4
Welcome home
Following the doctor’s visit yesterday, he’d claimed exhaustion and returned to his room.
Where he’d remained since. Hiding, licking his wounds.
The man had recommended a drug rehabilitation facility in Colorado, and before he could back out, Rafferty had consented to a month’s stay.
He was leaving first thing tomorrow morning.
But first, he had to get through the remainder of the day.
He had to face his family.
A lunch.
To celebrate Esther.
And … him .
And he might’ve found some solace in it — if not for Aidan’s outright contempt.
A balmy breeze filtered in through the sliding screen door.
With it came the scent of freshly cut grass and a chorus of loud greetings and gleeful shouts from children.
The last time he’d been home, the only kids around were Dax and Caitlin — Caitlin just a baby back then.
Now, with all his siblings paired off — and a mix of biological, step, and adopted kids in the picture — that number had grown.
Siblings …
Aidan despised him.
Sullivan had written him off as a lost cause.
How would his sisters react?
And Cecelia? He hadn’t seen his sister-in-law since Charlie’s death. Something she, rightfully, blamed him for.
Should’ve died in that fucking jungle, Trick.
The crunch of gravel wrenched him from his self-loathing, and his head snapped up.
His grandmother stood just beyond the small veranda fronting his room. He watched as Mammy climbed the two steps with surprising agility for a woman in her eighties.
“Come sit by me,” she called, settling onto the rattan three-seater.
He wanted to ignore her, tell her to leave him alone, but he found himself pushing to his feet.
There was just something about the old woman — something that made you listen, made you obey when she spoke.
The wicker creaked as he sat beside her. Stretching his legs out, he leaned his head against the high back. The breeze had picked up, but the air was sullen and muggy. His skin prickled as perspiration formed. He fisted his hands, stealing himself from scratching the damned itch.
“I wish my Aidan were here today,” Mammy said.
He blinked at the left field comment. Newly embedded in the Irish mob in Philadelphia when his grandfather had passed away, he’d only heard about his death long after the event.
He gave Mammy a side glance. “I am sorry I wasn’t here for you. I—”
He shut his mouth, not knowing what to say. There was so much to be sorry for, so many regrets, he didn’t even know where to begin.
“You are home now. That is what is important.”
Placing her hand on his arm, she continued, “God kept you safe and sent our angel to rescue you. He has further plans for you, mo stóirin , and you need to prepare for them.”
He snorted. “God wants nothing to do with me.” He twisted to look at her. To make her understand what a despicable human he’d become. “I spent years in the presence of the worst of humanity. Becoming one of them.”
Her vivid gaze pierced his soul, holding him captive.
Reading his mind. Damn Irish blood.
“Yet here you are. Alive. And He saw fit to send Esther to find you and bring you home. That’s a miracle. You are a miracle.”
Miracle? Him . “Hmph.”
Mammy cupped his cheek. “ Caithfidh tú a chreidiúint, a bhuachaill.”
“Believe?” he scoffed, sticking to her Irish tongue. “In what?”
“Yourself.”
He barked a laugh. “Myself?”
“You have carried the darkness for too long, Rafferty. It entered your soul thirty-six years ago when Sinead was taken, and it’s time to banish it. It’s time to seek the light. It’s time to seek happiness. To seek love.”
Happiness? Love? “I had my happiness and love. And Charlie died .” He thumped his fist against his heart. “Because of me .”
“Not you—”
He switched back to English. “Stop.” Grabbing hold of both her hands, he continued gruffly, “Mammy, I have the utmost respect for you, but nothing will ever make me believe I was not responsible for my wife’s death.”
It wasn’t hard to read the resignation in her eyes. But she didn’t belabor the subject. “Shall we join our family?”
His skin crawled at the idea of facing the rest of his family. “Think I’d prefer to stay here.”
“And those people out there, your family , are celebrating your return.”
“They’re here for Essie, not me.”
“You, too, mo buachaill .”
“Never.”
“Come.” Mammy got to her feet and grabbed his hand. “It’s time.”
“Mammy …”
“You’re not a coward, Rafferty. Come with me.”
He couldn’t withstand Mammy’s soft appeal and allowed her to draw him to his feet.
She hooked her arm around his elbow as they started down the path.
The wind kicked up, creating a swirl of dust in front of them.
He glanced up at the overcast skies. The clouds looked heavier, the promise of a summer storm stronger.
“It’s going to rain sooner than anticipated,” Mammy noted. With that, she picked up the pace, but they continued in silence, the joyful chirping of birds in stark contrast to the dark emotions roiling within him.
The hum of voices increased in volume, and his steps faltered, slowing to a stop when they rounded the corner of the house.
He took a moment to absorb the festive scene beneath the ancient trees his forefathers had planted more than a century ago, their branches arching overhead like watchful sentinels.
The long table groaned under the weight of roasted meats, chargrilled vegetables, crusty bread, and platters of fresh fruit.
It should have felt like a celebration. Instead, it was a reminder of the last time he had eaten alfresco — beneath a canopy of jungle vines, not heritage oaks.
No linen napkins. No clinking glassware.
Just a single dented pot over coals, shared among people enslaved in one way or another to the cartel.
The food had been meager, a thin stew with a little rice, and no one lingered at the fire.
Here, the plates were heaped high, and the scent of the feast curled thick through the air. It was the smell of comfort, of home-cooked excess — savory and warm, steeped in herbs, fat, and roasting juices. The kind of scent that should stir hunger.
Instead, it turned his stomach with brutal efficiency.
His body, still relearning what to trust, flinched at the richness. He tasted bile, sharp and sudden, and swallowed hard. He would not vomit. Would not give them that.
But he knew with utter certainty — he didn’t belong.
Not there in the jungle.
And certainly not here.
“Raffie!”
Ma’s voice cut through the chatter. Conversations stilled. As one, they turned to look at him.
He resisted the urge to bolt.
Because the eyes locked on him now held the same expression as those in the jungle — tight with wariness, thick with suspicion. Watching to see if he’d snap, fail, relapse.
His skin crawled, nerve endings lit with shame.
Mammy patted his arm. “You can do it,” she whispered, urging him forward before stepping aside.
He dragged in a breath.
Man the fuck up, Rafferty. Take whatever shit they throw your way. The feast isn’t for you anyway. It’s for Esther — the real prodigal. You’re just the broken black sheep she stumbled upon on her way home.
Still, fuck , how he wished things were different.
A young woman with pink-streaked dark hair dressed in a strappy white sundress and colorful tattoos covering her exposed arms and shoulders rose from her seat at the end closest to him. “Hey,” she said, smiling broadly as she moved closer. “Welcome home, Raff.”
“Josie.” He stared at the radiant woman with awe. The last time he had seen her, they had both been chasing demons. Now she glowed with happiness. “Marriage suits you.”
Brown eyes danced with mirth as she reached up to kiss his cheek. “It does.” A young boy of around ten ran up. Stepping back, Jo placed her arm around the kid’s shoulders and drew him closer. “And this is my boy, Ethan, Kurt’s youngest.”
“Nice to meet you, Ethan,” Rafferty said.
“Mama-Jo said you worked undercover for the DEA,” the kid gushed. “That’s so cool.”
Once, he’d thought so, too. Until it sucked him under.
The uniformed man joining Jo placed a protective arm around her waist, his demeanor watchful and suspicious, a sharp contrast to her high spirits. “Rafferty,” he said, stretching out his hand. Kurt’s badge caught the light, all business even at a family gathering.
Rafferty took hold of his brother-in-law’s hand. “Kurt.”
The handshake was firm, controlled. Not unfriendly, but not warm either. And he could feel the lawman’s gaze assessing him — not as a brother returned, but as a man with a very shady past.
“And this is my oldest son, Blake,” Kurt added as a teenage boy moved in beside Ethan.
Blake merely gave him a chin lift, his look a mix of suspicion and curiosity.
“My turn,” a woman said, stepping into the space Josie left behind. She had a toddler on her hip — a little girl in a floppy sunhat who clung to her mother like ivy.
“Good to have you home, Rafferty,” she said. The words sounded right, even kind, but the tight set of her mouth and the small dent between her brows told a different story.
“Siobhan.” He nodded, his gaze shifting to the child in her arms. He forced a smile, tamping down the stab of disappointment. “Hi, sweetie.” The little girl peeked at him, then promptly buried her face in her mother’s neck.
Figures.
Siobhan brought a hand to the baby’s back and gave a light laugh. “Ava’s the shy one.” Her voice was easy, but she didn’t step closer. Didn’t offer a hug. Didn’t meet his eyes for long.
Rafferty just nodded again, and the arrival of her husband forestalled any further awkward conversation.
The last time he’d seen Daniel had been just before his ill-fated trip to South America, nearly two years ago. And damn it, if he’d listened — if he’d taken his brother-in-law’s advice and let his thirst for revenge go — his return to Lawson’s Landing would’ve been a hell of a lot different.
“Rafferty,” Daniel said, shifting Ava’s twin, Zoe, from one arm to the other before extending a hand.
Rafferty stepped forward, holding out his arm.
“No, Vinnie! Stay away. Pa said he’s a bad man!” The child’s voice rang out across the yard, clear and alarmed.
Dropping his hand, Rafferty’s head snapped toward the sound.
A young boy stood rigid, one arm flung protectively in front of a younger lad. Both stared at Rafferty, eyes wide, their fear plain and unfiltered.
“Valentino!” a woman exclaimed, her tone edged with sharp rebuke.
The last time Rafferty had heard that voice was in the hospital where he’d been forced to make the decision to disconnect his wife — her sister — from life support.
Cecelia had accused him then, rightly so, of being the reason Charlie had ended up in that bed.
Walking up with quick, deliberate steps, her expression full of apology, she said, “I’m so sorry, Raff.
Kids repeat things they don’t understand. ” She touched his arm lightly.
He managed a shrug. “It’s fine.”
But it wasn’t. Not really.
Then he caught the flicker of movement behind Valentino. It was Aidan, standing stone-faced with his arms folded.
Rafferty dropped his eyes to the ground, jaw clenched against the urge to storm off.
Should’ve died in that fucking jungle.
The soft whirr of an approaching wheelchair reached him a second before his father rolled into view. “Come sit, son.”
“I should go,” he murmured, barely trusting his voice.
“Just for a while. Please. Beside Esther.”
Essie gave him an encouraging smile, patting the seat.
The meal commenced, and his mother made sure his plate was heaped with food. But his appetite was non-existent, and even the thought of forcing down a single bite made his stomach turn.
Overhead, storm clouds gathered with slow, ominous purpose, dimming the sun. They had maybe an hour before the downpour hit, and everyone knew it. The only sound was the soft clink of silverware against china — delicate, precise. And deafening.
The nerve endings of his skin screamed for relief, and he tugged at the neckline of the lightweight T-shirt, resisting the urge to rip the suffocating layer of cotton from his body. It was the most acute prickling sensation ever, and it took every ounce of energy in him to remain seated.
It was the eyes on him.
The suspicious peeks and curious glances.
The wary looks.
The unspoken scorn.
They viewed him as an oddity. An alien specimen.
Ever distrustful. Watching, waiting for him to erupt and spew the evil that lurked inside him.
Rafferty lowered his arm, scraping his damp palm over the soft material of his sweatpants. He dug his toes into the grass, trying to anchor his bare feet to the ground. Maybe the earth would open, pull him down into the depths of hell where—
“I’d like to say a few words,” Pa said, voice steady, “before the storm arrives.”
Arrives? Come on, Pa, it’s already here.
“Today…” His father paused, letting the silence stretch as his gaze moved slowly around the table. “Today is a good day. Our family is whole again. And for that, I give God all the glory and thanks.
“Thirty-six years ago,” Pa went on, “Sinead was ripped from our arms. Today, we welcome Esther home.”
Rafferty felt Esther jerk beside him, and he instinctively reached for her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“Essie,” his father said, his voice softening, “whether you decide to stay, or go back to your duties with Doctors Without Borders, you will always have a place here. This land — this family — is yours, too.”
“Thank you,” Esther whispered, her voice barely audible.
“And that you found Rafferty…” Pa’s voice caught, and he stopped, lips pressed together, trying to hold it back.
Their mother was openly crying now, dabbing at her cheeks with a napkin.
“I’m a man of deep, abidin’ faith,” Pa continued, voice hoarse but steadying. “I believe in God. I believe in a grand design. That every moment — good or bad, joyful or tragic — unfolds for a reason.
“There were times,” he said, gaze distant, “when holdin’ onto that belief was near impossible. I struggled, truly struggled, to understand why God would take little Sinead from us.
He paused again, then looked directly at Esther.
“But today … today Esther sits among us. And she brought Rafferty home.” His voice cracked as tears spilled freely down his face. “And all I can say is” — he lifted tear-filled eyes heavenward — “thank you, Lord.”
Then his gaze dropped and settled on Rafferty. “Welcome home, son.”