Page 99 of Broken Blood Ties

I fist the steering wheel, allowing my eyes to creep over toward Summer sitting on her hands. She watches a distracted mother load groceries into her trunk while the young boy sitting in the cart sticks a lollipop in his hair.

“I’ll do it.”

Cormac stutters. “Wait, no. That’s not what I meant when I called.”

“I’m doing it.”

Cormac curses, and a horn blares in the parking lot where someone is trying to back out while another car waits for the spot. Lazy idiots.

“Where are you?” he asks.

“Target.”

Cormac chokes back a laugh. “Target?”

“Aye. Just tell Joe I’m in.”

“Fine, will do. Hey, Boss?” Cormac blurts.

“What?”

“Grab me some toothpaste, will ya?”

I scowl, pulling the phone away from my ear and speaking directly into the speaker at the bottom. “Piss off.”

Then I hang up and toss my phone back into the center console. I glare at it, wanting to get ahold of Riku and chew his arse out for pushing me. There’s a nagging in my gut telling me I need to pay attention, not get distracted.

“Everything okay?” Summer asks. She pulls down her sleeves, trying to cover her hands. I fight the urge to grab one and thread my fingers through hers. Damn it. I’m a poor excuse for a made man.

“Aye. Just work. You ready?” I unbuckle my seatbelt and snatch my phone to tuck into my suit pocket. We both open our doors, and I walk side by side with Summer toward the entrance. It’s busy for a weekday, I think to myself. Especially around dinner time.

As if on cue, my stomach clenches, missing all the meals I should’ve had today but didn’t. Summer is a couple of steps in front of me at this point, and I study her petite figure. Is she hungry? I didn’t even ask her if she needed anything.

Inside, Summer untangles a cart from the return and slowly pushes it through what apparently is the dollar section. She spots a pack of three cat toys for three dollars, and I watch in fascination as she brings them to her ear and listens to them jingle.

When she catches me staring at her, she blushes.

“Big fan of this store?”

Her cheeks redden to a deeper shade, but in typical Summer fashion, she quips back. “I didn’t exactly come to Boston with a trust fund attached to my new name.”

I squint at her, wishing I could understand her better. She harbors guilt, and part of me wonders just how much she endured being on her own at such a young age.

To the average person, seventeen could almost be considered an adult. For a woman, locked away from much of the world, outside the rebelling she did, seventeen feels young.

I internally grimace. That’s one thing I won’t allow to happen to Aoife. I need to fight what’s been drilled into me. This bull shite about blood ties and securing the line for the O’Donnell family—none of that matters if it’s at Aoife’s expense.

Summer would be a wealth of knowledge in this area. I don’t want to turn into Salvatore Buscetta or lock my daughter away for my own personal gain. I need to fight the pressure.

Part of me feels like if I had a son, it’d be easier.

But as soon as that thought enters my mind, I squash the little shite. I wouldn’t trade Aoife for ten sonsora guarantee of a successful legacy.

Summer picks up a travel coloring pack with some mermaids on it and tosses it in the cart. “For Aoife,” she says, and I can’t help the warmth expanding in my chest. Summer’s been selfless since the day I met her. Willing to go to bat with one of her student’s parents just so they could go on the field trip. Looking back, the memory morphs from one of frustration to gratitude.

“Why?” I ask, struck with the desire to know her more.

“Doesn’t she like mermaids? I dug through the bin for another one she might like better, but I couldn’t find one. Why? Do you think this is okay?”