Page 11

ELEVEN

GRáINNE

My phone rings and my hands tremble, as they do every time that specific ringtone sounds. It’s Jerry Houlihan. I owe the man everything. That’s no lie. He took me under his wing and gave me a home. He helped me when I needed help the most, and he’s been a great support system since the night I met him. But it comes at a cost, and that cost means stitching up his men or being unable to save his men who are close to death.

“Hey,” I answer softly as I reach for my backpack. I’m supposed to be studying. I have exams in just under a month. If I pass them, I have one year left in University before I can start working in a hospital.

“Grá,” Jer greets, his tone tight and hoarse. This is unlike the usual way he speaks to me. “I know you’re busy, loveen, but I need you to come to my house. Can you do that?”

My brows knit together at the way he’s speaking. “Is everything okay?”

"Everything's fine," he says, but I can hear the strain in his voice. "Just need you to come over. It's important."

I glance at my textbooks and notes spread across the table. The responsible part of me wants to refuse, to stay and study. But I know I can't. I owe Jerry too much.

"Okay," I sigh, packing the books up and zipping up my backpack. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

The drive to Jerry's house feels longer than usual. My mind is racing as I imagine all the possible reasons he could need me. Is he in trouble? Hurt? Or one of his men? Do I need to stitch another one of them up?

It’s hard seeing his men hurt. Over the past four years, I’ve come to know the majority of them, so stitching them up when they’re hurt is never fun.

I pull into his driveway, noting the unfamiliar black SUV parked next to Jerry's silver one. As I approach the front door, I hear muffled voices from inside. Male voices, angry and urgent.

My hand hesitates on the doorknob. Something isn't right. But before I can decide whether to enter or flee, the door swings open. Jerry stands there, his jaw clenched, and his face etched with anger.

"Grá," he says thickly. "Come in, quickly."

As I step inside, I see a man I don't recognize seated in the living room. He’s young, probably five or so years older than I am. Jerry closes the door behind me, and I feel a chill run down my spine.

"What's going on?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as my gaze darts between Jer and the mystery guy.

“Have you met Freddie Kinnock yet?” he asks me.

I breathe a sigh of relief. I know Freddie—well, I don’t know him, but I’ve heard about him. He’s one of Jerry’s best men. He’s known as the Thief, because he’s good at thieving. He can get into the most secure places without being seen.

“Loveen,” Jer says as he directs me to the sofa. “I know you’ve got a lot on with your studies and whatnot, and I have a feeling that this is going to throw everything up in the air, but the moment Freddie told me, I knew I had to let you know.”

My brows furrow even more. “Let me know what?”

I watch as Jer’s shoulders tighten and his lips purse.

“It’s your dad, Gráinne,” Freddie says, his voice gentle. “Since you came to live with Jer, we’ve been keeping an eye on him. Jer’s orders. He means something to you, so Jer wanted to ensure he was kept on radar.”

I turn to Jer, surprised he’s done that. My heart warms. He really does have a soft heart behind the gangster facade.

“We hadn’t seen him in a few days,” Freddie continues. “We started to get worried.”

My heart starts to race. "What do you mean? Is he okay?"

Freddie and Jerry exchange a look that makes my stomach drop.

"We found him, Grá," Jerry says softly. "But... it's not good news."

I feel the blood drain from my face. "What happened?" I whisper.

Jerry sits next to me on the sofa, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Liver failure,” he tells me. “Damn man drank himself to death.”

The room starts to spin. My father, the man I left behind years ago, the alcoholic who could never stay sober long enough to be a real parent—he's dead. I should feel relieved, maybe even happy that he’ll never hurt me again. But instead, I feel a crushing weight of grief and regret. I should have been there to help him. Instead, I ran away and focused on myself.

I feel the tears welling up in my eyes, threatening to spill over. Jerry's arm wraps around my shoulders, pulling me close. Despite everything, despite the years of neglect and pain, he was still my father. And now he's gone.

"I'm so sorry, loveen," Jerry murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "I know it's not easy."

Freddie clears his throat awkwardly. "There's more," he says quietly.

I look up, wiping my eyes. "What do you mean?"

Jerry and Freddie exchange another loaded glance. "Your dad," Jerry begins carefully. "He left something behind. For you."

My heart skips a beat. "For me?"

Freddie nods, reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulls out a small, worn envelope. "We found this in his apartment. It's addressed to you."

With trembling hands, I take the envelope. My name is scrawled across the front in my father's messy handwriting. I trace the letters with my finger, feeling a lump form in my throat.

“Do you want me to take you home?” Jer asks.

I stare at the envelope with my name on it in shock. Why did he write me a letter? I don’t understand. He never cared about me, not after Mam died anyway. So why the letter?

“Grá.” I hear the thick and gravelly voice of Connor and turn to look up at him. It’s hard to make him out with tears in my eyes. “Come on, Sunshine, let’s get you home.”

I turn to find Jer watching me with a soft look, his eyes filled with concern, but he nods. “Go with Connor, Grá. I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”

I nod numbly, clutching the envelope to my chest as Connor gently guides me to my feet. The world feels hazy and distant as we walk out to his car. I barely register the drive home, lost in a fog of grief and guilt.

When we arrive at my small apartment, Connor helps me inside and settles me on the sofa. He disappears into the kitchen, returning moments later with a steaming cup of tea.

"Here," he says softly, pressing the warm cup into my hands. "Drink this. It'll help."

I take a sip, the hot liquid bringing me back to reality. Connor sits beside me, and I’m so glad that he’s here with me. We sit in silence for a while. The only sound is the ticking of the clock on the wall.

Finally, I look down at the envelope still clutched in my hand. With trembling fingers, I break the seal and pull out a single sheet of paper. My father's familiar scrawl covers the page, the ink smudged in places.

"Do you want me to leave?" Connor asks gently.

I shake my head, reaching out to grab his arm. I need him here with me. I’m not strong enough to do this alone. "No, please stay."

Taking a deep breath, I begin to read.

My dearest Gráinne,

If you're reading this, then I'm gone. I know I have no right to ask for your forgiveness after all I've put you through, but I hope that in my final moments, I can offer you some sort of explanation. Although truth be told, there is no justification for what I did to you.

When your mam died, a part of me died with her. I couldn't bear the pain, so I turned to the bottle. It was cowardly. I know that now. I should have been there for you, should have protected you and loved you the way a father should. Instead, I let my grief consume me, and I failed you in every way possible. You deserved so much better than what I gave you.

I've watched you from afar these past few years. I know about your studies, about your dream of becoming a doctor. I know that stems from my mistreatment of you. You want to help others because there was no one there to help you when you so desperately needed it.

I'm so proud of you, Gráinne. You've become the strong, compassionate woman your mam always knew you could be.

Never doubt just how much we loved you, because we did. I just wasn’t strong enough to push through the guilt and pain of what I had caused your mam. I wish I had been a better man, a better dad. You deserved better.

But I do love you, Gráinne. I love you with every piece of me. I’m proud to call you my daughter.

Be happy, Gráinne. Never settle for anything less than you deserve, and my beautiful darling girl, you deserve the entire world.

You are loved. You are amazing, and you are beautiful.

Never forget that.

Love,

Dad

I stare at the letter, my vision blurring with tears. The words swim before my eyes as I read them over and over again, trying to make sense of it all.

Connor's arm wraps around my shoulders, pulling me close as I begin to sob. The letter falls from my hands, and I bury my face in his chest, letting out years of pent-up emotion. Connor holds me tight, letting me cry out my feelings as he comforts me.

As my tears begin to subside, I pull away slightly, wiping my eyes. "I don't know how to feel," I whisper, my voice hoarse. "He hurt me so much, Con. But reading this, I can't help but wonder what could have been if he'd just…"

"If he'd just gotten help," Connor finishes for me. I nod, fresh tears threatening to spill over. "It's okay to be confused," he says gently. "You can be angry and sad and hurt all at once. There's no right way to feel about this."

I take a shaky breath, picking up the letter again. My fingers trace over my father's words, feeling the indentations of the pen on the paper. It's the last tangible piece of him I have.

"He knew about my studies," I say softly. "He was proud of me."

“He was, and I know your mam would be too, just as I am.”

I stare at the cup of tea that’s no doubt ice-cold at this stage. “Do we have anything stronger?”

I hear his chuckle. “I’ll find out. If you don’t, I’ll get on that.”

I watch as he walks toward the kitchen, my mind racing as I notice his black cut with the word ‘prospect’ on the back with the Fury Vipers insignia.

He’s prospecting for the Fury Vipers motorcycle club? Since when did he decide to do that? The last I heard, he was thinking about it but hadn’t actually decided to do it.

"When did you start prospecting?" I call out, my voice still shaking from crying.

There's a pause, and I hear the clink of glasses. Connor returns, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and two tumblers in the other. He sets them down on the coffee table before answering.

"About a month ago," he admits, not quite meeting my eyes as he pours us each a generous measure. "I was going to tell you, but with your exams coming up, I didn't want to add to your stress."

I take the glass he offers me, swirling the amber liquid. "So you’re joining a motorcycle club?" I ask, still trying to wrap my head around it. “Even though you’ve never wanted to do anything that would bring trouble to your door.”

Connor sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I know it seems sudden," he says, taking a sip of his whiskey. "But things have changed. The club, they're not what you might think."

I raise an eyebrow, skeptical. I’ve heard a lot about them, some good, some not so much. "Oh? And what exactly are they?"

"They're a family, Grá," he says, his voice soft but serious. "They look out for each other, protect each other. And they do good in the community too, even if most people don't see it."

I take a long swig of my drink, wincing at the burn. "And what about the illegal stuff? The violence? Don't tell me that doesn't happen."

Connor's quiet for a moment, his eyes fixed on his glass. "I won't lie to you, Grá. There are aspects of club life that aren't exactly legal. But it's not like what you see in the movies. It's more complicated than that."

I shake my head, feeling a mixture of emotions I can't quite sort out. Today’s been a shit show for my feelings. "Why now, Con? Why risk everything you've worked for?"

He looks at me, his eyes intense. "Because I want that, Grá. I want that family. I want to belong to something, to have brothers at my back, to know that I’m more than a kid who is a fucking genius freak."

I feel my breath catch in my throat. "I’ve never thought that of you. You’re so much more than your brain, Con. So much more."

Connor leans forward, his voice low and urgent. “I know that. You’re the only one who’s treated me like that, Gráinne, but I need more.”

I grit my teeth, hating that I’ll never be enough. “I understand,” I whisper. “If this is what you want, I’m behind you a hundred percent.”

He smiles at me, his piercing green eyes filled with relief. He was worried about telling me his decision. I’m glad that it’s out in the open now and he can do what he needs to be happy. That’s all I ever want for him. He’s my best friend, the man who has always protected me since I was a child. He’s the man that I love.

He settles onto the sofa beside me, his shoulders pressed close to mine. We continue drinking and I’m glad of the burn. I’m feeling emotionally wrecked, unsure of what to feel.

I’m drunk and I’m not the only one. Connor is too. The bottle of whiskey is gone. We spent the evening watching comedy movies and talking.

“You should go to bed,” he tells me, his words slightly slurred. But even though he’s telling me to go to bed, the hand that’s around me is caressing the skin on my arm, causing goosebumps to break out.

“Hmm,” I murmur, pressing closer to him. I look up at his beautiful green eyes and my heart soars. God, I’m so fucking happy to have him here. He’s without a doubt the best man I’ve ever met. He’s the best friend a girl could ever have. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have him in my life.

I feel a warmth spreading through me that has nothing to do with the whiskey. Connor's fingers continue tracing patterns on my arm, sending tingles down my spine. Our faces are so close I can feel his breath on my cheek.

"Con," I whisper, my heart racing.

His eyes lock onto mine, dark, with an intensity I've never seen before. "Yeah?" he murmurs.

I'm not sure who moves first, but suddenly his lips are on mine. The kiss is gentle at first, hesitant, but quickly deepens as years of pent-up longing pour out. His hand cups my face as mine tangles in his hair, pulling him closer.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing heavily. Connor rests his forehead against mine, his thumb caressing my cheek.

"Grá," he says softly, "I've wanted to do that for so long."

I smile, feeling a bubble of happiness rise in my chest. "Me too," I admit.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching mine. "Are you sure about this? With everything that's happened today?—"

I nod, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. "I'm sure. You're the one constant in my life, Con. The one person I can always count on. I don't want to waste any more time."

A slow smile spreads across his face. He stands, pulling me up with him. "Then let's not waste any more time," he says, his voice low and husky.

He leads me to the bedroom, our fingers intertwined. The moment we enter the room, a mixture of nervousness and excitement flutters in my stomach. This is Connor, my best friend, the man who's been by my side through everything. And now, he's about to become so much more.

He turns to face me, his hands coming to rest on my hips. "Are you sure?" he asks again, his eyes searching mine.

I don’t say a word. Instead, I reach up and pull him down for another kiss. This one is deeper, more urgent.

I’ve never been surer about anything in my entire life.