21. Connor
Chapter 21
Connor
I storm out of Malachi’s room, slamming the door harder than I mean it to. His dismissive tone, the way he barely looked at me, and that goddamn question— Why do you care? —it’s all rattling around in my head, setting my teeth on edge.
I don’t know why it bothers me so much. He’s always been a pain in the ass, but this? This felt different. Like he wasn’t just being his usual bratty self—he was shutting me out completely. And fuck if I know why that gets under my skin the way it does.
I shove my hands into my pockets, stalking through the halls and down the stairs toward the kitchen. The smell hits me before I even step inside—something warm and rich; garlic and butter and whatever magic my mother’s got going on in there. I pause for half a second at the doorway, trying to shake off the storm brewing in my chest, but it doesn’t budge.
She’s standing by the stove, her back to me, blonde hair twisted up in a messy knot. She’s humming something soft and familiar, and she has a saucepan in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. Her movements are smooth, practiced—like she’s still dancing, even now.
“Jaysus, what’re you burnin’ this time, Ma?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe.
Without turning around, she waves the spoon at me. “Keep it up, Connor, and I’ll burn your dinner on purpose.”
I snort, stepping into the kitchen. “Smells too good for that.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” she says, finally glancing over her shoulder. Her green eyes, so much like Cat’s with their scattered blue flecks, narrow slightly as she looks me up and down. “You’ve got a face like thunder. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I mutter, dropping into one of the chairs at the table.
She arches an elegant brow, setting the spoon down and turning to face me fully. “Don’t ‘nothing’ me, Connor. You’re stompin’ around like a bull in a china shop. Spit it out.”
I shake my head, crossing my arms over my chest. “It’s nothin’ important.”
“Bullshite,” she says, her voice sharp enough to make me flinch. She steps closer, planting her hands on her hips. “Start talkin’, or I’ll drag it out of you the hard way.”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. There’s no winning with her. There never is. “Fine,” I say, my tone clipped. “It’s just… someone. Someone who’s being a complete pain in the arse.”
Her lips twitch, but she doesn’t smile. “Someone, is it? Do go on.”
I hesitate, trying to figure out how to phrase this without giving too much away. “They’re… impossible. They won’t talk and won’t let me in, and it’s like every time I try, they just shut me out harder. It’s fuckin’ exhaustin’.”
She tilts her head, studying me with those sharp, all-knowing eyes. “Sounds like they’ve gotten under your skin.”
“No shite,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. “I can’t stop thinkin’ about it, and about them. It’s drivin’ me up the wall, Ma.”
“Hmm,” she hums, moving back to the stove and stirring whatever’s in the saucepan. “And this ‘someone,’ are they important to you?”
I stiffen, my jaw tightening. “It’s not like that.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s not,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Because my son, who doesn’t give a rat’s arse about anyone or anythin’, is suddenly losin’ sleep over someone who’s not important.”
“Ma,” I groan, dragging a hand over my face. “Can we not do this?”
She sets the spoon down again, turning to lean against the counter with her arms crossed. “Connor,” she says, her voice softer now. “Talk to me.”
I glance at her, the weight of her gaze pressing down on me. I know she won’t let it go, and the truth is, I kind of need this—someone to talk to, even if I can’t tell her everything.
“They’re stubborn,” I say finally, the words coming out slower. “They push back on everythin’, and it’s like they’re tryin’ to piss me off on purpose. But then sometimes…” I trail off, shaking my head. “Sometimes they let their guard down, and it’s like I see this whole other side of them, and it’s… I don’t know. It’s fuckin’ annoying.”
She watches me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she smiles—soft, knowing, and just a little smug. “You like them.”
I stiffen. “No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do,” she says, her voice full of conviction. “You wouldn’t be this worked up if you didn’t.”
I scowl, looking away. “It’s not like that.”
“Sure it’s not,” she says, but there’s no judgment in her tone. She pushes off the counter, moving to sit across from me. “Connor, love, you’ve always been shite at admittin’ when you care about someone.”
I glare at her, but it’s half-hearted at best. “I don’t care about them. They’re just… part of the job.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, resting her chin on her hand. “And does this ‘job’ usually make your ears turn red when you talk about it?”
I groan, slumping back in the chair. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” she says, grinning. “But you do have feelings for someone, and it’s scarin’ the absolute piss out of you.”
I shake my head, but her words hit too close to home. “It’s not like that,” I say again, but even I can hear the lack of conviction in my voice.
“ A stór, ” she says, her tone gentler now. “Whoever they are, whatever this is… just don’t lie to yourself about it, alright? You’ve got enough on your plate without addin’ self-denial to the list.”
I don’t answer, staring at the table as her words sink in. She’s wrong. She has to be. Because if she’s not… Well, I’m in even deeper trouble than I thought.
“I can’t like them, Ma,” I admit with a sigh. “Likin’ them… feelin’ anything for them, would be the biggest betrayal.”
I don’t elaborate on what that betrayal is. I can’t, or she’ll know I’m talking about betraying Da and the family.
Ma doesn’t say anything at first. She just watches me, her sharp eyes cutting right through all the bullshit I’ve been telling myself. Then she exhales, long and slow, before getting up and walking back to the stove. The sound of the spoon against the saucepan fills the silence between us. It’s almost comforting. Almost.
When she turns back to me and finally speaks, her voice is quieter than before. “And why’s that?”
I don’t answer right away. I don’t know how to. I scrub a hand down my face, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on my chest. “Because it would be wrong.”
She scoffs. “Wrong accordin’ to who?”
I shoot her a look. “You know who.”
Her lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, she just stares at the bubbling sauce like it holds the answers. “Your father?” she asks, though we both know the answer.
I nod, my jaw tight. “And the family.”
She makes a sound in the back of her throat, something between a scoff and a sigh. “Ah, the great and mighty Cunningham name,” she murmurs. “So that’s what’s got you in knots, is it? You’re worried about what your da would think?”
I huff out a bitter laugh. “You know how he is.”
“I do,” she says, turning back to me. “I know how much weight he puts on duty and loyalty. But Connor, love… do you?”
I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She walks over, pulling out the chair across from me again. She doesn’t sit right away, just rests her hands on the back of it. “It means, do you even know what loyalty really is? Or have you just been followin’ his definition of it?”
That throws me. My stomach twists uncomfortably, but I keep my expression blank. “Loyalty is puttin’ family first.”
She raises a brow. “Is it? And what about when your heart pulls you in a different direction? What about when somethin’ or someone starts to matter just as much?”
I don’t answer. I can’t.
She studies me for a moment longer before pulling the chair out all the way and sitting down, folding her arms on the table. “You’re Declan’s son, no doubt about that,” she says. “But you’ve always had a softer heart than he does. You just bury it deeper.”
I scoff. “Yeah? Don’t tell anyone. Might ruin my reputation.”
She smirks but doesn’t let me distract her. “This person,” she says, leaning in slightly. “They’ve gotten past your walls, haven’t they?”
I shake my head. “Not even close.”
Ma gives me a knowing look. “Then why are you sittin’ here, looking like someone’s turned your world upside down?”
I grit my teeth. “Because they’re a pain in my arse.”
That makes her laugh. “Oh, I’m sure they are.” She tilts her head. “Is that what’s really botherin’ you? Or is it the fact that you care and you don’t want to?”
I say nothing. That silence is answer enough.
She reaches out, covering my hand with hers. “Connor, love… you can’t control how you feel. You can control what you do about it, but trying to deny it? That’s only goin’ to eat you alive.”
I pull my hand away, not unkindly, just… because I can’t do this. I stand up, running both hands through my hair.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, voice tight. “Even if I did—” I cut myself off, shaking my head. “Even if I cared, it wouldn’t change a fuckin’ thing. I have responsibilities and a job to do.”
“And what if carin’ doesn’t get in the way of that?” she asks, voice soft. “What if it makes you stronger?”
I let out a humorless laugh. “Or what if it makes me weak?”
She sighs, shaking her head. “Lovin’ someone doesn’t make you weak, Connor.”
I stiffen. “I never said anything about love.”
“No,” she says, smiling a little. “You didn’t.”
Fuck.
I shake my head, backing away toward the door. “I shouldn’t have come in here.”
She watches me, her expression exuding pity, and I fucking hate it. “Maybe not,” she says. “But I’m glad you did.”
I grip the doorframe, exhaling hard. “Ma…”
“I know,” she says gently. “You’ve got a lot on your plate, love. Just… don’t let your father’s definition of loyalty stop you from figurin’ out your own.”
I don’t say anything. I just nod once, then turn and walk out before she can say anything else. Because the last thing I need is more words rattling around in my head, telling me things I don’t want to hear.
I already know the truth. I’ve known it since the moment Malachi started getting under my skin.
I just don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do about it.