Page 70 of Unrequited

I blink. Nod. Of course. That tracks. Families like his, like mine, tend to be big. There’s strength in numbers. Stability. Legacy.

“And you’re the oldest?”

“Aye,” he says, nodding.

“Who else is in your family?”

“Well,” he says, “me da, Keenan… You'll meet him, eventually.” He says that casually, not pressing. “Not right away,” he adds, almost apologetic. “Because I shouldn’t be bringing you home.”

“Okay,” I say softly, trying not to let the sting show. “Is he not going to want to meet me?”

“No, no, not at all.” He shakes his head, quick to reassure. “Just… not yet.”

How lovely. I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. My lips press together, and I lift my hand to my mouth, an old habit.

He watches me with a softer expression, eyes lighting up as he switches gears. “And my ma. Her name is Caitlin. You’ll love her. Everybody does.”

“Oh?” I manage a small smile. “What can you tell me about her?”

“She lived a wild sort of life before she ever married me da,” he says, thoughtfully stroking his chin. “She was a lighthouse keeper’s daughter. Dad kept her away from the rest of the world, bit of a recluse, that one.”

There’s something magnetic about Seamus when he speaks like this. Now that we're near each other again, even under such strange, high-stakes, damn near impossible circumstances, I just want to listen. Let him ramble. Let him fill the space between us with words and warmth.

I love the way his eyes dance when he’s lost in memory. The way his hands move with the story. That Irish lilt, gentle, rhythmic, so full of emotion, especially when he talks about his family.

“But Seamus…” I say quietly, looking at him. “You know I… I love mine too.”

“I know, little lass.” He reaches for me then, his voice thick with understanding. “I know ye do.”

“And I promise,” he continues, “it won’t always be like this, yeah? It’s just… for now, it’s what’s safest. You understand?”

I nod, turning to the window again, not trusting myself to speak.

“Who else?” I ask after a moment.

“Me da’s cousin Megan, she’s married to a lad named Carson,” he says, ticking names off in his head. “Then there's me da’s older brother, Cormac. Bit tough around the edges, but heart of gold. And me uncle Nolan, married to a lass called Shana.”

He pauses. “Then there are others, men in the clan. Some older, some young and rough, some seasoned. All types. We’ve got a much bigger, more established clan than yours, y’know.”

“I gathered that,” I reply, raising an eyebrow. Is he teasing my family?

“We've been around a long time,” he says, not unkindly. “When me da, Keenan McCarthy, took over, he was second in line. First in line was Seamus McCarthy. I was named after him, you see.”

“I see,” I murmur. “So your ties run deep. Real alliances. Real enemies.”

We talk for a while, and soon, the plane is landing. A car rolls to a slow crawl outside, and he glances at it.

“Let’s get you home,” he says, but the words fall flat. They sound hollow in my ears.

He can take me back to Dublin. He can take me to that house we’re meant to share. But that doesn’t make it home. No. That place isn’t home.

It won’t ever be home.

Chapter 15

SEAMUS

Jesus feckin’Christ, I’ll regret this.