4. Seamus
four
Seamus
A Few Days Later
The noise should feel like home.
Voices layered over one another. Traditional Irish music in the background. The smell of Ma’s cooking in the air.
I sit at the edge of it—watching, not quite inside it, but steadied by it anyway.
These people know me. They always have.
Even when I don’t know myself.
Growing up with my brothers was pure ruckus—fights left bruises. Never bad blood. Sports always ended with someone injured. I’ve endured slagging so ruthless it could break a lesser man. As the youngest, I didn’t have the luxury of keeping up—I had to survive.
There are so many things about my childhood I miss.
A lot I’m glad is behind me.
Now, the little kids tearing through this house are my wee nephews and luckily, they have amazing parents who won’t put them through some of the hell we experienced.
I’ll admit, I love the sound of little feet pounding against the hardwood floors. The hum of overlapping conversation. The clatter of dishes as Ma moves around the kitchen like a general directing Ronni, who’s trying to help.
Despite my ongoing sorrow about Miranda, the comfort wraps around me like an old, familiar jacket.
Right now, I’m half bent over in the living room while Torin and Tristan use me as their personal climbing apparatus. My oldest brother, Connor, lounges in the recliner, watching with amusement as I brace myself under the weight of the boys.
“Uncle Seamus is a mountain!” Tristan giggles as he latches on to my shoulder.
“A mountain?” I grumble dramatically as I shift them higher onto my back. “I thought I was a very serious doctor.”
“You don’t look serious.” Torin grabs two fistfuls of my hair.
Connor smirks. “Because he lets the two of youse climb him like a jungle gym.”
I huff, straightening and holding both boys under their arms before swinging them through the air. They squeal in delight before I plop them down onto the couch next to my brother.
Connor gives them a mock-serious look. “Alright, lads, wash up before dinner.”
“We don’t know how.” Torin furrows his tiny brow.
Connor snorts, shaking his head. “Aye, right. You’ve only been alive four years and haven’t figured out the art of washing your own hands.”
Ronni appears in the doorway holding Teagan against her chest. “Nice try, boys.” She lifts her chin toward me. “Seamus, will you help them? I need Connor to grab the diaper bag out of the car.”
I groan in feigned annoyance, scooping up the twins and carrying them to the bathroom like a pair of wriggling sacks of potatoes while they giggle and shriek.
They’re barely any help at the sink, sending water splashing everywhere.
I make sure they’re at least somewhat clean before herding them back into the dining room, where Ma is setting the last of the dishes on the table.
The smell alone makes my stomach growl—roast lamb, the crispy edges glistening, mashed potatoes rich with butter and cream, roasted carrots and parsnips and a heaping plate of golden, flaky soda farls and fresh brown bread.
After a week of living out of a vending machine or drive-thru window, Sunday is when I can count on a filling, nutritious meal.
We take our usual seats. The moment I get settled, my gaze drifts to the empty chair where Cillian should be sitting.
He hasn’t joined us for weeks—no, months.
Ma doesn’t say anything at first. I see the way she sucks her lips over her teeth as she ladles food onto Da’s plate. The way she keeps glancing at the door like maybe he’ll walk through it.
Usually, we sweep this shit under the rug so I’m surprised when she speaks. “Cillian didn’t even text me back this time.”
Connor exhales, shifting a sleeping Teagan against his shoulder so he can eat. “Anyone talked to him?”
I don’t answer immediately, cutting into my lamb instead. I feel my brother’s eyes on me. He knows .
Finally, I decide to answer. “Brennan and I tried to talk some sense into him a few months ago.”
Da, who’s been quiet, looks up at me. His blue eyes—our blue eyes—narrow slightly.
“And?” Connor’s fork is poised in mid-air.
I hesitate, then sigh. “He kicked us out.”
“What?” Ronni’s head snaps up.
“We wanted to check on him.” I wince at the memory of what we found. “He stood us up for dinner and we were worried. For good reason. He could barely form a sentence and there was an empty whisky bottle on the counter. We tried to reason with him. He didn’t want to hear it.”
Ma exhales slowly and takes a drink of water. Looks off into the distance.
“Sounds familiar.” Da sets his fork down and shakes his head.
His words settle like a weight over the table. Because we’ve all seen this before.
Lived this before.
I glance at Da, expecting him to tense up, to shut down and clam up like normal.
Instead, he looks…defeated. “This is my fault.”
Ma immediately shakes her head. “Rory, ach, no—”
Which pisses me off. She’s always letting him off the hook. If the man wants to take accountability, he should. He spent years putting the family through hell and while he’s been sober for a long time now, it’s rare to hear him apologize.
“Look. I failed Cillian.” He looks at each of us in turn. “I failed all of you. He’s got my genes…”
A lump forms in my throat. I love my brother. I can’t bear to see him throw his life away.
“Da, you’ve come a long way—” Connor reaches for Ronni’s hand. “We’ve forgiven you, so we have.”
Of all of us, Connor sacrificed the most. Nearly giving up every one of his dreams to run the family business and make sure all of us made it through school. If Cillian hadn’t wanted to take over McGloughlin Construction, Connor may have never pursued his dreams of becoming a rock star.
“You shouldn’t.” Da’s voice cracks slightly.
He drags a hand down his face. “I let the drink take me. I let it make me a man I never wanted to be. I see Cillian now, and I know what his road looks like. I know where it leads.” He glances at Ma, regret carved into every line of his face.
“I keep wonderin’ if I was a better man back then, would he be strugglin’ like this now? ”
No one speaks for a long moment.
Then, Ma reaches out and takes his hand. “You came back to us. You changed. If you can do it, so can he.”
Da nods, pain etched in his eyes.
“I should’ve followed up with him.” I swallow thickly.
Connor shakes his head. “Your focus should be on your residency. I’ll check on him.”
“No.” Da slaps the table. “You have a wee baby and two beautiful boys to love. Cillian needs me and I intend to get him back on the right track if it’s the last thing I do.”
The conversation shifts and Ma fills us in on Brennan’s big deal for his company, CognifyAI down in Silicon Valley. Ronni excitedly gets us up to speed on her latest project. Connor gushes about Liam and Padraig’s tour and lets us know the dates for LTZ’s upcoming Seattle shows.
I listen, nodding along, though my mind keeps drifting back to Miranda.
Connor hands Teagan to Ronni when Ma goes into the kitchen to fuss over dessert. He leans toward me. “So, Joe Finney can’t represent you?”
Instantaneously, the magic of tonight dissipates. I drag a hand through my hair. “No.”
“Because?” He frowns.
I press my lips together. “He claims there’s a conflict. Which means they’re representing Miranda Black’s family.”
“Christ, Seamus,” Connor swears under his breath, setting his glass down a little too hard.
“Yeah.” I stretch my neck and roll my shoulders back. “I’m trying not to freak out.”
Connor watches me closely.
“I mean, Bryce hasn’t said anything about a lawsuit.” I clasp and unclasp my fingers. “Not one word. If Finney Cooper won’t take me on because of a conflict—” I swallow, the realization thick in my throat. “He’s fucked. It’s only a matter of time.”
I don’t have to tell my brother what malpractice means.
I’m barely hanging on by a thread about what happened—about Miranda, about her family, about the fact no matter how many times I replay the surgery in my head, I can’t change the outcome.
Now, on top of everything else, I have to wonder if my career is about to be blown apart before it even properly begins.
Connor rubs his beard. “Alright. First thing you do is find another lawyer. Someone good. I’ll help.”
I nod with a distance, my mind is already running through worst-case scenarios.
“Are you good, then?” he prompts.
I don’t answer.
Because I don’t know.
By the time I step outside an hour later, cool night air washes over me. I stare up at the dark sky, letting the sounds of my family still echo in my mind.
Cillian’s falling apart. Brennan’s burning out. Da hasn’t forgiven himself in decades.
As for me? I’m not sure who I am without my white coat.
If I fail here—if I’m not who I thought—I lose more than a title.
I lose the only future I’ve ever let myself dream of.