Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
LIAM
I grit my teeth as Cillian and I walk into my father’s office. I know he’ll be there, because he’s always there or in the bedroom. His poor home health care nurse is always running after him, trying to keep his IV in.
“Where the fuck have you been? You need to fire the maid before I lose my temper,” my father says to me the second I walk in the door.
“She’s not a maid, Da. She’s your nurse, and until you recov—”
“Recover from what? I’m not sick, and it’s not like Cormac hit me with another bullet.”
I order the nurse out of the room with a tilt of my head, not wanting her to hear if Da says anything incriminating.
As soon as she closes the door behind her, Da’s eyes narrow.
“She’s lucky I haven’t shot her yet. Damn bitch deserves a bullet between the eyes.”
Cillian looks at me, his eyes widening. He hasn’t seen Da in one of his episodes.
“You need her here, Da. Remember your stroke?” I sit down across from him, and my father’s blue eyes, so much like mine, narrow.
“My stroke?”
“Yes, Da. Remember you were in the hospital, and they only let you come home if you had a nurse with you?”
He frowns. “Oh, aye. Fine, I’ll suffer her presence. For now.”
I don’t think he has any recollection of it, to be honest, but the doctors say it’s good to keep reminding him.
Cillian leans against the wall near the door. “You’ll be in ship shape in no time.”
Da looks at him for a long moment, a blank look on his face. Then he lights up, and gives Cillian an ear-to-ear smile. “Cillian. Son, it’s been months. Where have you been?”
Cillian was with my father just a week ago. Still, he shrugs. “Just working.”
My da points at me with his thumb. “Aye, wish this one was more like you.”
The words used to sting when I was growing up. Now, I’ve grown numb to them.
Cillian has always been the golden child, despite being adopted. He’s always listened to exactly what Da says without questioning him.
Not me. I was always the one who demanded answers, the one who questioned orders, the rebel. I’m the black sheep in my own family.
You'd think being raised as the second best, the unwanted kid, would make me grow to resent Cill. Nothing could be farther from the truth.
Having Cill in my life allowed me the freedom to be imperfect, to screw up. It took the pressure off me because everyone expected me to fail, to slack, to be less.
And when I succeeded, because I did succeed, it was always because I wanted to, and I did it for me.
Cill is my brother in everything but blood, and until we took him in, he never had anyone to back him up, so I had no problem handing the spotlight to him when it came to Da.
I’m grateful we found him, channeled the darkness inside him into work. We gave him a chance at life. And I can’t even think about what would happen if we had never crossed paths.
“We have an update about our target.”
“Penelope? Where’s she gotten off to now?”
I startle.
Mixing up Maggie’s name with my mother’s is quite the slip-up, even for Da.
“Maggie.” I try to keep my voice patient. “Maggie Sullivan, Da. The one who was leaking information to Cormac.”
“Aye, Maggie, that’s what I said, isn’t it?” He waves a hand dismissively. “You need to find her and find her now. If Cormac gets another whiff of what we’re dealing in—”
“I've got it handled, Da. Only me, you, and Cill know about the next shipment.” Well, and Dare, but I don’t tell Da that. Why bother if he is just going to forget it as soon as we leave this room?
Da nods. “Good.”
“There’s an update, sir.” Cillian comes and sits beside me, his forearms on his thighs. “Maggie Sullivan was admitted at Burberry hospital an hour ago.”
“Then what are you still doing here?”
“We came to inform you that Cillian is going to personally follow that lead. He’ll leave as soon as we end here and come back in a few days.”
“Well, what are you here for? Go and get Cecily. You know she can’t be gone too long. I... I’m lost without her.”
His voice cracks at the end, and even though he’s slipping back in time, I think part of what he said is right. He is lost without Ma, and it’s getting increasingly worse.
“It's all right, Da. We’ll find her.” I put a hand on his shoulder, and he breathes a deep breath through his nostrils and soon enough, he’s asleep in his desk chair.
I sigh and stand up, calling the nurse to take him to his room.
She bustles in without a word, probably terrified. As much as we try to keep it under wraps, she has to know what we do or at least suspect.
I hope I pay her enough that it doesn’t matter.
Cillian trails out behind me as I speak to her in low tones, ordering her to keep him away from the media. If anything happens and anyone spots Maggie or Isla, we’re done for.
She agrees, and Cillian follows me out to the terrace.
I need some fresh air. Fuck, I need a smoke, even though I’ve put them down ten years ago.
I breathe in fresh air, trying to get more oxygen into my tight chest.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m pretty fucking far from okay, Cill.”
Cillian’s quiet for a moment. “He’s worse than he was even last week.”
I groan, sweeping a hand through my hair. “I know. I don’t... I don’t know what to do.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m acting boss, but he won’t let me make any real decisions.
I never know which version of him I’m meeting next, and even his tamest version is worse, meaner than he ever was when Ma was here.
” I run my hands through my hair. “Fuck, you know I’ve been trying to stay out of things for years, let him do his thing and stay as far away as humanly possible without outright deserting him, but with the way he is now. ..”
“You don’t want to do this, do you? You don’t want to be boss.”
I bark out a laugh. “Doesn’t matter what I want. Never did.”
If it were up to me, Cill would be the new boss, if he wanted to.
I’d run my company and be happy as a clam, never picking up a firearm again.
But that’s not the life I was born into. There are expectations. Responsibilities.
The biggest one of which is keeping all of this quiet.
“You can't tell anyone, Cill. About Da’s condition.”
“Of course not." Cillian looks almost offended, and for good reason. He’s never leaked a single secret as long as he’s been with the Hayes clan.
“I know. Just had to say it.”
“Is the meeting over?”
I nod sharply.
Da isn’t going to wake up for hours, and he likely won’t even remember our conversation. But I’ve done all I can to update him on the situation.
Cillian and I make our way out onto the porch, looking down at my car, a simple sedan that doesn’t draw too much attention—not like Dare’s cherry-red muscle car.
The car in question is parked in front of the cottage.
“Are you leaving Dare to spend the night alone with Isla?" Cillian asks, and I blink at him.
“No. I’ll be spending the night there. Not him.”
I don’t know why I said it. I don’t want to spend time with her. I don’t want to feel like I feel around her any more than I have to, but after a stressful day like today...
Some part of me wants to be with her.
Some foolish, idealistic part, some stupid impulse to want comfort that I thought I eradicated long ago.
“All right.” Cillian sounds calm, but I can tell he’s surprised by the stiff set of his shoulders.
I unlock the front door, bracing myself to see them cuddled up on the couch or worse, in bed with Isla’s brunette curls tousled.
Instead, though, Dare is lounging on the couch, and Isla is in the kitchen, cooking what appears to be pork chops.
“You’re letting her cook?” It’s my attempt at a tease, and Dare laughs.
“She's gotta learn somehow.”
“I’m here to relieve you.”
Dare startles. “What do you mean? I thought I was staying tonight.”
“You're exhausted. You need sleep. And if you fall asleep here, I don’t trust her not to escape.”
He frowns. “Aren’t we past that?”
“Maybe you are.”
I stare him down, and Dare looks like he might want to fight about it, but in the end he turns and leaves me there.
He goes into the kitchen.
Slap.
Isla squeals, and I can imagine he spanked her on the ass.
He’s grinning ear-to-ear when he walks back into the living room, and I want to hit him.
But I contain myself and plop down on the couch, scrolling through my emails.
“I made dinner.” She sounds proud of herself as she sets down an only slightly burned pork chop and what appears to be boxed mashed potatoes in front of me.
“I’m sure it’s edible.”
“Ooh, such high praise, coming from you.” She sits down next to me, socking her thigh right up against mine.
It’s been weeks, and I’m still not used to her casual affection.
It’s worse with Dare. Drives me crazy, the way they’re all over each other.
It does bring me a small amount of comfort that she’s touching me, and I hate myself for it.
Women have been nothing more than a stress reliever, someone to warm my bed in the odd nights my body demanded release. I’m always in control of my body and my feelings and was always able to keep those encounters few and far between. I don’t need a woman, any woman, in my life.
Women are more work than they are worth, and I have too much on my plate already. I cannot be worried about spoiled brats, about someone who will follow the shiny things in life and turn on me for the next best thing.
And yet, the more I spend time with Isla, the more I realize she is different.
We have been sharing her, sure, but when it’s just the two of us, and I can refrain from being a total asshole, she is pretty damned good to be around.
The few talks we had about books actually left me wanting to get to know her better, to spend time with her.
Left me feeling like there might be something there if I let it.
But I don’t feel. Ever. I pride myself on my numbness, my lack of weakness when it comes to attachments. I am a cold-hearted son of a bitch.
So, how is she able to twist me into this mess? Why does it feel like she matters?