Chapter 2 #2
I pull back and look at her. “And how would you know about that, young lady?”
She stops. Her cheeks have gone pink, her chin comes up, and she gives me a curious look. “Because when you have nothing to do but read,” she says, “you read voraciously. Come on. You didn’t know? And young lady? Okay, Grandpa. What are you, sixty?”
It happens before I’ve thought it through. I tuck her against my chest, and my hand finds the back of her hair. I’ve wrapped one of her curls around my finger, pulled—not hard, just enough—and tilted her head back.
“Older than you,” I mutter.
What the fucking hell am I doing?
Christ, I know exactly what I’m doing, and I’ve been doing it in small increments, rationalizing stepping into a space where I have no fucking business being, telling myself it’s fine, and ignoring how every time I see her, I just want to see her again.
She's looking up at me, her lips parted, and I want to—no. No.
She's Cavin's new sister. She's in remission. She's too young, and she reads romance novels, and she called me Grandpa thirty seconds ago, and I have my hand in her hair at a family party like I've lost every fucking brain cell god gave me.
I’m dancing with her life, and it feels protective and has nothing to do with the way she smells or the fact that she reads romance novels about men like me.
The song ends. I step back properly this time, and she smooths her dress. Across the room, Cavin is still watching. I ignore him.
She’s safe tonight. She’s safe this week, probably. She’s under Cavin’s roof, and that counts for something. But Seamus is going to ask me soon about the Kavanagh girl, and I’m going to have to have an answer. The answer I give him will determine what her life looks like from here on out.
I flag down a passing server and trade my soda water for two Cokes.
I hand her one, and she takes it, looking at me with those steady blue eyes, like she’s waiting for something she doesn’t have a word for yet.
“Get some rest this week,” I say. “I’m glad you’re better, but you’re not all the way back yet.”
“You do like to tell me to get some rest… Grandpa,” she whispers.
Fuck pulling her hair, this little brat needs to go over my knee and—
I cut the thought off before it finishes. That's how far gone I am. That's what she's done to me in the space of one song.
No. No, she does not need to do anything that would put her anywhere in closer proximity to me.
“Rest, lass.”
She tilts her head. “Is that an order?”
I let myself look at her for exactly one more second.
“Aye.”
Seamus is staring at us. The song comes to an end, and I let her go, just as he gestures for me to come and talk to him.
“Stay in touch, Trouble.”
I reach Seamus a few minutes later. I don’t want him questioning anything with Bridget, so I change the subject before he can even bring it up. “Heading in to see Torin tomorrow.”
Seamus's brother, my cousin Torin, is serving a life sentence in Dublin. Wasn’t supposed to be, but right around the time he was due to be released, he was found in possession of drugs. A plant, we’re confident. Someone doesn’t want Torin out.
He nods. “Yeah? He’s worried about Da.”
“Aye.” I nod. We all are. Uncle Keenan’s been having heart issues in recent months, and it’s beginning to grow more concerning.
At least the doctors have put a name to it now. Congestive heart failure, they said, which somehow makes it worse, not better. A name means it's real. He's managing, Cavin tells whoever asks, but he’s a McCarthy, and we live forever.
At least that’s what I always thought.
I arrive the next morning at Mountjoy Prison, Dublin, where Torin’s been for years. We were close as lads, even though he’s older, and while the others visit regularly, I’m the one who’s here most often.
Torin was the one who saw me at my worst, who helped me face my demons, who held my fucking hand through rehab. The least I owe him is a goddamn visit.
Here, Torin has insight and connections the rest of us don't. Friends on the inside. Intel that comes in very handy, the kind we all hope will one day bring him out early, though no one says it quite that plainly. For now, it's information we use for the good of the family.
I know the routine. Arrive, then sign in through security. Torin is waiting in the corner, our chairs separated by bulletproof glass. My older cousin, Torin looks like a cross between his parents, with Uncle Keenan’s sharp jaw and thick build but Aunt Caitlin’s black hair and striking blue eyes.
“What’s the story, Tor?” I ask as I sit on the chair in front of him. Seamus is right. He does look antsy, which is unusual for him. “Christ, brother, the fuck happened to you? You’ve been busy.”
He's by far the biggest lad in the room. His shirt strains across his shoulders like it was designed for a different species, and when he crosses his arms, his forearms alone are enough to make you reconsider whatever you were about to say, if the McCarthy family tats didn’t warn you first. When he straightens in his chair and looks around, slowly, like he's taking inventory, every set of eyes in the place finds somewhere else to be.
Inmates, visitors, it doesn't matter. Even the guard nearest the door shifts his weight and looks at his shoes.
Right, so bodybuilding as a pastime in prison was a smart move.
“Aye,” he says with a shrug, leaning forward.
His biceps bulge as he leans on the table, the blunt tips of his fingers barely touching.
“Turns out you get more privacy when you’re built like a brick wall.
” He gives me a rueful smirk before he sobers and holds my gaze. “Got some more neighbors here.”
I sit up straighter. In prison, where anyone can hear him, he has to use code words. He knows I wouldn’t fucking care about the new inmates.
He glances sideways, just once, then back at me. “Reminds me of Donovan's crowd.”
Something goes still in my chest. Our cousin Donovan betrayed our family and paid the ultimate price. They don’t fucking remind him of Donovan’s crowd; he’s reminding me of Donovan.
I get it. He has information to tell me but can’t tell me outright. I’m paying attention.
“That right,” I say. Not a question.
His fingers tap once on the table. “Same energy, you know.” He leans back slightly, arms crossed, his voice dropping to something almost bored. Anyone watching would think we were talking about nothing. “One of them's been here three months. Got transferred in.”
“He say anything useful?”
“Enough.” Torin's jaw tightens. “Friendly crowd. Very interested in how things run back home. Who's where. Who's married to who.” He scratches the back of his neck, casual. “Funny thing is, they didn't seem surprised by much. Like they'd already heard most of it.”
He lets that sit.
“Right,” I say.
He looks at his hands. “Someone's been doing their homework for them. For a while, by the sounds of it.”
I don't move. I keep my face easy, relaxed, the way you do when someone's watching.
He smiles at me. “Remember when we were lads, and your mam and mine had friends who came to book club? And Mam would come in with her finger on her lips.” He tips his head to the side.
I get it. “Aye, and we never were.”
“Then we’d have to deal with Da,” he says with a laugh. “But we learned to keep our gobs shut, didn’t we?”
“Aye.”
Point taken.
He leans back in his chair and laces his fingers behind his head as the guard gives us the five-minute warning. “You should travel more, Dec. You ever want to go to Boston?”
Fuck.
“Time.” The guard nearby motions that my time is up. Torin’s already standing, walking away, the men near him shrinking noticeably back.
Christ. I’m still processing what he said, what it means.
I keep my pace even through the corridor. Through security. Out into the car park.
I'm almost at my car when someone steps into my path.
Not aggressive. Just—there. Big lad, younger than me, standing easy, like he's been waiting a while and doesn't mind. He has the particular stillness of someone who's done this before.
“Nice of you to visit,” he says. Is that an American accent?
He walks away without another word, hands in his pockets, like he's just heading to his own car.
I stand there for a moment before I get into my car.
They were already here. Already watching. Probably saw me enter.
I start the car and drive home.