Chapter 27 #2
I’ve long noticed Dad looks older and frailer than I remember him. It was unmistakable even on the camera feeds of Callahan House that I watched. He was losing the wide berth he once had in his frame while his hair was growing whiter by the day and his wrinkles had wrinkles.
He wore sweaters and coats all the time to disguise the weight loss. But I’ve always been more observant than most people. I notice things others don’t.
Some might still look at Seamus Callahan and see the formidable ex-Clan Chief that ruled for decades with an iron fist, but I look at him—no time greater than now—and see an old, gaunt man nursing a glass of whiskey in gnarled fingers and blowing thick plumes of smoke that can’t be good for his already depleted lungs.
He looks up as if sensing my presence. His eyes meet mine.
The same vivid green eyes I inherited from him; the same ones Ronan has too.
We stare at each other for a second as it weighs on us both that this is the first time we’ve been in the same room in over a year. The last time I saw my father in person, I was being hauled off to a prison cell.
He never visited. Never called.
At the time, his silence was… crushing.
Maybe what first drove me down the path I went.
I draw a breath into my lungs and then cut a path over to his table. My face is impassive and I’m calm. I’ve already decided no matter what he says, it’s over.
I’m done pursuing revenge and destroying lives over it. No more hurting Chantal.
“Lochlan,” he says, giving a nod. He gestures at the seat across from his. “Glad you came.”
“First I’ve heard from you since the sentencing. Figured it must be important.”
His slender jaw clenches, the muscles in his throat pulling tighter. “Yes… well, mistakes were made. That’s what this meeting’s for. We have a lot to discuss, you and I.”
The pub door swings open again. I react off instinct, my hand gravitating toward the gun tucked into my waistband. Once I see who it is, I’m left confused.
Ronan walks through, along with his boneman Killian. Always one to have fresh bruises on his knuckles, Killian’s obviously here as backup.
I tense up. “You didn’t say anything about him being here.”
“What the fuck is this?” Ronan growls on the same beat of outrage as me. He strides toward the table with a venomous look on his face. “You said this was a private meeting.”
“It is a private meeting,” Dad answers irritably. “Now both of you stop fussing like bitches in heat and take a seat.”
Neither of us budge. We go from glaring at our father to shooting glares at each other. Even Killian glares, arms folded over his chest as he stands like a sentry over our table.
I remember all too well the fragile truce me and my brother reached on the rooftop of the Crown Plaza—we were to stay out of each other’s way and pretend the other doesn’t exist.
’Til now, we’ve both kept our end of the deal.
But it seems Dad has other ideas.
“Sit,” he rumbles. “Both of you. You’ll listen while I speak… and then you can fuck off. I don’t give a shite; I just want to be heard for once.”
Ronan hesitates a couple seconds longer before he takes the seat on Dad’s left. I’m equally reluctant, lowering myself into the chair across from Dad.
The flaming-haired server traipses over as if she doesn’t understand she’s interrupting a serious mob meeting. She sneaks a small smile at Killian, cheeks tinging pink, then asks us our drink orders.
“Thought I made it clear we’re not to be interrupted,” Dad grunts moodily. “Run along, lass. The men are talking.”
Her face dims with visible hurt but she nods awkwardly and then scurries off. Killian’s scowl deepens, though Dad neither notices nor cares.
“Listen,” he says. “You both know better than anybody—I’ve been looking to pass the baton for years. I’m old as a fucking dinosaur and it’s time.
“It’s been time. The cancer’s only sped things along. But what I didn’t tell you—either of you—is that… it’s terminal. There’s no fixing it.”
Ronan’s head tilts to the side. “You told us you were in remission.”
“Well, I fucking lied,” Dad answers, his Irish brogue deepening. “No man wants to admit he’s mortal. Nobody wants to talk about dying. Who wants the fucking sympathy? The pity?”
“Terminal,” I repeat slowly. My gaze slides to the whiskey he’s drinking and the cigar he’s smoking and suddenly it makes sense. “How long?”
“Weeks. A few months, if I’m lucky. I’ve stopped seeing the doctor. When I go, I’ll go on my own terms.” He holds up his glass of whiskey and then swallows a long gulp. “But today’s meeting isn’t about me. I’ve come to terms with it. This is about you. Both of you.”
“I’m not sitting here to listen to your lectures,” Ronan snarls, teeth gritted. “Not after you lied about being in fucking remission.”
“You’ll sit and you’ll listen. Just this once, you cocky bastard. I brought you here to tell you I’m as good as gone. More gone each day. Which means… it’s on you now. All of it.”
My eyes narrow, tension corded inside me. “If you’re saying what I think you are, save it. I’ve got no interest. Not anymore.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass how interested you are.
The clan has never been about interest. It’s always been about power and dominance.
Look,” he says candidly, puffing on his cigar and then blowing more smoke.
“I’ve made a fuck ton of mistakes. I’m a stubborn prick and never admit to them.
But I will today—everything that’s happened between you—that’s on me. No one else.”
“We’ve made our own choices,” I say.
“Yes, you have. But you’re the sons I raised, and I didn’t always ready you like I should’ve.
” He heaves a sigh as his hard, crinkled eyes find mine.
“Loch… when you were sent away, I should’ve been more straight with you.
It was on me to make it clear the clan stood behind you.
That we were loyal to you, same as you were to us.
Instead… I couldn’t bring myself to see you behind bars.
It was proof of my failure as not only Clan Chief but as your father. ”
“That’s convenient to say now,” I say crudely, “when you’re knocking on death’s door. It would’ve been more believable before you waited for me to die and come back.”
“I know that now, you shithead. The point is, I’m a stubborn man.
But also one of pride. It was my failure that my son—my prized heir—was taking the fall for the family business.
I tried everything to undo it. Bribed judges, the police commissioner, even tried to get fuckers in congress involved.
None of it worked. Your sentence stood.”
“This is nice to know, but it doesn’t change anything,” I point out.
“Never said it would. But now you understand the why.”
“What does it matter now?” Ronan presses. “What do you want us to do with this information?”
“What do you think?” he asks back, glaring at his youngest son.
“Soon I won’t be around to mediate. To make decisions for you.
You’re men—powerful men at that—and you can figure this shite out yourselves.
Whether that means deciding who’s the rightful heir to the Clan, whether you can lead together, or whatever the fuck you decide on.
But know this…” He holds up his hands, the cigar smoldering between his fingers.
“I’m washing my hands of it. I’m handing it off to both of you. My time is done.”
Ronan glances over at me, and I’m doing the same with him.
The two of us sit in stubborn silence as the bad blood between us feels no less bitter and poisonous.
I look at my baby brother and see the man who murdered my son. Regardless of the circumstances that led to the situation, it’s a betrayal that runs deeper than I can ever explain.
He seems to feel the same as he glares at me and sees the man behind the attack on his wife. Behind all the fucking shit I pulled off over the past few months. The sabotage that almost drove him to the brink.
We’ve hurt each other in ways that can’t be undone. Eddie is dead. Blood has been spilled on both sides. There’s no slapping a Band-Aid on this kind of wound.
Our silence acknowledges that. It’ll never be the same between us.
But as I draw another breath into my lungs, I’m also aware that I’ve reached a place beyond seeking blind revenge. I’m beyond burning everything to the ground.
It accomplished nothing and only hurt the woman I…
“We agreed we wouldn’t kill each other,” I say gruffly, holding Ronan’s steely gaze. “That hasn’t changed… at least on my end.”
He hesitates a second, then nods. “Same on mine.”
“There we have it. I won’t come for him, and I’m pretty sure he won’t come for me.”
“That’s a start,” Dad admits. “Whatever the fuck you decide on, it’s your decision to make. Consider me dead.”
Ronan works his jaw as if chewing on nails and then says, “Our women are best friends. Simone’s happiness is important. Our feud shouldn’t ruin their friendship.”
I agree with a nod. “They’re like sisters. Which means it’s probably for the best we don’t blow each other’s brains out.”
“Fine, fine. So where does that leave the clan?” Dad asks, looking between us.
I go silent, turning the question over in my head.
A few months ago, the answer would have been simple. I wanted to destroy the family by any means necessary. I wanted them to suffer while I looked on and laughed.
Today, the thirst for revenge has slowly dried up. My interest in that kind of dark path has waned.
“I’ll… I’ll be around,” I say cryptically. “For the Clan. But on my own time. I’m not ready to be fully immersed in this shit again. Not yet.”
Ronan regards me with another glare before he inclines his head. “Fair enough.”
“There. Was that so fucking hard, you whiny bastards?” Dad asks loudly, slamming a hand to the table. He holds his arm up and snaps his fingers to catch the ginger’s attention again. “Oi, red! Get your arse over here and refill our drinks!”