9. Connor
Chapter 9
Connor
Exhausted, I leave Cat’s room a few hours later, easing the door shut behind me. She’s finally asleep, her breathing soft and even, her tear-streaked face peaceful for the first time since we brought her home.
I lean against the wall outside her door, dragging a hand down my face. The adrenaline that’s been keeping me upright all day starts to fade, replaced by the dull, throbbing ache of exhaustion and pain.
Groaning, I push off the wall and head toward Da’s study. The light spills out from under the door and the low rumble of his voice carries through the thick wood. I don’t bother knocking—I know he won’t mind.
When I step inside, he’s at his desk, barking into the phone like he’s trying to scare the poor bastard on the other end into submission. His voice is sharp, every word a weapon, and even though I’ve heard it a thousand times, it still has a way of making the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
“Don’t fuckin’ give me excuses,” he snaps, his hand gripping the edge of the desk. “Give me results!”
I close the door quietly and sink into one of the chairs across from him. He doesn’t look at me, his focus locked on the conversation, but I don’t mind. I just sit there, watching him. The weight of everything we’ve been through is written all over him—lines around his mouth that weren’t there a year ago, gray creeping into his blond hair.
The stress of holding this family together, of keeping us alive and in power, is eating him alive. And yet, he carries the same way he always does: like it’s just another part of the job.
I wonder if I’ll ever measure up to him.
He slams the phone down without waiting for a response on the other end, his hand lingering on the receiver as he takes a deep breath. His eyes snap to mine, sharp and focused. But when he sees it’s me, his expression softens slightly.
“Connor,” he says, straightening. “What’re you still doing up?”
I don’t answer right away. Instead, I watch him as he pours himself a glass of whiskey, his movements stiff and deliberate.
“You’re workin’ too hard, Da,” I say, leaning back in the chair.
He snorts, taking a sip of his drink. “And you’re not?”
I shrug, wincing as the movement pulls at my ribs. “Comes with the territory.”
He holds up the bottle, silently offering, but I shake my head. My stomach’s already twisted enough.
“How is she?” he asks as he sits, swirling the whiskey in his glass before taking a sip.
“She’s at ease now,” I say, my voice low. “Fell asleep a couple of hours ago.”
He nods, setting the glass down on the desk. “Good. She’s a tough lass, your sister. More than she knows.”
“She shouldn’t have to be,” I mutter, staring at the edge of the desk.
Da sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Aye, she shouldn’t. But the world doesn’t care about ‘should.’ You know that as well as I do.”
I don’t reply, my hands curling into fists on my thighs. The silence stretches between us, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth.
“You did well, Connor,” Da finally says, his voice softer now. “You brought her back.”
“Barely,” I mutter, shaking my head. “It shouldn’t have happened in the first place.”
His eyes narrow, and he leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “And you think that’s on you?”
“Isn’t it?” I snap. “I’m her brother. It’s my job to protect her, and I didn’t. I let this happen.”
Da’s gaze sharpens, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then, he rises from his seat and walks around the desk to stand in front of me.
“Get up,” he says, his tone firm.
I blink, confused. “What?”
“Get up,” he repeats, gesturing impatiently.
I push myself to my feet, wincing as the movement sends another sharp pain through my ribs. He steps closer, his piercing gaze locking on mine, and I immediately look away.
“Look at me,” he says. “Look at me, Connor.”
I do, though it takes more effort than I’d like to admit. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes that cuts straight through me.
“You didn’t fail her,” he says, his voice steady. “You didn’t fail anyone. Do you hear me?”
I shake my head, my throat tightening. “I should’ve—”
“No,” he says sharply, cutting me off. “There’s no ‘should’ve.’ You brought her back, lad. You walked into hell and pulled her out. That’s what matters.”
The crack in my chest splits wide open, and before I know it, the tears are falling. I press my palms into my eyes, trying to stop them, but it’s useless. The sobs come, raw and broken, and I can’t hold them back.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out, my voice breaking. “I’m sorry, Da.”
He doesn’t hesitate. He steps forward and pulls me into a tight hug, his hand gripping the back of my head like he’s holding me together.
“You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for, lad,” he says, his voice low and rough. “Nothin’.”
I cling to him, my fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as the weight of everything crashes down on me. The guilt, the fear, the anger—it all pours out, and for the first time in years, I let myself feel it.
“I feel like I’m drownin’, Da. Like no matter what I do, it’s never enough. Not for you, not for Cat… not for anyone. I should’ve seen it comin’,” I say, my voice muffled against his shoulder. “I should’ve done more.”
“You did everythin’ you could,” he says firmly. “You did what I would’ve done. What any of us would’ve done. And you still brought her home.”
I nod, though his assurances feel hollow. It’s hard to believe him, but some small part of me wants to.
“You did well,” he says, pulling back just enough to look me in the eye. “You completed the mission and sent a message. I couldn’t be more proud to have you as a son and heir.”
The words stick in my chest, heavy and painful, but there’s something else there too—something that feels a little like relief.
“Thanks, Da,” I whisper, my voice raw.
He nods, squeezing my shoulder before stepping back. “Now, go get some rest. That’s an order.”
I manage a weak smile, nodding again. “Yes, sir,” I say, wiping my face with the back of my hand. The fire crackles softly, the room warmer than it was when I walked in.
As I leave, I glance back at him. He’s already sitting at his desk again, the weight of the family name on his shoulders.