Epilogue
DEAN
It feels so strange to be sitting around this table again. So much has changed since the last time I sat in one of these chairs. The last time I was here I was drunk, broken, and honestly, pathetic. Now, I sit here next to my fiancée and son with the rest of the McBride clan sitting around the table. Life is wildly different. And I fucking love it.
The air is thick with conversation, everyone talking over each other. Noise bounces off the walls. Every few seconds, I hear the thud of PJ ramming his new hot wheels into his nearly empty plate. It’s loud, chaotic, but it’s so much better than abyss of emptiness I’m used to.
Declan’s got his tumbler in his hand, absentmindedly tapping a finger against the thick glass. The beautiful amber whiskey inside sloshes, catching the light. I find myself staring at it, like a hunting watching it’s prey. Out of nowhere, a familiar ache slams into me. The desire to feel that warm burn slide down my throat – to escape into the comforting haze of alcohol. I want it. I want it so bad.
But not as much as I want the woman sitting right next to me or the family we have. Turns out, Declan is right. My cravings didn’t just magically go away like I hoped they would. But I’m getting help and that’s what counts. Slow progress is still progress. At least that’s what the guy who runs the meetings says.
I reach over and grab Juliette’s hand. A calm washes over me as I thread our fingers together. She grounds me.
She looks up at me, her face softening with understanding. “You okay?”
Taking a deep breath, I exhale slowly, trying to calm my erratic heart. “I think so.”
The hunger begins to fade as I focus on her. On us. The way her soft skin melds into my callused palm. Or how her thumb is rubbing over the back of my hand. The way her vanilla scent anchors me.
As the tension eases in my chest, I realize how grateful I am to have her by me. Everything has been harder than I expected. The move – the withdrawals – all of it. But she’s been right here through all of it. Somehow making me feel okay even when I’m not.
“Dean,” Declan says, the table chatter dying down just slightly. “Have you thought any more about my offer?”
Juliette squeezes my hand. She and I have had many talks over me going back to work for her brother. The work is dangerous, though taking Balor’s spot means I’ll be doing less dirty work. But being one of the bosses can be just as bad as being the henchman.
“A little,” I reply. “But I’m not sure I want Balor’s position.
“Because that would actually require you to work,” Balor interjects.
“Oh, fuck off, Murphy.”
“It’s McBride now,” he replies, showing me his wedding ring like it’s a diamond and we’re teenage girls. “Or did you forget?”
“You won’t let anyone forget.”
“You have to put money in the swear jar, dad,” PJ says.
Butterflies come to life in my chest. I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of hearing him call me dad. I know for most men – it wouldn’t matter, but for me? After all we’ve been through? It’s everything.
“Again?”
PJ shrugs. “I don’t make the rules. You say a swear word, you put a dollar in the jar.”
I look at Juliette. “I don’t like this rule.”
“I admit it wasn’t my best idea, but rules are rules.”
Rolling my eyes, I hand PJ a dollar. He pushes away from the table and runs off to the jar in the foyer. Juliette and I were worried about him handling the move but like a true Walsh, he handled it like a champ. The worst part for him was leaving behind Warren and my grandparents. But he gets to video call them once a day.
“Back to business,” Declan declares the second PJ is gone. He settles his eyes on me. “What can I do to get you to say yes?”
I don’t know why he’s so adamant about bringing me back into the fold. Yes, I’m going to need a job sooner than later. My savings won’t last forever but why does he want me to work for him? He was right when he said I was a drunken failure. I’ve let him down constantly over the last six years. He doesn’t want more of that. He doesn’t need more of that. Looking between him and Gemma, I realize she’s the reason he’s being relentless. It’s not because he’s genuine, it’s because she’s making him.
“Look, Dec, I appreciate the offer, but I think you were right to fire me. I messed up and you don’t need that in your organization,” I reply.
“Be at Club Wildflower on Monday. Checks need to be done by ten.”
Squinting my eyes at him. “Did you not just hear me? I said no.”
“I heard you, but I don’t care,” he replies, coldly.
He’s been so different since that day in the hotel. Declan barely speaks to anyone that isn’t Gemma. He’s not mean to anyone, but you can tell he’s anything but happy with us.
“Ten, Walsh. Don’t be late.” With that Declan rises, taking Gemma’s hand. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I’m going to spend time with my pregnant wife. Goodnight.”
“Why does he have to remind her she’s pregnant every chance he gets?” Vivienne asks from between Dmitri and Kaz.
“He’s proud of himself,” I reply.
As annoying as it can be, I know for a fact that I would be the same way. If I had been around when Juliette was pregnant, I’d be letting every fucker know it was me who made her that way.
“Gross,” Vivi replies. “That’s my brother.”
“You asked,” Juliette says. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to hear the answers to.”
“He’s still angry with us,” Francine adds.
“Can’t blame him, mom. We lied and kept a big secret. He has a right to be angry.”
Francine nods, her eyes glued to the wine glass in front of her. “Yeah.”
Her voice sounds so far away, like her mind is anywhere but here. I feel sorry for her. She did what she thought was right but I’m starting to learn in life, there’s no perfect solution. Every decision we make – big or small –has a consequence.
“Grandma, do you want to play blocks with me?” PJ asks, coming back into the room with several Lego boxes.
Francine’s face lights up. Her sadness all gone as she leaves the table to play with her grandson.
Juliette leans in. Her pretty red lips just inches from me. My cocks stirs to life as more of her scent, her warmth sinks into my veins. I can’t help it. She’s one craving I will never fight off. The soft tendrils of her hairbrush against my shirt.
“With PJ entertained, we could get the rest of his room finished, we only have two boxes left to unpack,” she whispers.
I’m nodding my head before she’s even done talking. Not because I’m excited to unpack, though I am excited for PJ to finally see his new room, but because every other time we’ve gone to unpack, we somehow always find ourselves in our bed naked. Weird how that happens.
“Where are you two going?” Vivienne asks.
“To finish unpacking PJ’s room,” Juliette replies.
“Is that code for fucking? Because your house burned down, you don’t have anything to unpack.”
“Oh my god, Vivienne. I swear you have no class,” Simone interjects.
“No, it’s not code for fucking. Dean’s grandma gave us a lot of his old stuff for PJ.”
“I want to help,” Vivienne says.
And there goes my idea of ‘unpacking’. My shoulders sag. Juliette smirks, telling me she knew exactly where my mind was.
“Sure, the more people, the faster we get this done,” she answers. “And the faster we get this done, the faster you can get inside me.”
Juliette whispers the last part for just me. All of a sudden, my motivation to unpack comes hurling back in. I rush the three of us out of the dining room, Vivienne’s husbands trailing behind. Leaving Simone and Balor to sit at the table with their daughters.
Ornate wallpaper lines the walls along the hallway that leads to the east wing of the home. I sigh as we pass mine and Juliette’s room. The king sized bed in there is so tempting.
Juliette pushes the last door open. The room is clean and pristine aside from the boxes left in the middle of it. His bed is in the shape of a hot wheels car. There’s a toy boxing ring on the other side of the room. It’s everything a five year could want.
“PJ has no idea this is here,” Juliette tells her sister. “He thinks the guest room is his.”
“This is actually kind of cool,” Kaz says, sitting on the car bed.
He’s too big for it, the mattress sinking beneath his weight.
“Get off before you break it.”
Kaz rolls his eyes at me, but he listens, smoothing the comforter down behind him. Vivienne and Juliette dig into the box, pulling out a bunch of stuff wrapped up in newspapers.
“This is Dean’s first birthday,” Juliette unwraps a frame.
She holds it up to show everyone me sitting butt naked covering myself in cake icing. The air fills with laughter. But I only hear one. Hers. And if showing off embarrassing photos of me keeps her laughing, then so be it.
By the time the box is empty, and we’ve seen just about every picture of me from birth to five, my cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
“There’s one more,” Juliette says, picking up the frame from the bottom.
The paper crinkles as she pulls it away. Her face changes as she looks down.
“What is it?”
She hands the thick, wooden frame to me. It’s bigger than all the others were. Staring back at me is a photo of me, Juliette, and PJ with my grandparents. We all look so happy. On the back, there’s a handwritten note wishing us well in Vegas.
“This is so sweet,” Juliette says. “I love this gift.”
Her eyes are misty with happiness and gratitude. I wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into my side. My foot kicks the newspaper across the floor.
“The rosary killer?” Mikhail asks, picking the crumpled pile on the floor. “What’s that?”
“Just a serial killer torturing Ireland,” I reply, hating the reminder of Arnie and his case.
Mikhail gives it back to Juliette. She smooths it out to stare at the bold headline. Below it is a photo of a crime scene zoomed in on the rosary itself. Juliette’s face scrunches.
“That’s odd.”
“What?”
“This rosary looks exactly like Warren’s.”