the daughter of the most powerful and influential man in the city, she’s as close to royalty as this country gets—and she hated it at first. Now the nickname represents everything I couldn’t give her while she was growing up, and we’re both finally ready to deal with my regrets.
“I need to come back home, Uncle Eian,” she whispers. The only true show of emotion is the way her throat bobs with a hard swallow—she keeps a level gaze with me, her back straight, her head held high.
A princess indeed . . .
“We’ll welcome you in style next Spring, then,” I murmur, then lift my hand to her shoulder and squeeze slightly.
“Oh, yeah. I’m gonna throw a kick-ass party and you’ll dress up as a bodyguard again.”
I see the memory of Theo’s wedding in her eyes and I have to laugh. I love seeing her happy. Even when it’s just a tiny bit forced.
“You need to find a better beard for me this time.”
“I don’t know, that moustache was really something.” The snort she gets out of me is as close to an actual laugh as I get these days, and the fact that she looks proud of it helps with the tightness of my skin.
I look around the informal dining room in my cousin’s castle of a house. You won’t find many properties like this one in Manhattan, but for the guy who owns most of it, I guess it makes sense. It’s fitting.
“You feel like coming to the game this weekend, Uncle Eian?” Theo asks from across the table. The bright hope in his eyes is all the motivation I need to work around the headache that task will certainly entail.
“I’ll be there,” I tell him with a nod, then send Harry a significant look.
It’s a fucking circus act, getting me inside the owner’s box at the Kings stadium on game days.
I normally have to sneak in in the trunk of a car with blacked-out windows, or like at their wedding, in disguise. Which is the easier option, so I think I’ll go with that one.
“Awesome,” Mike says, and looks as happy as he sounds. “We’re gonna get out the Christmas decorations after the game. You can help.”
I can’t help but be proud of the way the gentle giant teases me. He was scared shitless of me for a few months after we first met, so it’s nice that he feels comfortable enough now to give me shit.
One of my phones starts blaring an alarm from inside my coat on the other side of the room, and that teasing glint doesn’t leave Mike’s eyes—I’ve got to give him that.
“Saved by the bell,” he singsongs.
I shake my head at him as I stand to get the call.
“I’m going to decorate the hell out of that tree, Michael.” My mock-stern tone does nothing to dim his smile—exactly as it should be with family.
But when I see the caller ID, I know I can’t be smiling or feeling happy. Shit. Rory will have so many questions if she hears the smile in my voice, and she can always tell, that witch.
My cheeks relax on autopilot, and I don’t bother looking at anyone or making excuses.
I leave the room and walk to the other side of the ground floor, and only then do I answer the call.
“What?” There’s no reason for niceties.
“He’s awake,” Rory snaps, then ends the call. That’s her way, and it saves me from having to bite back the hitch in my breath.
As far as best friends go, she’s not the worst in the world, but damn it, I made my bed when it comes to her, and I’ve been lying in it for too long to start complaining now.
I see I don’t need to make excuses by the looks on my family’s faces when I return to the dining room.
“Work call,” I mutter. “Bran, we need to leave.”
“Okay, Dad,” he says simply. We say our goodbyes quickly, though I do manage to kiss the boys on their still newborn-soft foreheads, but we don’t waste any time making plans for next time, because texting exists and also we already have those plans set.
I’m gonna see Mike play this Sunday with everyone at the stadium, and then we’re gonna—god save me—decorate for Christmas. I count the days in my head and realize it’s going to be one day after Halloween.
Theo and Mike don’t waste time getting to their favorite season, and you gotta admire that.
Any thoughts of family, Christmas traditions, and football have to fly out of my head when I walk out of the front door and to the courtyard—yes, the Crawford mansion on Fifth, just three blocks up from Washington Park, has an actual courtyard.
I nod at Connor, the man I put in charge of my family’s safety the moment he left the Marines, and also someone who grew up around the family, so I’ve known him all his life and trust him.
Bran and I make our way to the side building of the courtyard and through the long hallway, up the stairs to the first floor, into my “bedroom,” and then out the window we use to get in and out of the property undetected.
The alley’s deserted, as it always should be, and the only cameras that point here are being monitored by Zeke—Iris’s bodyguard who I also hand selected.
We get to the iron gate at the end of the alley, and after making sure no one is going to notice us, we slip out onto the sidewalk and join the late Friday stragglers.
We walk briskly for five blocks east until we get to one of the garages I use in the city, then we’re off to Jersey.