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CONOR

TIRED OF YOU - FOO FIGHTERS

TWO WEEKS LATER

“She’s in?”

“She is. Moved in yesterday,” Savannah confirmed, her voice bleating from the speaker of Star’s phone. “You should have helped me with the kitchen.”

“Why? You like shopping. I don’t. Plus, she knows you. She doesn’t know me.”

“She’s your mother-in-law too,” Savannah argued. “How can she get to know you if you don’t spend time together? It’s not like we’re best buds.”

“Bullshit. You know you cream your panties every time Magdalena ‘wife of Irish Mobster Aidan O’Donnelly Sr.’ talks to you.”

“Firstly, ew . And secondly?—”

“No secondly. You’ve been spending too much time with teenagers if you can say ‘ew’ without cringing.”

“Why do I like you again?”

“I’m not sure,” Star mused. “Either way, kitchens are your purview. Not mine.” She paused. “Bathrooms and living rooms too. If she needs a computer, then maybe I’ll help. But she has a son for that so go talk to Conor.”

“I don’t think you’re going to convince her of anything, Savannah,” I drawled, watching as Star arched a brow at me from the counter as I strolled into the kitchen after deciding it was time to break that conversation up before it devolved into an argument.

Aidan thought Savannah and Camden bickered but that was nothing on these two.

Star wiggled the coffee pot, prompting me to mouth, “Thanks.”

As she stretched to reach for one of the mugs in the cupboard so she could pour me some—revealing, in the process, a luscious sliver of CK panties that made me want to twang the waistband—she told Savannah, “Don’t you think we’re better off staying out of each other’s way?”

“That’s not how family works,” I answered before my sister-in-law could.

Her expression turned pained. “Is this part of that atonement thing?”

“If you want it to be, it is.” I smirked when she rolled her eyes, sensing that I was joking. “Teasing aside, you don’t have to like Ma. I don’t expect you to spend time with her. I only ask for your Sundays.”

“Such a sacrifice,” she retorted with a wink as I sidled up to her, my hand settling on the curve of her hip after I retrieved something from my pocket. There, I drew the wrapper along the tender flesh until she grinned and snagged the Baby Ruth from my grasp.

“You’re only arguing about this because if you do it, then you know I’ll expect you to talk to Mom,” Savannah grouched.

“Lorelei and I have nothing to say to each other.” She tore open the candy. “And it’s not just that.”

“Not just what?”

“I struggle with knowing what Magdalena and Aidan Sr. did, or didn’t do, to their sons.”

Her words came as no surprise to me. Some days, that was a struggle for me as well.

Savannah clearly understood her predicament because she didn’t immediately reply. Then, slowly, she verbalized, “Parents are humans. Humans make mistakes. I think if you spoke to Lena, she’d be the first to admit that she made mistakes. That there are things she wishes she’d done differently.”

“She does,” I confirmed, leaning beside Star. “I know there’s plenty she regrets.”

Star’s brow furrowed. “What do you want from me?” She tore off some of the Baby Ruth, chewing with consternation.

I shot her a smile. “Nothing.”

“To help out when I ask you to come along,” Savannah muttered, thinking the question was aimed at her. “Oh, that reminds me. She wanted you to fix something for her in the bathroom, Conor.”

“Since when am I the handyman?”

“Since Aidan got out of it by saying he had to meet with someone about a ball.”

“A ball?” Star repeated. “Like a ball with dancing or a soccer ball?”

“Soccer. Declan and he were arguing about players last night. He’s trying to get someone called Paco Perez to play for the Saturns. He’s with Paris or Madrid.” She hummed disinterestedly. “Maybe even Berlin.”

“Informative as always, Savannah,” Star drawled.

“Hey, it’s soccer. What do you want from me?” Savannah mocked, throwing Star’s words back at her.

“To pick a capital city and stick with it.”

I smirked into my coffee cup. “He plays for a team in Berlin.”

“This is your master plan, isn’t it?” Savannah queried.

“It is, but I’m mostly dealing with statistics. Thank God. I’m leaving the meetings to my brothers. I have to get some perks from time to time.”

When our doorbell rang, I flicked to the app on my phone to see who was there and arched a brow when I found Eoghan hovering in front of the camera—glower fixed firmly in place.

“What do you want?” I questioned, though I knew his exact reason for being here. Didn't stop me from giving him shit: “You’re taking this Peaky Blinders thing too far.”

Eoghan grunted. “You gonna let me in or do I have to buzz Aidan?”

“Let him up, Conor. Don’t forget Troy and Dead To Me are on their way too. Chadwick as well.”

“The guy who’s Aurora Valentini’s guard?”

“Yeah, him.”

Savannah sniffed. “I don’t like her.”

“She’s ultra-intelligent and doesn’t bullshit. I like her.”

“She and Jen have only just started getting along.”

“And?”

“How are Jen and Paddy doing?” I queried, sensing another brewing argument. “Paddy’s been AWOL from Sunday dinner the past few weeks.”

“Been visiting with her. As far as I can tell, they’re doing good. Paddy loves Saverina. It’s a relief, to be honest, considering I set them up to meet. I thought I was going to blow shit with Jen again, but I didn’t. Thank fuck.”

“Ah, yes. Star told me about that mess.”

“You told him?” Savannah groused.

“You never said it was a secret,” Star retorted easily, uncaring if Savannah was pissed or not.

That right there was how they proved they were sisters—that was the kind of stunt siblings pulled and got away with.

When the buzzer rang again, I huffed. “You’re doing this on purpose. You could have arranged this for a couple hours later, dammit.”

“I’m not! This was the only time everyone could get together and you offered to take Kat to her class so I could do this. Did you braid her hair?”

“I did. It’s wonky.”

“Stop being a perfectionist,” she retorted. “You’ll have done a better goddamn job than I would have.”

“Can’t argue with that,” I sniped, which made her chuckle.

“Anyway, before you have to leave, there’s something in the?—”

“Who’s leaving and where? Hello, I am here, you know?” Savannah grumbled.

“I can easily hang up the phone,” was Star’s pleasant retort.

“Katina has a gymnastics class, Savannah. Star is meeting up with Eoghan and some other ex-servicemen and women while I’m out.”

“Why?”

“Veterans Anonymous.”

“AKA, poker. Five card draw, to be precise.”

“Oooh, can I come up? I can beat all your asses. Plus, I’ve done stuff that means I’m practically a soldier.”

Star’s lips twitched. “If you feel like losing your stake, then feel free, Vana.”

I clucked my tongue—she only used that nickname when shit was going down or she was in her feelings. “Now, now, children. Play nice.”

“I’ll be up in five minutes,” Savannah snarled.

“I am playing nice,” Star answered even though Savannah had hung up, reaching over to tug on my collar as she leaned on tiptoe and pressed her lips to mine.

When she sighed into the kiss, I breathed her in, absorbing everything she had to give which was a surprising amount considering how closed off she could be sometimes.

“Eww, man, you two keep kissing all the time,” Kat groused. “You have guests, and I had to open the door!”

“Never get between a man and his woman, Kat,” Eoghan rumbled, meaning I had time for one last tug of my teeth to her bottom lip—she’d feel that during the game. “Especially when it involves kissing.”

As I pressed a final, parting kiss to her mouth, Kat queried, “Why, Eoghan?”

“There’s a lot of meaning that goes into a kiss. It’s a ‘hello’ and a ‘goodbye.’ It’s a silent ‘I’ll miss you.’ It can also mean ‘I love you’ when you’re in a situation where you’re not comfortable sharing that truth verbally with other people around.”

Kat watched Eoghan as he rested his forearms on the island counter. When she mimicked him, I almost snorted. “That’s a lot to say when you’re swapping mouth juice.”

“Mouth juice?” Star laughed.

Kat giggled. “I’m not wrong, though, am I?”

We shared a glance and chuckled. “No,” Star concurred. “You’re not wrong. Neither is Eoghan. A kiss is a secret language that?—”

“—you’re not allowed to learn until you’re at least thirty,” I chimed in.

“More like when I hit middle school. I know who I’m going to kiss too.”

“I don’t need to hear this,” Star muttered. “You’re already enough trouble as it is without throwing hormones into the mix.”

“Maybe it’ll calm her down,” I said with a wink. “It made Eoghan more zen.”

My younger brother snickered, the grimness in his expression lightening for once. “It did actually.”

“Kat isn’t a boy,” Star remarked.

“No, boys have cooties.”

“Until they’re in middle school?” I teased.

She graced me with a severe nod. “Yes.”

Eoghan snorted while Star heaved a sigh. I just grinned. Then the door buzzer rang again—my app revealed Troy and Dead To Me were there, bickering as always.

“We’ll leave you to the poker game but next time, I want to play too,” I warned.

“Me three,” Kat sang.

“Until you can afford the stakes, you can’t play,” Star retorted. “By the way, I put something in the refrigerator for you.”

Warily, I asked, “What?”

Her cheeks turned pink. “Some snacks.”

Better than a head.

“For Kat?”

“Both of you.”

Eoghan cast a glance between us. “She’s looking after you, Conor. Say ‘thank you.’”

“Thank you,” I parroted. “I can buy food?—”

“Take the snacks and go, Kid,” Eoghan retorted, shoving me in the shoulder.

“She doesn’t need to feed me,” I grumbled at him.

“It’s a woman thing. Inessa does it to me all the time.” To Katina, he explained, “It’s like a kiss but for when you leave.”

Kat frowned. “I’d prefer a kiss to raw veggies. Star’s snacks are boring. She sticks hummus in a box with some carrot sticks and thinks that’s supposed to fill a person.” Kat tugged on Star’s hand. “Can’t we grab hot dogs afterward?”

“You’ll have to ask Conor. Politely.”

Kat batted her eyes at me.

“We can grab hotdogs.” I cleared my throat. “After we eat the carrot sticks and hummus.”

It was worth Kat’s boo for the shy smile Star shot at me.

Before we headed out of the kitchen, I collected the boxes from the refrigerator—confirmed that there were a bunch of crudités and what appeared to be ranch dressing and hummus in two small containers—then gave Star another kiss farewell because I couldn’t resist as Kat hugged her around the middle.

As we walked down the hall, with me trying to avoid Stimpy’s urge to trip me up as he wove a path between my feet, I tugged on the tail of Kat’s braid. “We’ll leave soon, kiddo. You ready to go?”

“Yep. Just need my bag.”

She ducked into her room and collected her gym bag.

As I watched her navigate the chaos of the space, my gaze drifted over her stuff.

She’d settled in but it still seemed temporary, which put me on edge.

It wasn’t hers.

Sure, she’d staked a claim with the addition of a bunch of pink shit, and dotted here and there were the 3D-printed frames I was making her, ones with photos Star had sent me upon request, and Ren and Stimpy’s bed was here too, but even Da had let us have Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle -green walls or, in Eoghan’s case, Superman -catsuit blue.

Together, we headed to the door once I snagged the bright-pink tote she used for class and fisted it in my hand—kid’s stuff was tiny, so tiny that it made me question if I’d ever been that freakin’ small.

At the door, we met with Savannah and Chadwick; the former looked like there was an upcoming grudge match, but the latter didn’t appear to want to be here.

After we let them in, gave our farewells, and walked toward the elevator, I asked, “Do you want to change your bedroom, Kat?”

She bounced on her toes, already buzzing for the upcoming class. A gentle hand on her shoulder stopped her from doing a handstand against the elevator doors.

“Change what, Conor?” she chirped.

“Everything. The colors, the furniture. It’s still too much like a guest room with your things in it.”

The bouncing stopped. “Can it be pink?”

“It can be pink.” Then, I realized whom I was talking to—Star’s daughter. “How much pink? Give me a percentage here.”

“Ninety-nine percent pink.”

“That’s a lot of pink. Don’t you think you’ll get pink fatigue?”

“No such thing.”

“I disagree. If you have ice cream for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, do you think you’d like it by dinnertime?”

“No one does that, Conor, silly.”

“I’ve done it. So I know the answer.”

She squinted at me. “Which ice cream meal is best?”

“Breakfast, because by dinner time, you’re sick of a good thing. Plus, it feels naughty so it tastes better.”

Kat pondered that as we made it to the garage.

When we were in my Mini Cooper, she queried, “How much pink wouldn’t be pink fatigue?”

As I turned onto the road, I calculated, “Seventy percent.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s more than half, so that appeases your pink-loving soul, but there’s thirty percent that lets you go wild and keeps the pink fresh. That’s a good amount.”

“I’ll think about it,” was the only confirmation I got.

This kid, I swear. By nurture alone, Star had crafted her mini-me.

“Can I have a coat rack tree too?”

My heart literally pinged in my chest. “Kat, it isn’t a coat rack.”

“Sure it is. We put our coats on it, don’t we?”

“Yes, but we’re not supposed to.”

“Why do I put my coat on it then?”

“Why do you do cartwheels inside the house? Tornado Tina.”

She giggled at the nickname but then, her laughter faded. “Can I have a coat rack tree so that I don’t have to spoil your tree?”

I shot her a grin. “Sure you can. I’m surprised I didn’t think of that myself.”

Unless…

She beamed a smile at me.

Nah.

I hadn’t just been…

No.

I narrowed my eyes at her. “You knew the tree wasn’t a coat rack.”

“Nuh-huh.”

“Did your mom put you up to this?”

“My—” She blinked. “Mom.” Just when I thought she was drifting into a dissociative state, she sighed. “No. Mom didn’t.”

Because I figured she was testing it on her tongue, I left her alone, mostly as it was cute listening to her repeat the word under her breath.

As I drove us to her school where the gym session was located, I played some songs. It was only when she started singing along to one that I realized Star must have listened to noxxious in her time. Otherwise, Kat wouldn’t know the lyrics.

The thought had me hiding a smile. And sending her a song.

Me: Tired Of You - Foo Fighters

Star: Should I be offended?

Me: Just listen to the damn song.

An hour later, I was sitting eating crudités and ranch dip, watching Kat do some weird shit in the air, when a woman sat down beside me.

“I always forget to bring snacks,” she said with a sigh before she turned to me and shot me a smile. “My name’s Ali Hart.”

I recognized that last name. “I think your kid is the kid my…” What did I call her? “…daughter…” Not entirely the truth, but it was good enough for me. Plus, I liked how it sounded. “…spat on because he was being rude to one of the cafeteria staff?”

Cheeks flushing, Ali Hart released a nervous laugh. “That’s water under the bridge. Just a misunderstanding.”

I frowned at her and turned to the side, angling away from her so she knew I didn’t want to talk.

Returning to my carrot stick, I held it between my teeth so I could clap when Kat proved that, in the gym, she was hot shit on the mat—seemed as if she were only deadly when there were antiques in the vicinity.

“She’s good,” Ali praised, sidling closer. “I know coach is saying she wants Katina to come for extra classes.”

“How do you know that?”

“Charles told me.”

“Why does Charles know?” I asked suspiciously.

She gave a tinkling, read annoying , laugh. “I think he has a little crush on her.”

“How cliché of him,” I mumbled under my breath.

Her hand landed on my arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear that.”

When her tits brushed my bicep, I sighed with annoyance at the come-on. “Look, I’m not?—”

But I didn’t need to defend my honor.

Not with Kat around.

“Hey! Get off my dad,” she shouted.

From across the gym.

So loud that everyone heard.

And everyone twisted around to find out why she was hollering like this was a football game.

Ali turned bright red but she cleared her throat and bustled away as quickly as she’d attempted to worm her way in.

I shot Kat a thumbs-up, but she was too busy glowering at Ali to see it, and it was then that it hit me what she’d said.

Dad .

I knew she’d call me Conor after this class was over, but using that particular label had been her initial instinct.

This time, when I dunked a carrot stick into hummus, I was grinning like a loon, and once we were ready to leave, I didn’t just get us hot dogs—I got us pizza and cannolis because that’s what dads should do after gym class.

At least, that’s what this dad did after gym class, and who the fuck else mattered?