Chapter 11
Conor
I’m the last to arrive, and the second I step through the door, I catch the look my mom gives me, the one that says she noticed, that she’s not thrilled, but she’s not going to make a scene about it either.
I apologize immediately, offer a quick explanation, and promise to be on time next week, knowing full well she’ll hold me to it even if she lets it slide for now. She softens, just like she always does.
The room is already alive when I walk in, a full-on cacophony of noise and laughter that hits me all at once, louder than these dinners used to be, fuller in a way that still feels new. It didn’t always used to be like this.
It started with Xavier, Declan’s now husband, who somehow managed to wedge himself into our family like he was always meant to be there, even if we still give him hell for it.
Especially Declan. My brothers and I have made it something of a sport to wind him up by messing with Xavier, pushing just enough to get a reaction, a casual touch here, a little too much attention there, and without fail, Declan reacts every single time. He goes off like a bomb.
And as entertaining as that is, as much as we all enjoy it, it doesn’t even come close to the chaos that is Ollie and Liam.
Ollie is eighteen months old and completely obsessed with the fact that Liam looks exactly like his Papa, which is what he calls Ronan, and for reasons that only make sense in his tiny brain, he has decided that this is a problem that needs to be addressed at all times.
The two of them going back and forth has turned into its own kind of war, one that the rest of us just sit back and watch because it’s too ridiculous not to enjoy. Ollie adores all of us, especially my parents, with Liam being the exception. He has now made it his life’s mission to win Ollie over.
“Look, kid, I brought you a new teddy bear,” Liam says, holding out the oversized thing like it’s some grand peace offering, the stuffed animal nearly as big as Ollie himself.
Ollie takes it. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t react.
He just keeps his eyes locked on Liam, steady and unblinking, before deliberately dropping the bear onto the floor without a hint of hesitation.
Just that cold, assessing stare. I swear the kid is a psychopath, just like the rest of us.
I laugh under my breath at the exchange, and that’s all it takes.
Ollie’s head snaps toward me, his entire expression shifting in an instant, a big, goofy grin spreading across his face as he takes off in my direction with surprising speed for someone his size.
“Up,” he demands, arms already reaching, voice full of authority like the tiny dictator he is.
I bend down without thinking, scooping him up easily before tossing him into the air, the movement smooth and controlled as I catch him again and immediately repeat it.
His giggles fill the room, loud and bright, cutting through everything else as he throws his head back, completely unbothered by the height.
“I know he likes that, but it gives me heart palpitations every time,” Colton says, watching me like I’ve lost my mind. “It’s bad enough that you’re seven feet tall, but you’re throwing him ten feet in the air.”
“Six nine, not seven,” I correct automatically, tossing Ollie up once more before catching him securely. “And it’s closer to nine feet.”
“Like that matters,” Colton shoots back, shaking his head. “What’s a foot difference when you’re over hard tile floors?”
“I’m not going to drop him,” I say, completely certain of that fact as I lift him one last time before setting him back down on his feet.
I never used to think about kids. Not really. They were never part of the picture for me. Never something I let myself consider, but Ollie changed that without me even realizing it.
The thought comes out of nowhere, uninvited. Does Jaxon like kids? I glance around the room, at the chaos, at the noise, at the way everyone fits together in their own strange way, and I can’t help but wonder. How would he fit into this? The thought lingers for half a second before it’s cut off.
“What the fuck, Ollie?” Liam jerks back, stepping away as everyone’s attention shifts, and that’s when I see it, the bold red marker streaks running down the front of his pants like a crime scene.
“Liam, language,” Mom says sharply from across the room. “I will not warn you again tonight.”
“Sorry, Mom,” Liam says quickly, though his focus is still on the damage. “But do you see what he just did to my pants?” He looks over at Ronan, clearly expecting backup. “You really need to control your spawn.”
“Why?” Ronan replies, completely unbothered, a hint of pride in his voice. “He executed his mission perfectly. You never saw him coming, even though it was obvious to everyone else in the room.” He glances down at Ollie like he’s impressed.
“Besides, it’s washable markers. We already learned our lesson about permanent ones.”
“These are fu—” Liam cuts himself off, dragging in a breath before he can finish the word. “Tom Ford pants.”
“So buy a new pair and accept the lesson,” Ronan says, not even trying to hide his amusement. “You let your guard down around your sworn enemy and paid for it.”
The room erupts again, laughter bouncing off the walls, and I shake my head, but I can’t help the small grin that pulls at my mouth. Because, as chaotic as it is, this is still home and family.
Franklin, our private chef, announces that dinner is ready, his voice carrying easily through the house.
We all start moving toward the dining room in a familiar flow that has been the same for years, a routine so ingrained that no one has to think about it.
Or at least, it used to be. Now there are more chairs filled, more voices layered into the noise, and Ollie’s highchair sits at the end of the table like a small yet undeniable symbol that things are changing whether any of us expected it or not.
I take my usual seat to the left of Dad, the place that has always been mine, the unspoken claim of being the oldest, something no one has ever questioned.
Plates are passed. Food is served. Conversation picks up in pieces around the table as everyone starts eating, the normal rhythm settling in. I wait just long enough to not draw immediate attention, then lean slightly toward Dad.
“The name Manny Duluga mean anything to you?” I ask quietly.
Dad doesn’t hesitate. “Pissant,” he says immediately, cutting into his roast like the name barely registers as worth the effort. “He’s supposed to be some kind of capo or underboss of a wannabe mafia organization, but really he’s just running a bunch of half-assed thugs.”
He takes a bite, chewing as he watches me, measuring.
“Loan shark. Drugs. Small-time operations,” he continues after swallowing. “Nothing big enough to be on our radar yet.” A pause. “Why?”
“He’s messing with an acquaintance of mine,” I reply, keeping my tone even, casual enough not to raise alarms. “I want more information on him.”
None of what Dad says surprises me. Not really. I already did some digging after I found out Henry was tied to Manny, but I still haven’t figured out exactly where Jaxon fits into it. That part still doesn’t make sense.
“Does this have anything to do with the guy you’re stalking?” Finn cuts in, his voice carrying just enough to draw attention.
Shit.
Mom’s head snaps toward me immediately, her gaze sharp, narrowing in a way that says she caught every word. I glance at Finn briefly, a promise in my eyes that we will be having a conversation about this later. A long one that doesn’t involve too many words.
“Who are you stalking, Conor?” Mom asks, her tone calm but firm in a way that is far more dangerous than if she had raised her voice. “And why?”
“I’m not stalking him,” I say, keeping my tone even, even though I can feel every set of eyes at the table shift toward me. “I’m just watching out for him. He’s in some sort of trouble.”
“Jaxon? The guy from the fights?” Colton asks, his voice way too casual for the way that name lands in the room.
Fuck. Of course, he knows. Ronan tells him everything, and the fact that he’s been to the fights means there’s no walking this back now. Dad’s expression hardens immediately.
“We’ve talked about this, Conor,” he says, his voice calm but firm in that way that means he’s not actually calm at all. “You boys have no business at those fights.”
“I haven’t signed up for a fight in months,” I start, trying to redirect, trying to keep this from spiraling any further than it already has. “I go to—”
“To watch your boyfriend beat the sh—” Declan cuts in, stopping himself just in time as his eyes flick to Ollie, who is currently smearing mashed potatoes across his face with zero concern for anything else. “crap out of the other fighters. You can’t take your eyes off him.”
A few heads turn back to me, interest sharpening.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I snap, more quickly than I should, then force my tone back under control. “He’s not anything to me. Manny is using a proxy to make him fight, and I want to know why. He could have been seriously hurt Friday if I hadn’t stepped in and taken his last fight.”
The second the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve screwed up. There’s a pause, then a shift.
“Thought you said you haven’t been fighting,” Dad says, his gaze locking onto mine.
“I didn’t sign up for it,” I reply immediately, pushing through before this gets twisted further. “This guy, Henry, works for Manny, and he was forcing Jaxon into a fourth match. He was exhausted. He would have been hurt, or worse, if I hadn’t stepped in.”
Finn lets out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair. “A fourth? They only do that when they’re trying to break someone or cash in big. You were right to step in.”
That earns him a look from Dad, but he doesn’t take it back.
“Let’s get back to the actual issue,” Mom says, cutting cleanly through the table before this turns into an argument about the fights. “We can discuss that later.” Her attention settles fully on me again, steady and impossible to avoid. “What’s really going on, Conor?”
I look around the table, letting my gaze move slowly from one face to the next, taking in the familiarity of it, the unspoken understanding that no matter how this conversation goes, no matter what I say or how much they may not like it, they are going to listen.
They’ll judge, they’ll question, and they will offer advice whether I want it or not. But at the end of it, they will have my back. They always do. So I tell them everything.
I go through what I know about Jaxon in detail, laying it out piece by piece: his time in the military, his honorable discharge, the years he spent in foster care before that, the way his life seems to narrow down into nothing but work and isolation, and then the fights— the part that ties him to something darker that he clearly doesn’t want to be a part of.
The words come easier than they should. It’s almost as if I’ve rehearsed this.
I’ve gone over it so many times in my own head that I don’t even have to think about it anymore.
I’ve read his background so many times that I could recite it without missing a single detail.
Memorizing it somehow brought me closer to understanding him.
I don’t tell them everything. I leave out the cameras and the extra surveillance.
When I finally stop talking, the room is quieter than before, the usual noise of dinner replaced with something more focused, more deliberate, as if they are all processing what I just said and trying to decide what it means. Mom is the one who breaks the silence.
“Why is he so important to you?”
The question lands heavier than anything else she could have asked, settling deep in my chest in a way that makes it hard to respond.
I don’t have an answer. Not a real one. Not one that makes sense or justifies any of this.
I can’t even explain it to myself, let alone to them.
All I know is that something about him got under my skin and refused to leave, and instead of fading over time the way it should have, it has only gotten stronger, deeper, more consuming with every passing day.
“I don’t know,” I admit finally, my voice quieter now but no less honest, because there is no point in pretending otherwise. I glance down at my plate for a brief second before forcing myself to look back up at them.
“All I know is that I can’t seem to stop thinking about him.”
And that, more than anything else, is what unsettles me the most. Why am I so fixated on him?