Page 75

Thirty-eight
Conner
Fuck.
As soon as Jack drops the bomb, I feel Henley go stiff, her shoulders snapping tight against my chest. She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t cry. Doesn’t demand an explanation. Doesn’t scream and call him a liar. I can practically hear her mother.
Ladies don’t make a scene.
“You’re not my father.” She repeats it slowly, like she’s trying to figure out how they fit together.
“No.” Jack chews on the inside of his cheek and shakes his head. “Your mom… she never said who was, but I know it ain’t me.”
“I see.” She nods her head, the top of it brushing my chin. “Okay…” she holds her hand out to him and he takes it. It’s shaking like a leaf. “Thank you for your time.” She shakes his hand like he just interviewed her for a job. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.” She turns and walks out, leaving me to stare after her.
“I had to tell her, kid.”
I turn to look at him, jaw clenched so tight, the tendons in my neck start to ache. “Not like that, you didn’t.”
“For the best,” he says, looking away from me. “She ain’t mine. She ain’t my blood.”
I reach out and haul him off his stool, give him a rough shake. “Blood doesn’t matter, Jack. She’s your daughter,” I say, pushing the words through clenched teeth. “She loves you. Despite all the shit you put her through—the drinking and the puking and the screaming—she loves you.” Do you know how lucky you are? Do you know what I’d be willing to do to have her love me, even a little bit? I want to scream it in his face. Shake him until his neck snaps. I want to kill him, so I don’t say it. I let him go, shoving him back into his seat.“She deserves better than you.”
“You’re right.” He looks me in the eye, giving me a glimpse of the man he should’ve been. “She deserves better than both of us.”
It’s the truth. I know it is but hearing his say it out loud breaks something inside me. Something that’s kept him safe from me and all the things I’ve wanted to do to him since the night I watch him shove her into the toilet when she tried to help in one of his drunken stupors.
“You don’t know a goddamned thing about her, Jack.” Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out my wallet again, this time taking out every bill I have. “You never did.” I signal the bartender, tossing the money onto the bar in front of him. “Have fun drinking yourself to death,” I say, shoving my wallet back into my pocket before I walk out the door.
I find her waiting by my car, arms wrapped around her stomach like she’s been stabbed, face pale, eyes wide and shell-shocked. I’m torn between getting her the fuck out of here and going back in there and making good on my threat to throw that bastard in the dumpster.
Deciding that getting her somewhere safe supersedes my bloodlust, I lean into her, keys in hand to unlock her door, careful to avoid eye contact.
“Did you know?”
Her question, delivered softly and so close to my ear, I can feel her breath on my neck, freezes me in place.
I look up to find her looking at me, her eyes so wide and wounded I suddenly want to throw my own ass in the dumpster. Shit. I key the lock, finally managing to get her door open. “Get in the car.”
She doesn’t move a muscle.
“Did you know?”
“Hen—”
“Don’t Henley me,” she snaps. “You brought me here.” Her eyes go wide, her mouth falling open when the realization hits her. “You knew, and you still brought me here. Didn’t warn me. Didn’t—”
“Ryan made me promise not to.” I made her a promise a long time ago, not to lie to her, so I tell her the truth. “I didn’t think Jack would—”
“Ryan knows?” She sounds so small. So confused. When I nod her bottom lip starts to tremble and she looks away from me, pressing her mouth into a hard, flat line. I watch her throat work and struggle against the tears that are trying to push their way out. Finally she takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. When she finally looks at me again, her mouth is steady. Her eyes are dry. “Why? Why wouldn’t he want me to know? Why would he want to keep something like that from me?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her, even though I have a pretty good idea. But that’s not my truth to tell. It belongs to Ryan and I won’t take it from him. He’s been fucked over by us Gilroys enough to last a lifetime. “I wanted to tell you, but I made a promise to your brother, at a time when he really needed to be able to trust me and I—” I gesture at the passenger seat she’s so far refused to take. “Please get in the car.”
Her jaw tightens at my tone and for a second, I think she’s going to tell me to go fuck myself. Instead, she slides into the seat and waits for me to close the door behind her.
We’re halfway to Fenway before she speaks again. “You and my—” She stops herself, rethinking her words. “Jack seem to know each other pretty well,” she says, choosing her words carefully. I cut her a quick look. She’s sitting with her knees pressed together and turned away from me, legs crossed at the ankle. Hands folded primly in her lap, her poise and training locked around her like a shield. Tight and hard. An impenetrable shell of propriety and etiquette.
“We’ve done that dance number a few times.” I shrug, keeping my tone as neutral as possible. The truth is, tracking Jack O’Connell down and making sure he’s not dead in an alley somewhere is a sort of hobby of mine. “I send up the bat signal every few weeks and I get a call from whatever bartender he’s currently abusing.” I pass Boylston. I don’t even tap the brakes. If she notices I’m not taking her home, she doesn’t seem to care. “I drag him home, toss him in the shower. Pour a gallon of coffee down his throat and make sure he wakes up the next morning.”