My heart began to pound at his words. It was exactly what I’d been running from, and I should have known that eventually they would catch up to me. My Da had made this choice for me before I’d been able to wipe my own ass, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it. Christ, if Mum hadn’t kicked him out, he probably would have filled my head with propaganda and I would have been eager to take my place in the ranks. No matter the course that got us to that point, it was always going to happen.
My life—the dreams that I’d followed and worked for—flashed before my eyes, and I knew. I’d never live in a small cottage with Amy, filling her belly with babies before I trudged off to teach excited new students about the importance of classic literature. I’d been a fool, and it was finally time to face reality.
My hand began to clench at my side and I consciously relaxed it, loosening my body until none of my tension was apparent. Any sign of weakness would be seen by these men, and I couldn’t afford it.
The short man made it sound as if I had a choice, but there was really no choice at all. I was their puppet or I was a dead man. And they’d effectively cut me off at the knees, because with one word about Amy, Malcolm had known that I’d never take my chances against them. She was a weakness they were willing to exploit.
“What’s de job?” I asked quietly.
My da looked surprised and short Michael was smug.
“I hear yer good wit’ a knife.”
I glanced at Malcolm to see a small, weasely smile on his face.
“I’m fair.”
“Dat’ll do.” Michael tipped his head then stepped forward to the table and laid his hands flat on the surface. “De police commissioner has been makin’ t’ings… hard for me lads,” he said, spreading photos of a house and a man out on the table. “We need to do somet’in’ about it...”
My need to protect my mum while my da was gone had led me down a shady path for a few years as a teenager. I’d come to the conclusion that those who weren’t feared were those who became the preyed upon. Our neighborhood had never been one of the worst, but it wasn’t the greatest either, and I’d realized that even my da’s reputation would not protect my mother and I. So, I’d become one of those who were feared.
I’d never carried a gun, I couldn’t make myself go so far, but believing that fists alone would make my point would have been foolish. Instead, I’d carried a switchblade. I’d practiced and I was good with it. Almost as if it was a natural extension of my hand, I’d made my stand over and over with the local thugs who thought they could intimidate me. My reputation with a blade had eventually made it so that even if I wasn’t in town, my mother and now Amy were safe under my protection. I hadn’t had to pull my knife in over four years.
But I still carried it.
The implication behind Michael’s words was clear. He wanted the man dead, and he wanted me to do it. We spent the day going over the police commissioner’s habits and memorizing his address and by the time I left late that night, my future was set in stone.
Perhaps it had always been set in stone and I’d been too blind to see it.
When the time came, my Da tried to talk me into letting him take the kill, but I knew that was suicide. Da was on the outskirts already. If he took the job I was given instead of being a look out like he’d been ordered, we were both dead men. I had to prove myself… incriminate myself.
The idea was brilliant, really. With one job, they’d successfully assured both my Da’s loyalty and my own. I became a murderer, and Da would do anything to protect his only son.
The police commissioner was the first man I killed. He was a drunk who lived alone. It was easy.
I vomited afterward.
I also vomited the next time.
And the next time.
And the next time.
But eventually it got easier.
And then I became numb to it all.
I’d successfully brought my father back into the fold. It was unfortunate that I’d had to follow him back in.
Chapter 25
Amy
Going back to high school—or secondary, as it was called in Ireland—was so weird. The conversations I’d listened to so intently before about boys and how far so and so had gone the weekend before suddenly sounded petty and immature. The girls all seemed like such babies.
A part of me wanted to speak up when a girl across the lunch table talked excitedly about how her boyfriend had wanted her to touch his ‘you know’ when they’d been out that weekend. The girls had made disgusted faces and it took everything I had to not tell them that eventually they’d be putting ‘you know’ in their mouths. I forced myself not to giggle into the sandwich I’d brought with me for lunch. Oh, the things I could tell them.
Life was just different for me, I had to remember that. Not better or worse, just different.
While those girls were kissing frogs and touching random ‘you knows’ looking for their happily ever after, I’d already found mine. Well, it wasn’t exactly a happily ever after, but it would be. For a while, I’d been talking to Patrick nearly every day, but we’d resorted to letters after a while.
I wasn’t surprised by it; phone calls were expensive and I knew he was busy…but it made the time pass slower when I no longer had his voice to look forward to at the end of the day. The longer I went without seeing him, the more disjointed my life felt. I wasn’t a wife, but I wasn’t only a high school student, either. I was someplace in the middle. I missed him so much that sometimes I had a stomach ache all day long, but it helped a little to know what we were working toward something. All I had to do was picture a small house on a quiet street and Patrick in a suit and tie getting ready for work, and it made things just a little more bearable.
I told myself I just had to be patient. It would all work out in the end.
***
“Peg, I’m home!” I called out wearily, dropping my bag onto the sofa. God, I couldn’t wait to be done with school. Patrick had been gone for a month and I was sick and tired of living like a child when I was actually a married woman. I was ready to move on from that stage of my life. I was so ready, in fact, that I’d stopped by the local pub on my way home asking for a job. I knew I had to finish school, quitting wasn’t an option, but I only had another month left before I graduated. I needed something else to do and a way to contribute somehow.
Thankfully, the owner of Dillon’s was more than happy to hire me on. I think Casey Dillon had been friends with Patrick’s dad at some point because I’d met him at the wedding reception, and I was pretty sure that’s the only reason he gave me the job. The pub was practically empty when I’d walked in—there was no way he needed the extra help. I didn’t start for another week, but after that I’d be stocking and serving alcohol from five to midnight Friday and Saturday nights. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
I was so excited to tell Peg about my new job that I pretty much danced into the kitchen then came to a comically abrupt stop. My husband was there in the middle of the room, with a small smile on his face and his hands pressed deeply into the pockets of his jeans. I was stunned at first, and then racing to him. Within seconds, I was wrapped in his strong arms. I felt tears hit my eyes as I inhaled deeply and gripped the back of his sweatshirt. He smelled exactly the same, and I couldn’t get close enough. I wanted to burrow inside his clothes so I could touch him skin to skin.
“Dat’s a good welcome home,” he whispered huskily into my ear.
His hands were shaking against my back.
“I missed you so much,” I said into his neck.
He shuffled me backward, never letting me go as we made our way out of the kitchen and finally through the door to our bedroom. I knew we were being rude. I hadn’t even said hello to the people at the table—but I couldn’t find it in myself to care.
My husband was home. I wouldn’t have cared if the pope himself was sitting at our kitchen table. I didn’t have eyes for anyone but Patrick.
We f
ell onto our little bed in a tangled heap before I wrapped my legs around Patrick’s hips as tightly as I could.
“Hello, wife,” he said quietly, pulling away just far enough to meet my eyes.
“Hello, husband.”
“Christ, I’ve missed ye.”
I’m not sure which of us moved first, but soon, his tongue was in my mouth, rubbing over my lips and teeth as if to familiarize himself with it once again. My entire body relaxed into the bed as his hands moved over me, never sliding beneath my clothes, but sweeping over me with reverence.
It reminded me of before we were married, when we were dying for each other, but unable to take the final steps. We murmured nonsense against each other’s mouths for long minutes, my hands sliding through his hair and gripping the back of his neck, but eventually reality intruded.
“Tea!” Peg yelled through the house. I could tell that she hadn’t come to the door, but had called from far enough away that she wouldn’t be able to hear what we were doing. Smart woman.
Patrick pulled away slowly, coming back for soft kisses over and over again as he stood up and pulled me up to a sitting position on the bed.
I couldn’t stop staring.
He was exactly the same, but different. I recognized his face as clearly as my own; however, it seemed as if there were new lines around his eyes and his cheekbones had become a bit sharper. His hair was longer than I’d ever seen it, and it flopped over his forehead messily. He looked wonderful and extremely tired.
“We’d better go out dere,” he said, glancing toward the door for only a moment before meeting my eyes again.
“Why are you home? How long are you staying?” It seemed as if the shock had finally worn off and now my mind raced with questions. He hadn’t told me he was coming home.
“I came to see me beautiful wife for a few days, is dat all right wit’ ye?”
His words were mild, but there was an underlying defensiveness to his tone that raised my hackles. What the hell? I immediately thought back to my questions, but couldn’t find anything in my tone or words that would warrant a defensive reaction. If anything, my exuberance should have been a bit funny.
“What?” I asked, puzzled.
“Dere a reason ye don’t want me home?”
My brows furrowed in confusion as he watched me closely. What was he talking about?
“Of course I want you home!” I jumped from the bed, but stopped short when he took a step back. “What the fuck, Patrick?”
I watched him take a deep breath and run his fingers through his hair, pulling the long strands back away from his face. He looked like he was trying to calm himself down, but I couldn’t understand why he would act like that in the first place. Where was my charming husband? Why was he so angry?
He took a step toward me, and that time it was me stepping back.
“I’m sorry, love,” he said, stepping forward again to reach me. “I’m just tired. I don’t want to fight.”
I let him pull me into his arms, but my body remained rigid. I wanted to wrap my arms around him so badly, but I was terrified he’d pull away again. I didn’t understand how I’d made him mad in the first place, and the anxiety made my heart race.
I didn’t want to fight with him, either. I’d missed him so much that I was past the point of jumping up and down with excitement that he was there—no, I didn’t want to jump, I wanted to cry with relief that I could finally feel him against me. The overwhelming emotion of it all went beyond anything I’d ever felt in my entire life. He was finally there, in my arms, and it felt like he didn’t even want to be there.
Patrick pulled me to the kitchen by my hand, as I tried valiantly to straighten my hair with the other. I didn’t need to broadcast the make-out session we’d just had. When I finally sat down at my place at the table, I realized who exactly I’d seen out of the corner of my eye when I’d been too focused on Patrick to pay attention.
Peg’s husband Robbie sat in the normally empty chair as if he’d done it every day for the past ten years, instead of living in a completely different town.
“Ye’ve met me da,” Patrick said shortly, sitting down at the table next to me.
“Um, not really.” My face heated in embarrassment at his blatant disregard of common manners. “I’m Amy. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Robbie,” he replied back with a nod, lifting his arm across the table to shake my hand. “It’s lovely to finally meet ye, too.”
“Brought some pastries home,” Peg announced cheerfully, bringing them to the table. “Didn’t realize our men would be here.”
It felt like I was in a Twilight Zone episode as all the people around me ate quietly as if it was any other day of the week. As if the last time we’d all been in the same room, Robbie and Patrick hadn’t been ready to come to blows and Peg hadn’t been on the cusp of a nervous breakdown. What the hell was going on?
“I’m glad ye two are gettin’ along,” Peg announced, looking between Robbie and Patrick.
Tension at the table rose as the two men glanced at each other, and I jumped in my seat as Peg’s fork went clattering to the tabletop. Her entire body stiffened as she looked back and forth between them. I didn’t understand what was going on, and all of a sudden I was really sick and tired of having no idea what was happening in my family. From the very beginning, I’d tried not to overstep, afraid that if I did my place at that table would disappear. But marriage, or perhaps time, had erased those worries. I wanted to know what the hell was going on. Now.
“No…Tell me ye didn’t, Robert,” Peg hissed. “Tell me ye didn’t bring our boy into yer bullshite.”
“Margaret—”
“Mum—”
The guilt shone plainly on both men’s faces.
“How could ye?” she screamed, making the hair on my arms stand straight up.
“We did not have a choice!” Robbie said back, pleadingly.
“There’s always a choice!”
“Mum—”
“Not a word out of ye, Patrick Gallagher!” Peg ordered, never looking away from Robbie.
“I didn’t know until it was too late.” Robbie insisted.
My mind was spinning and my stomach clenched as all three stood from the table. I was frozen in my seat as I watched it play out in front of me, terrified to know what they were talking about, but unwilling to try and calm the storm before I knew exactly what was happening.
“Ye could have done somethin’! Ye could have got him out!”
“Dere is nuttin’—” Robbie’s arm swung out, and I flinched in my seat at the movement, “Dere is nuttin’ I could have done. Dey would have killed me and pulled him in anyway, ye know dat I wasn’t on de best terms!”
“That’s not true!” Peg argued, wrapping her arms around herself and placing one hand over her heart. “I would have died. I would have killed myself if it meant that our son wasn’t pulled into this madness ye’ve been so intent on being a part of.” Her anguish was palpable, her small body shaking with anger as she took two steps forward and struck him across the face. “I begged ye!” Another slap. “I begged ye to keep him out of it!” Another slap.
Robbie didn’t do one thing in his defense, just stood there and let her beat on him as I watched in horror. When Patrick started to move around the table, yelling for his mom to stop, his dad just raised one arm, motioning for him to stay back. Peg was sobbing, and I’d never before seen her so out of control. Her husband was twice her size, but he did nothing to stop her, even as his face turned red with handprints and his lip split where her wedding ring caught it.
And still, I sat, frozen to my seat. I couldn’t make my body move. I couldn’t organize my thoughts into any semblance of order. They were just a jumbled mess of dawning horror and disbelief at what I was witnessing.
What in God’s name had Robbie pulled Patrick into?
Chapter 26
Amy
“What’s going on Patrick?” I asked as he pushed me into our room.
The screaming had gone on and on, until finally, Robbie had pulled Peg into his chest, comforting her as she slumped against him. He’d lifted her and carried her into her room, closing the door behind them and we hadn’t heard a peep since.
Patrick hadn’t met my eyes after his parents had disappeared, and now he was moving around the room, grabbing a fresh button down shirt out of the closet and doing anything he could to refrain from looking at me.
“Get dressed. I’ll take ye to dinner.”
“I want to know what the hell is happening.” I insisted, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Get out of dat uniform and get dressed,” he replied flatly.
“What the fuck is going on, Patrick?” My voice was getting louder as he turned his back to me, his shoulders tight as he pulled off his sweatshirt and t-shirt. Suddenly, he spun to face me, giving me a glimpse of his bare chest that I didn’t have time to appreciate before he started speaking in a low, angry tone.
“Oh, now ye want to know? After all dis time, livin’ here and eatin’ our food and contributin’ absolutely nuttin’ to dis fuckin’ house except extra dirty laundry—now ye want to know what’s happenin’ around ye?”
My jaw dropped in surprise and my heart started to race as he glared at me. My stomach began to churn at the derision in his stare, and I honestly thought for a moment that I was going to vomit all over the bedroom… contributing even more dirty laundry to the house I gave nothing to.
What could I say to that? What words could I use to fight against something I’d been terrified would happen? I’d been so conscious of what I was doing every second I was at Peg’s. I’d cleaned and helped with the laundry and made dinner as often as I could, because I’d felt like an ingrate for not paying my share of the expenses. From the very beginning, I’d felt like a charity case, but I’d let them talk me into staying there because I’d had no other options and they’d assured me that they didn’t think of me that way.
My eyes filled with tears as I began to gather the few pieces of laundry off the floor, in some sort of small attempt to make amends.