Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Killian
Taking a deep breath, filling my lungs with the scent of damp earth and wild flowers, I take in the scenery as I ride on horseback to the open field where my mother wanted a proper Romani vardo. No matter how harsh life was or how much money she had, she was always a gypsy at heart.
The hills stretch before me so lush and green.
My heart hurts from the nostalgia. It has been far too long since I’ve been here, and I had forgotten just how breathtaking it truly is.
Despite the events of today, the air feels alive with memories I thought were lost and have now come flooding back.
Northern Ireland is dotted with ancient stone walls that crisscross the landscape like the veins of the earth.
But Rostrevor holds a special place in my heart.
As my horse trots down the familiar path, I brush aside the low-hanging branches of the trees, each touch igniting echoes of sun-drenched summers spent racing through open fields. Back then, I had taken this all for granted, too young to grasp the significance of everything around me.
Aunt Maeve rides beside me, her presence a comforting anchor as she tries to gauge how long I’ll be here for.
“No sense in just running off again,” she says, her voice steady, but I can hear the plea woven into her words.
“I have business back home,” I reply. The weight of my responsibilities is heavy on my chest.
“This is your home,” she reminds me gently. “Just because you’ve been gone doesn’t change that.”
I glance her way, uncertainty flickering in my eyes. “Let’s see how the others feel about that.”
“They only give you a hard time because they miss you.” She glances back at me with certainty.
As we approach a gathering of familiar faces, some still mounted on their horses while others stand watching, I feel a swell of emotions rise within me.
We tie our horses to a branch, the smell of the earth grounding me as I follow Aunt Maeve to the front.
There, my siblings stand, their expressions a blend of surprise and sorrow as they watch the wagon that holds our mother’s lifeless body, adorned with her cherished possessions.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” my brother Leon whispers, a mix of humor and melancholy in his voice.
“Shit,” Trevor chimes in, his smile strained but genuine.
The twins were always in trouble but were so charming you’d forget why you were upset to begin with. The memory of them as little boys was vivid in my mind, and now they stand tall as men before me.
I nod at them, but my gaze falls upon Mickey, my elder brother, who stands stoically, refusing to meet my eyes even though he feels my presence like a ghost lingering in the air.
My older brother, whom I once knew as my inseparable companion, now treats me as a stranger, shaped by time and distance.
“You remember your older brother, don’t you?” Aunt Maeve says to the younger ones beside her.
Jodi’s face lights up, her excitement breaking through the heaviness. “Killian!” she exclaims, wrapping her arms around me. “You look the same but so different.”
The embrace feels like a lifeline, and as I pull back, I turn to the young woman beside her. “Is this Izzy?” I ask softly, recognizing the flicker of curiosity in her eyes.
She nods, her expression a mix of familiarity and distance. “Mum always had a photo of you in her pocket. You’re a lot older now.”
“I’ve been gone for a long time,” I reply, warmth swelling in my chest. “I’m so glad to finally meet you.” I knew my mother fell pregnant after I left so I never got to meet the youngest Izzy.
Next to Izzy stood JoJo, who had been just a child when I left, now a young man standing before me. Our eyes meet, and in that silent exchange, we acknowledge the love that still connected us, even through the time that separated us.
As Aunt Maeve begins to address the crowd, I feel my focus narrow, my world blurring around the edges as I fixate on the wagon.
I barely register the priest's words; the moment the flames begin to lick at the wood, a profound ache unfolds within me.
I should have come home. I should have visited more.
As people begin to disperse, I stand frozen, caught in the web of my regrets.
“Let’s have a drink, yeah?” Mickey says, stepping in front of me, a firm yet gentle command.
“I should get going,” I murmur, my heart heavy.
“You’ve been gone long enough, Killian. Don’t make me ask you twice,” he insists, his voice imbued with a mixture of brotherly love and frustration.
I follow him to a bar in town, where laughter and the clinking of glasses fill the air in my mother’s honor.
Before we even take a sip of our beer, it feels like no time has passed; we were bonding as if I had never left.
Mickey was the closest thing I had to a father, a guiding light who taught me everything I knew.
He had urged me to stay all those years ago but hadn’t forced my hand, knowing I needed to find my own path.
“I never enjoyed being the leader. It was always more your thing,” I confess, my laughter mingling with the memories. “I preferred watching someone's life end through their eyes.”
He chuckles. “You always preferred doing the dirty work. It was like pulling teeth to get the boys to dispose of a body.” He shakes his head, the memories bittersweet. “Now I have more than a dozen fat cannibals in the pen.”
“You should see my pigs. Those greedy little bastards can smell me bringing a body from a mile away,” I reply with dark humor.
A silence falls between us, heavy with unspoken words. “You didn’t have to take over The Reapers to prove yourself just to come back home,” Mickey says softly.
“It honestly wasn’t the plan,” I admit, vulnerability creeping into my voice.
“The opportunity just fell into my lap. But it’s not the same.
” I glance at him, the truth hanging between us.
“The camaraderie is different in America. I know I don’t want to die there.
” I pause, a lump forming in my throat. “I was coming back, you know. A few years ago.”
“Why didn’t you?” he presses, concern etched on his face.
I shake my head, the weight of my choices bearing down on me. “Life took a turn.”
He nods and then there’s another pause. “Did you ever find him?” Mickey asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Nope.” I shrug, the sadness creeping in. “I stopped trying when I realized I was searching for someone who wanted nothing to do with me.”
He pats my back with his hand and then changes the subject.
Mickey fills me in on the changes in the area, how the gang he had started before I left is now the largest and most feared in Northern Ireland.
“Anything you need, little brother,” he says, clinking his beer bottle against mine. “Should you choose to come back for good, my right-hand position is open for you.”
I nod, gratitude swelling within me. “Thanks, Mickey.”
“Now let me introduce you to Izzy’s new boyfriend,” he says, mischief dancing in his eyes. “He’s an odd fellow.”
And in that moment, amidst the laughter and the sorrow, I feel the first flickers of hope that perhaps, just slightly, I can find my way back home.