18. Keaton （Skee）
Keaton (Skee)
The second Everlong starts playing through the Gallagher estate's library speakers, I grin.
Actually grin. Not a smirk. Not the occasional amused twitch that passes for happiness in my life. A genuine smile.
Which apparently is enough to trigger a national emergency.
"What is that?" Sloane's voice cuts through the backyard.
I don't look up from my laptop. That was my first mistake.
"What is what?" Bullet asks from the grill.
Sloane points directly at me from where she's sitting beside Rachel beneath the patio umbrella. "That."
Bullet follows her finger. Then freezes. "Oh."
The entire yard goes suspiciously quiet.
I sigh. "Don't."
Wheels leans forward immediately. "Is he smiling?"
Rachel squints. Matt lowers his beer. Cross glances over from where he's helping Bullet at the grill. Even Samantha looks concerned.
Sloane points harder. "He is smiling."
"I knew it," Wheels says. "He's finally lost it."
"I haven't lost anything."
"Then explain the smile." Wheels leans forward onto his thighs.
"No." The answer only makes them worse.
Matt folds his arms across his chest. "This feels important."
"Potentially medical," Sloane agrees.
Rachel nods. "We should probably document it."
"I hate all of you."
"No you don't," Rachel says.
"Fair." I shrug my shoulders and look around at the yard instead of at them.
Sloane stands abruptly. "Oh no."
I immediately don't like that tone. "What are you doing?"
"Investigating."
"Sloane."
She ignores me completely and walks around the back of my chair like she's inspecting a crime scene. "Hmm."
"What does 'hmm' mean?"
"It means I'm gathering evidence."
"There is no evidence."
"There is absolutely evidence." She leans down until we're eye level. "Look at me."
"No."
"See?" she says, pointing dramatically toward everyone else. "Avoiding eye contact."
"I'm avoiding you."
"Classic symptom."
"Of what?"
"I don't know yet."
Wheels is already laughing too hard to be useful. "Hold up."
Before I can move, he crouches directly in front of my chair and snaps his fingers twice in front of my face. I blink. "What are you doing?"
"Testing neurological function."
"My—" Another snap.
"Follow my finger."
"I'm not following your finger."
"Refusal to cooperate," Sloane announces.
Matt folds his arms. "Write that down."
"There is nothing to write down."
Rachel mimes scribbling on her palm anyway.
Cross wanders over from the grill carrying a spatula. "I heard there was a medical emergency."
"There isn't."
Bullet glances over his shoulder. "There definitely is."
Matt studies me for another second before nodding thoughtfully. "Okay." I don't like that okay. "Ask him something."
Wheels looks at Matt. "Like what?"
Matt shrugs. "I don't know." Then his eyes light up. "Ask him what two plus two is."
I stare at him. "Seriously?"
"No hesitation," Rachel says. "Just answer."
"Four." The entire yard falls silent.
Wheels slowly looks around at everyone. "Too quick."
Sloane gasps dramatically. "You're right."
Cross nods once. "Suspicious."
"What?"
"Nobody answers that fast."
"I do."
"Exactly." Bullet flips another burger without looking up. "I've seen interrogation videos start like this."
"I am not being interrogated."
Samantha smiles sweetly. "That's exactly what someone under interrogation would say."
I pinch the bridge of my nose. "I've made a terrible mistake."
Matt nods. "Smiling in front of us? The worst one you've made all week."
The backyard erupts into laughter. Against my better judgment... I laugh too.
Spring sunshine filters through the budding trees surrounding Matt's backyard while laughter rolls around the patio. The smell of burgers and charcoal hangs in the air.
Somewhere inside the house, music drifts through an open window. Normal. Comfortable. Dangerously comfortable.
I close my laptop. Unfortunately, everyone notices.
"Oh, that's suspicious," Matt says.
"Very suspicious," Cross agrees.
"What were you doing?" Samantha asks.
"Working." Nobody believes me. The looks alone say it.
Bullet flips a burger before glancing over his shoulder. "You only smile at work when something breaks."
"Or when someone else breaks," Wheels adds.
"Remember the congressman?" Matt asks.
Rachel groans. "Oh God."
Sloane sits forward. "What congressman?"
"It wasn't important." I give my best death stare at Matt but he continues.
"It absolutely was," Matt says.
I point at him. "You promised we wouldn't tell people that story."
"I promised Rachel."
"You married Rachel." I tell him like he doesn’t already know.
"Exactly. I tell her everything."
Traitor. The yard erupts into laughter. I take a drink from my beer while trying not to smile again.
Apparently that's impossible—Sloane catches it immediately.
"There!" She points again. "He's doing it!"
"Doing what?" Samantha asks.
"Smiling."
Cross narrows his eyes at me. "That is weird."
"It isn't weird."
"You look happy." Wheels states like it’s the most normal thing. The backyard falls silent.
Because that word lands differently. Happy. Not amused. Not entertained. Happy.
I immediately wish I'd stayed home.
"Jesus," Wheels mutters. "It got worse."
Rachel studies me over the rim of her drink. The same way she studies Matt when she knows he's lying about something. "You've been different lately."
"No, I haven't."
"You slept at your apartment twice." The yard goes quiet again. I stare at her. She stares right back. How the hell does she know that?
"You keep track of where he sleeps?" Cross asks.
Rachel shrugs. "I keep track of all of you."
Honestly, that's terrifying. Matt doesn't even look surprised. Which somehow makes it worse.
"You've been leaving the office more," Rachel continues.
"You sound like you're building a case."
"I am."
"Objection."
"Denied."
More laughter. I glance around the yard. Matt. Rachel. Bullet. Cross. Samantha. Sloane. Wheels.
Family. Not by blood. Not by paperwork. Not by anything that should make sense. Yet somehow these people know me better than anyone else on the planet.
Which is exactly why this conversation is dangerous. Sloane narrows her eyes. Then points at my laptop.
"It has something to do with that."
"No."
"That's a lie."
"Technically it was a complete sentence."
Matt groans. Wheels laughs so hard he nearly falls out of his chair. Bullet shakes his head while turning another burger.
"Whatever he's doing," Bullet says calmly, "it's probably illegal."
"That's fair," Cross says.
"Statistically likely," Samantha adds.
Rachel points at me. "See?"
"I hate this family." The words leave automatically. Without thought. Without hesitation.
The yard falls quiet for half a second. Then Rachel smiles. The soft kind. The one that means she heard exactly what I accidentally said.
Family. Speaking was a mistake.
Wheels points at me. "He smiled and had feelings in the same afternoon."
"Get out."
"Someone write this down." Bullet jokes which makes it so much worse. When he jokes people actually listen.
"I mean it."
"He's threatening us now because he's emotional." Samantha laughs and leans into Cross.
The backyard erupts into laughter again. And for the first time all week—I let it happen.
No surveillance feeds. No Gallagher. No cameras. No wondering what fresh hell Maeve Gallagher is walking through.
Just family.
And maybe that's why I don't realize I'm smiling again until Sloane points at me for the third time and announces to the entire backyard:
"Look! He did it again!"
Bastards.
*****
The fire crackles softly in the backyard while the rest of the group slowly filters inside.
Matt is helping clean up. Cross and Samantha disappeared twenty minutes ago.
Wheels is currently arguing with Bullet about whether a hot dog qualifies as a sandwich.
Which somehow feels like a conversation they've probably had before.
I stay where I am. Alone in one of the Adirondack chairs near the fire pit. Watching flames dance across the logs. Trying very hard not to think.
It's going poorly. My laptop has been inside the house for almost two hours. Two hours. Which shouldn't matter. And yet I've checked my watch twenty-seven times.
Not that I'm counting.
I shift in the chair. The restless energy follows. The same one that's been riding beneath my skin all evening. The urge to check. To verify. To make sure everything is okay.
I flex my hand against my leg. Once. Then again. My brain immediately starts counting. One. Two. Three. Four.
I stop. Force myself to stop. The fire pops. Somewhere inside the house, laughter drifts through an open window. Normal. Everything is normal. Which should make this easier. Instead, it only makes things worse.
Because normal means I shouldn't be sitting here wondering what Maeve Gallagher is doing. Whether she's okay. Whether Ronan is still angry. Whether she smiled when the music started.
The thought lands hard enough that I close my eyes.
Jesus Christ.
The music was overstepping. I know it was.
I crossed a line. No matter how I try to justify it.
No matter how much I tell myself she looked lonely.
Or sad. Or trapped. The truth remains the same.
I inserted myself into her life again because I didn't like seeing her hurt.
The realization settles heavily into my chest — that shouldn't matter this much. It shouldn't matter at all.
A chair creaks beside me.
I don't look over. I already know who it is. Rachel. She settles into the chair next to mine without saying anything. Just sits. Watching the fire. Waiting.
It's one of the reasons everybody loves her. Rachel never forces conversations. She just sits long enough that eventually people start talking.
Unfortunately, she's very good at it.
The silence stretches comfortably between us. Thirty seconds. Maybe a minute.
"You've checked your watch four times since I sat down."
I sigh. "You were counting?"
"I live with Matt."
Fair. I can't even argue that. The firelight dances across her face while she pulls her blanket tighter around her shoulders. Spring nights in Chicago still carry enough chill to bite. For a while neither of us says anything.
Then Rachel nudges my boot with hers. "Gonna tell me what's going on?"
"No."
"Okay."
I glance over. She smiles. Not offended. Not surprised. Just Rachel. The kind of woman who somehow became the center point of this entire family without ever asking for it.
"You know," she says after a moment, "you're terrible at this."
"At what?"
"Feelings."
I groan. "Please don't."
She laughs softly. "I'm serious."
"That makes it worse."
"It should." The fire cracks loudly between us. Rachel studies the flames for a second before speaking again. "Something's different."
I don't answer. Mostly because I don't have one. How exactly am I supposed to explain something I don't understand myself? I don't know what this thing is. I don't know why it feels different. I just know I haven't felt right since I met a woman through a security camera.
Which sounds insane. Because it is insane.
Rachel seems to read half of that from my silence alone. "I don't need details." The words pull my attention toward her. She shrugs. "I don't." Then she smiles slightly. "But I know you."
The statement lands harder than it should. Because she does. They all do. Every single one of them somehow looked past all the weird shit and decided to keep me anyway.
Rachel leans back in her chair. "You've spent years taking care of everybody else."
I laugh. "No I haven't."
She gives me a look. One that clearly says she isn't interested in my nonsense tonight.
"You've spent years making everybody else's lives easier. You solve problems. You protect people. You fix things before they even know they're broken. But nobody ever taught you what to do when it's your turn."
I roll my eyes at her and look towards the fire.
"Keaton." The use of my real name makes me immediately suspicious. Rachel only does that when she's about to say something important. "You deserve to be happy too."
The words hit me so unexpectedly that I actually laugh. Not because they're funny. Because they're absurd.
Rachel's expression softens. And that only makes it worse. "You do."
"Based on what?"
"Based on the fact that you're one of the best people I know."
I shake my head. "No."
"Yes."
"Rachel."
She points a finger at me. "Nope. You don't get to argue with me. I married Matt. I've spent years winning arguments professionally."
A reluctant smile pulls at my mouth.
Rachel sees it. "There he is."
I roll my eyes. But the warmth in my chest feels uncomfortable. Because nobody should look at me the way these people do. Like I'm worth something. Like I'm important. Like I'm theirs.
Rachel's voice softens. "We love you, you know."
The words steal the air right out of my lungs. Not because I've never heard them before. Because she means them. Completely. Without hesitation. Without conditions. The same way Matt does. The same way the others do.
I stare into the fire for a long moment. Then finally ask the only question that matters. "Why?"
Rachel's answer comes immediately. Because she doesn't have to think about it. "Because you're ours."
The simple certainty in her voice almost hurts.
She smiles gently. "We love you exactly how you are."
My throat tightens unexpectedly. And I suddenly understand why Callum calls these moments dangerous. Because kindness always has been.
Rachel nudges my shoulder lightly. "You don't need to become somebody else." The fire crackles between us. Warm against the cool spring night. "You just need to find someone who looks at you the same way we do."
The words settle somewhere deep inside my chest. Heavy. Hopeful. Terrifying.
Because the first person who comes to mind has red hair. And a smile I haven't stopped thinking about for weeks.