Chapter 30 #2
"Of course it did. She'd just started to accept him as family, and then Trace took that away from her. But she's not running. She's not hiding. She's facing it head-on."
"Good. We're going to need that strength in the days ahead."
"Why? What's coming?"
"Change. Growth. The kind of expansion Jer always talked about but never had the chance to implement. We're going to be bigger, stronger, more organized than we've ever been."
"And you think that's what he would have wanted?"
"I think he wanted us to survive. To thrive. To build something that would last beyond any one person's life."
"Then that's what we'll do."
We shake hands, a formal acknowledgment of the new order. I'm content with my role, he's secure in his leadership, and the organization has a clear path forward.
Everything Jer could have hoped for.
* * *
The safe house is quiet when I arrive. Tríona's in the kitchen, making tea, moving with the careful precision of someone who's still healing from trauma but refusing to let it define her.
"How'd it go?" she asks without turning around.
"Good. Better than good. Maverick's officially in charge now, and he's making all the right moves."
"Are you happy about that?"
"Very. He's the right choice. The only choice, really."
She turns to face me, holding two cups of tea. There's something different about her expression—more settled, more at peace than I've seen since Henry's death.
"And you? Where do you fit in this new structure?"
"Exactly where I was before. Doing exactly what I do best."
"Which is?"
"Stealing things. Finding people. Solving problems that can't be solved through conventional means."
"Sounds dangerous."
"Everything's dangerous in our world. But it's what I'm good at. What I was trained for."
She hands me the tea, and our fingers brush. I feel the same electric connection that's been there since the beginning, stronger now because of everything we've been through together.
"I'm glad you're not taking a higher rank," she says quietly.
"Why?"
"Because they become targets. They're the ones people come for when they want to hurt an organization. And I've lost enough people already."
The vulnerability in her voice makes my chest tight. She's thinking about Henry, about her father, about all the men who've died protecting her or the things they loved.
"I'm not going anywhere," I tell her.
"You can't promise that."
"I can promise I'll do everything in my power to come home to you. Every job, every mission, every risk I take—I'll be thinking about getting back to this. To you."
She sets down her tea and moves closer. When she looks up at me, her eyes are bright with unshed tears.
"I love you," she says. "More than I thought possible. More than is probably safe in this world."
"Good. Because I love you the same way."
I kiss her then, soft and desperate. Tasting hope and fear and the future we're trying to build together.
"Freddie," she says against my lips.
"Yeah?"
"Tomorrow. When we go see your father. Will you be okay?"
The question makes my stomach clench. Tomorrow. The visit I've been dreading and anticipating in equal measure.
"I don't know," I admit. "It's been years since I've seen him. Years since I've wanted to."
"But you want to see him now?"
"I want you to meet him. I want him to know that I found something worth protecting, something that makes all the violence and chaos worthwhile."
"And if he doesn't approve?"
"Then that's his loss. But I think he will. It’s hard not to love you once you get to know you."
She smiles, it’s the first real smile I've seen from her since the funeral.
"Come on," she says, taking my hand. "Let's go to bed. Tomorrow's going to be complicated enough without facing it tired."
We climb the stairs together, and I think about how much has changed in just a few months. From a broken man carrying ghosts to this purpose, family, love that feels strong enough to survive anything the world throws at us.
Jer would be proud of where I've ended up. Of the choices I've made, the woman I've found, the life I'm building.
Tomorrow, I'll face my father; introduce him to the woman who saved me from myself. Tonight, I'll hold her close and be grateful for second chances.
For the possibility that even in a world built on violence and betrayal, love can still win.
* * *
The next morning dawns gray and cold—typical Irish weather for visiting prisons. Tríona's nervous—I can see it in the way she checks her appearance three times before we leave, the way her hands shake slightly as she applies lipstick.
"It'll be fine," I tell her as we drive through Dublin.
"Will it? Meeting the father of the man I love in a maximum-security prison isn't exactly a normal relationship milestone."
"Nothing about our relationship has been normal."
"Fair point."
Mountjoy Prison looms ahead, all concrete walls and razor wire. Not the most romantic setting for introductions, but it's what we have.
At the visitors' entrance, we go through the usual routine; metal detectors, paperwork, the careful inspection of everything we're carrying. Tríona handles it with more grace than I expected, though I can see the tension in her shoulders.
"You sure about this?" I ask as we wait to be called.
"Are you?"
"Yeah. I am. Whatever else he is, he's still my father. And you're the most important person in my life. Seems like you should meet."
When they call our names, we follow a guard through a series of locked doors into the visiting room. Standard setup; rows of tables, plastic chairs, vending machines along one wall. The kind of place where families try to maintain connections across concrete barriers and under armed supervision.
My father's already seated at a corner table when we enter. He looks older than I remember, grayer, but still carries himself with the quiet dignity that got him respect even inside these walls.
He stands when he sees us approaching, and for a moment we just look at each other. Father and son, separated by years of choices and consequences.
"Freddie," he says, voice rough with emotion.
"Dad."
We embrace awkwardly, uncertain. It's been too long, too much water under the bridge for easy familiarity.
"And you must be Alastríona," he says, turning to her with genuine warmth.
"Yes, sir. It's an honor to meet you."
"The honor's mine. I've heard a lot about you." I wonder who he's been talking to about her.
"All good things, I hope," she replies.
"The best things. Sit, please. Let's talk properly."
We settle into the plastic chairs, and I watch my father study the woman I love. Looking for signs of character, of strength, of the qualities that matter in our world.
"So," he says after a moment. "You're the one who's made my son happy."
"I try to."
"More than try, from what I hear. Freddie looks like he's found something worth living for besides work."
"We found each other," Tríona says simply.
"Good answer. Simple, honest. I like that."
The conversation flows easier than I expected.
My father used to be good with people, able to put them at ease even in difficult circumstances.
Tríona responds to his warmth, her nervousness fading as they talk about books, about Dublin, about everything except the criminal world that brought us all together.
"Your grandfather was a good man," my father tells her at one point. "Henry Gallagher. Old school, but fair. I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you. Did you know him well?"
"Well enough. Our paths crossed a few times over the years. Always professional, always honorable. The kind of man you could trust with your life."
"He died protecting me."
"I heard. That's what grandfathers do. What fathers do. What any man worth a damn does when family's threatened."
He looks at me when he says it, and I understand the message. Family protects family. Love demands sacrifice. The lessons he taught me before everything went wrong between us.
"I'm proud of you," he says quietly. "Of the man you've become, of the choices you've made. Jer did right by you."
"You used to do right by me, too."
"Before I fucked it all up, you mean."
We talk for another hour about safer subjects; memories of my childhood, stories about my mother, plans for the future that don't involve violence or crime. Normal family conversation in the most abnormal setting imaginable.
When visiting time ends, my father stands and embraces us both.
"Take care of each other," he says. "In this world, love is rare. When you find it, you protect it with everything you have."
"We will," I promise.
"Good. And Freddie? I'd love for you to visit again, if you're up for it.."
"I'll be back," I promise him.
As we walk back through the secured doors, past the guards and cameras and barriers, I feel something I haven't felt in years.
Peace. Resolution. The knowledge that some broken things can be repaired, some relationships can survive even the worst mistakes.
"I like him," Tríona says as we reach the car.
"Yeah?"
"He loves you. Really loves you. You can see it in how he looks at you, how proud he is of who you've become."
I don't answer. While I'm willing to try and build some semblance of a relationship, the man lost himself somewhere along the way and became someone I didn't recognize. He's back to the man I knew and loved. Now time will tell if he'll stay that way.
As we drive away from Mountjoy Prison, I think about legacy. About the men who shaped me; my father and Jer. About the lessons they taught and the examples they set.
About the future Tríona and I are building together, one choice at a time.
It's not the life I planned, but it's the life I want. Full of love and loyalty and the promise that some things—family, honor, connection—are worth every risk.
Worth everything.