32. Seamus
thirty-two
Seamus
A Few Days Later
It’s nearly nine when we pull up to Connor and Ronni’s place.
A waterfront retreat tucked behind evergreens, untouched by noise, judgment, or fallout.
Marcella’s hand is in mine. My stomach’s a wreck.
If anyone can help me clean this up, it’s my brother.
Connor’s the one who pulled our family together when our world fell apart after Da’s accident.
The one who made sure I had shoes that fit.
Helped me with my homework. Put food on the table.
Comforted me when the house was louder than it should’ve been—and shielded me from Da’s drinking and violent behavior.
I’ve never approached him for help. Or money. I’ve managed to hold my own throughout my entire adult life.
Now, I have no choice. My professional life is on the brink of collapse and he might be the only person who can help navigate these fifty-foot waves.
Which means I’m about to admit something to him I never dreamed would come to light.
For years, I let him—all my brothers—believe I was crushing it in the bedroom.
Like I had superpowers over the female orgasm or something.
I bragged about technique, gave them the play-by-play—how to find the right angles, how to listen for the breathy catch in a woman’s throat right before she comes.
I made it sound like I had it all figured out.
Control. Precision. Clinical bravado.
The truth?
I wasn’t willing to give myself to just anyone. I wasn’t waiting for perfection. I was waiting for someone who felt like home.
I was waiting for Marcella.
It’s embarrassing. Humbling. Not because I was a virgin by choice…it’s the lies I felt compelled to tell.
Unlike my brothers’ rockstar antics, my stairwell activities will never be wild stories of my bachelor years. I’m facing an actual reckoning—and I’ll have to look my brother in the eye and explain how my stupid reputation may end the career I’ve sacrificed everything for.
Then there’s Ronni.
Brilliant. Fierce. Fearless Ronni Miller.
She knows firsthand what it’s like to be on the receiving end of real power abuse—predators hiding behind their titles and contracts and press junkets. I may have never crossed a line or coerced anything not freely offered. Unfortunately, the optics don’t always make space for nuance.
If she looks at me differently after tonight—if she thinks, even for a second, I’m anything like the men who hurt her—it might break me.
I’ve always been comfortable in my own skin. But this? Terrifying.
Connor opens the door before we even knock, like he’s been waiting. “You’re here. Come in.”
Ronni appears behind him in joggers and a hoodie, her hair twisted up. Her bare feet curl against the hardwood as she hugs Marcella like they’ve been friends for decades.
“Kids are asleep.” She motions us to follow her. “We’ve got all night.”
The four of us settle in their whiskey den—dark wood, soft leather chairs facing Lake Washington. A room inviting confessions. Ronni pours red wine for herself and Marcella. Connor cracks open a bottle of sparkling water for me without asking.
He knows. He always knows.
I’ll never touch alcohol. Not after witnessing what it’s done to my da and to Cillian.
Today I’ve been trying to hold it together. Working all day while pretending this situation hasn’t been eating me alive. The second Connor turns toward me, eyebrows drawn—“Alright, baby brother. Talk to us.”—I feel the first thread snap loose.
So I do. I tell them everything.
From our family dinners, they already know about Caldwell and Miranda and the shift I’ve felt at the hospital after I helped Marcella—the sideways glances, the silence from people who used to seek me out. The sense I’m radioactive.
Tonight it’s full confession time about the women. Not in detail. Not everything. Enough to explain Caldwell collecting names, and how he’s about to tank my medical career.
Marcella keeps her hand on my thigh through all of it.
When I finish, the silence extends so long I start to think maybe this was a mistake.
Then Ronni speaks. Calm. Unflinching. “You need crisis PR. Immediately.”
Marcella nods. “Agreed.”
“We’ve got people.” Connor leans forward, elbows on his knees.
Ronni’s eyes meet mine. “Say the word and I’ll make the call.”
I feel like I can breathe for the first time all day.
“You also need to decide if you’re going to fight Caldwell or make amends.” Connor tips his chin toward me. “You can’t do both.”
Marcella shifts beside me. “I don’t think he wants an apology. He wants leverage.”
“This makes him dangerous.” Ronni sighs. “It’s not about one woman, or even five. It’s about perception. A post, a whisper, the right video clip—and suddenly you’re not Seamus McGloughlin, gifted neurosurgery resident. You’re a predator.”
“I’m not—” I start, then catch myself. I know what she means.
Connor’s voice is level. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t get ahead of this. It’ll snowball. You think they’re gossiping now? Wait until Caldwell feeds it to the board. Or worse, the press.”
“You promise me these encounters were all consensual?” Ronni folds her arms and narrows her eyes. “I love you, Seam, I can’t bear…”
I hold my hand up and place it over my heart. “On my life, Ronni. I never initiated any of this.”
“I believe you.” Ronni breathes in. “Okay. this isn’t about guilt. It’s about damage control. You’re young. Gifted. You’re in medicine. The standard is higher, Seamus. The blowback will be, too.”
“So what’s the play?” Marcella reaches for her wine.
Ronni and Connor exchange a look. A whole conversation seems to pass between them in a glance.
“You need to talk to Caldwell.” Connor nods.
“What?” My whole body goes taut.
“Aye,” Connor says without hesitation. “You give him the chance. Face-to-face. Show your spine. Own your part. Be clear you’re not there to grovel—you’re there to find a path forward.”
Ronni nods beside him. “Powerful people respect people who confront the mess head-on. Especially when the house is already on fire.”
“He wants me gone. What if I can’t convince him otherwise?” I rake a hand through my hair.
Connor clicks his tongue. “At least you’ll know by taking the reins instead of waiting to be tossed off the horse.”
“Honestly, Seamus? If you do this right, you might shift the narrative,” Ronni adds.
“It’s best you keep in mind this isn’t about guilt or innocence.
It’s about optics. Intent. If you let someone tell their version long enough it becomes truth.
Regardless of the settlement. You need to get your version out there—and not just defensively. Proactively.”
My heart pounds in my chest. “So, do I apologize?”
“Not for what you didn’t do.” Connor’s brow furrows. “Not for protecting Miranda. It might be good to play into his ego and apologize for not going to him first. For not showing him you respected the chain of command. A gesture would’ve mattered.”
Marcella shifts beside me. “I haven’t encouraged him to go to Caldwell directly because I didn’t trust him.
I was thinking like a lawyer, not like a girlfriend trying to preserve the man I love’s career.
When I was negotiating the settlement I pushed Seamus into making a record because it was the correct way to approach it legally.
” She turns to me, her eyes filled with guilt.
“If I hadn’t pushed so hard, you might’ve had a chance to handle it differently. Worked out your differences.”
“Where would Miranda’s family be then?” I reach for her hand without thinking, our fingers lacing together like they always do when one of us needs grounding. “This is a no-win situation.”
Connor watches us, then gives a small nod.
“Life deals us all sorts of challenges and we are where we are. I say go in there and own your side of it, Seamus. If he brings up the deposition, don’t blame Marcella—acknowledge you’d never been in the situation before.
Emphasize the perspective you now have upon reflection. Demonstrate maturity he won’t expect.”
“Right…because he doesn’t know you’re aware of what he’s doing behind the scenes. He believes you think he’s mad at you because of your testimony.” Marcella squeezes my hand. “Connor and Ronni have an excellent perspective. You have a window of opportunity to get him to back off.”
I sit back and let all of the advice settle like gravel in my stomach. “It’s hard for me to kiss his ass. The man fucked up. I told him about the blood vessel. He ignored me. Miranda’s dead.”
“I know.” Connor claps my shoulder and squeezes. “I’m not saying you were wrong. I’m saying there’s a difference between being right and being strategic. You need to be both.”
Ronni folds her arms across her chest. “Seamus, you’re asking him for grace. The only way to get it is to give him something first. Humility. Clarity. A reminder this isn’t just about reputations or insurance or settlements—it’s about a twelve-year-old girl who isn’t here anymore.”
“If he doesn’t give a shit?” I clench my fist helplessly.
“You walk out with your head high.” Connor glances at Ronni and back to me. “Then we move to Plan B.”
“Connor and I can work on this in the background until you have the conversation.” Ronni leans in.
“We’ll find the right crisis PR, work on controlled messaging and, if necessary, devise some strategic outreach strategy for the women he’s trying to manipulate.
It’s important you get a list of all the women together, sweetheart. ”
Shame envelopes me at the thought if this task. My chest feels like it’s in a vise although, for the first time since I learned about Caldwell’s plan, there’s also a flicker of resolve. A blueprint forming.
I glance at Marcella. Her eyes hold mine, steady and sure.
Maybe this is what it means to grow the hell up. Face the fire. Apologize for your blind spots. Fight like hell for your future.
Marcella leans forward, her tone clipped, composed. “What about the women?”
Connor doesn’t flinch. “You’ll need a strategy for them too.”
I brace for what’s coming.
“Some may want apologies. Some may want distance. Some might want money.” Ronni doesn’t sugarcoat.
I blink. “To keep quiet?”
“To walk away,” she says simply. “That’s how this works, Seamus. The bigger your star, the more leverage people think they have. Especially if Caldwell is whispering into the right ears.”
There’s a long beat of silence.
Connor turns to me. “How many are we talking about?”
I hesitate. I’ve been avoiding this number, even in my own head. Now, with all eyes on me—Marcella’s especially—I force it out. “Forty, give or take. Realistically, I can’t remember all of their names.”
Ronni brows hit her hairline.
Marcella doesn’t speak. Not at first. She blinks once. Then again. Her lips quiver briefly—I catch it. Her eyes stay trained on the coffee table like she’s reading something only she can see.
I want to reassure her, say something. I don’t. I get it. If the roles were reversed—if she’d told me she’d blown forty different men in the stairwell to work on technique—I’d be rattled too.
“Okay. Well, could be expensive.” Connor exhales, slow and even.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “No shit.”
Marcella juts out her chin. “We’ll figure it out. One by one if we have to.”
I hear how hard she’s working to keep her voice steady.
If it hadn’t already before, in this moment it really hits me—not the professional fallout.
Not the possible lawsuits or PR blowback.
The emotional cost. The way this lands on her.
The way it shifts something between us, even if she won’t admit it to herself or say it out loud to me.
She’s still here. Still on my side. I can see how everything I did before her might make her reconsider our future. All I can do is try to be the man who’s worth staying for.
Ronni shifts on the couch, turning slightly toward Marcella. “You know this already, I’m going to say it anyway—Seamus can’t use you as his lawyer.”
“I know. It’s a conflict.” Marcella’s voice is steady. “Having me involved would weaken his stance, if Caldwell found out especially.”
Ronni meets her eyes. “Honestly? It’s for the best. You don’t want to know the details. Not all of them. He’s going to have to remember every interaction, every minute, every stairwell—under the protection of attorney-client privilege.”
Relief floods through me like a sudden gust of wind. I didn’t want distance from her—didn’t want to keep secrets or push her out. The truth is, no one would see her as objective and any move I made would be torn apart. She’d fight like hell for me and her fire would burn us both.
“I can put you in touch with my LA lawyers,” Ronni continues. “They’re experts in a crisis. They’re worth every penny and kept Connor and me afloat during the worst time of our lives. Having them in your corner is the smartest insurance policy you could get.”
It’s close to midnight. There’s a plan. A team. A direction.
When Marcella rises to grab our coats, Ronni gently touches her arm. “Hey—come to lunch with me this week. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. Let me grab my calendar.”
I catch the warmth in her tone. An invitation layered with more than scheduling. Marcella follows Ronni into the hallway.
Connor waits a beat. Then turns to me. Before I can say anything, he hauls me into a hug—tight and solid, like he’s holding me together with sheer force of will.
“You’re my wee baby brother,” he mutters. “You’re not going through this alone.” He pulls back and plants his hands on both my shoulders. “Ronni and I are covering this. Legal, PR, whatever else comes down the line.”
“Connor, I can’t—”
“You will,” he says definitively. “Later. When you’re through it. When you’re not working sixteen-hour days on a resident’s salary and staring down a wall of student loans. You pay me back when you’re steady. When you’re standing on your own feet.”
I nod. Unable to speak.
His expression softens. “You’re not the first McGloughlin to weather a scandal, you know.”
“Feels different when it’s your entire future on the line.” I let out a half laugh.
“Aye, True.” He doesn’t flinch. “You’ve got us.” He looks toward the hall, where Marcella’s deep in conversation with Ronni. “Marcella. Having her by your side matters.”
“It does,” I agree. “ She does.”
Connor gives me one last pat on the back. “Then let’s make sure you come out of this with everything intact.”
I nod again, firmer this time. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”
For the first time since I found out what Caldwell was planning, I believe I might actually have a chance.
I’m not alone in this. Not anymore.
Marcella. Connor. My family. My future.
Caldwell can come for me—he’ll find all of us.
I feel empowered to reclaim everything Caldwell tried to steal.
I’ve never felt stronger.