Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94527 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94527 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
I swallowed uneasily.
A new beginning.
To be honest, I’d kinda seen an ending too.
He was right about Finn. Finn saw a new chapter. We’d already spent countless hours mapping out new turfs and operations for our crews. A brand-new structure. But with old traditions, too, because that was just how Finnegan was as a man. Same with Liam, his eldest cousin, who now ruled the Chicago faction. They were as rebellious as they were conservative.
Which reminded me… Nessa kept calling, wanting to visit. Liam’s baby sister.
I made a mental note to call her tomorrow.
“It’s nuts to think about it,” I mused. “All these mates I hung out with as a kid—Finn, Patrick, Liam, Eric, Colm, Conn…” Christ, we’d raised so much hell. We’d given crew bosses gray hair like we’d been paid to do it. “Too much has happened—yet not enough to make it plausible to picture us in leadership roles. You know what I mean? Like, I know Finn’s our boss. I know Liam’s handling everything in Chicago. I know Eric and I are in charge of making sure Finn’s operations run smoothly. I know it’s my job to collect payments from the crew bosses. But I still see us as fifteen-, sixteen-, and seventeen-year-olds running around, causing mayhem.”
Shan let out a silent chuckle. “Funnily enough, so do I.”
Didn’t I fucking know it.
Colm had a high rank too. He was head of personal security for wives and other family members—when he wasn’t marching the streets with me. The job suited him. He was selective as fuck and vetted every driver and guard until there was nothing else to know about them.
Conn, his brother, would’ve liked that job as well. The crazy Dublin brothers who’d done everything together. Losing him had been a gut punch.
The only comfort Colm had was that his brother would live on in my sister’s newborn son.
God, I missed them.
I swallowed hard as unwelcome emotions threatened to resurface. Fuck Shannon. I didn’t want them. He was right; the apathy was better. Feeling nothing beat this bullshit. It was useless to get weepy about it. Tears wouldn’t bring back Patrick and Conn. Or Grace. Or any of the others.
A new beginning.
So, what? I was supposed to just glance forward? Open a new book? Accept that the people around me, the new Sons, would offer blank expressions if I mentioned pieces of history that’d built our little empire?
I couldn’t do that. So help me God, if I had to teach them our history, I fucking would. Our past was still important. It made us burn.
I cleared my throat. “None of this—starting fresh or whatever—explains why you should retire.”
Sadness crept into his expression as he stared down into his glass again. “Because there is no starting fresh for me, Kellan,” he said quietly. “When you lose your footing the way I have, your future disappears. I will spend the rest of my life on the sidelines. I’ll find moments of solace with my son and grandchildren, I pray I will laugh again, and watching you, Emilia, Luna, and all the others help forge the syndicate with Finnegan will be an honor. But the ground underneath me is gone.”
To hear that hurt more than anything else. His pain was so evident, but more than that, it was the acceptance that his life was essentially over that killed me.
I blinked past the sting in my eyes and refilled my glass.
What the hell could I do?
“Fuck.” Shan lost his composure, set down his drink, and covered his face with his hands. “I need him back. I need him.” The way he hunched forward and pleaded with nobody for his son fucking shattered me. “He can’t be dead. My sweet boy.”
I coughed as emotions surged forward, too many, too fast, and I set aside my drink too. Then I screwed my eyes shut and struggled to keep my shit together. His anguish was too raw for me to handle. I felt like a helpless moron.
But I couldn’t stay away anymore. As his gut-wrenching cries filled the room, I instinctively moved closer to him and put an arm around his shoulders.
The apathy was gone for both of us.
“He should’ve been spared,” he sobbed.
Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I hugged him tightly, wishing like hell I could put him back together. Or take Patrick’s place.
The most painful sobs eventually evened out, and the exhaustion that took over was so tangible I could almost cut through it.
“He woulda been so mad at you right now,” I whispered.
Shan let out a broken chuckle and sniffled. “He would. He would’ve told me to buck up or something.”
Yeah, that sounded like our Pat.
Shan eased away and wiped at his cheeks. “Tonight was supposed to be me listening to you, not me crying on your shoulder—again.”
Technically, it was the first time he’d cried on my shoulder. But yeah, we’d had a handful of these nights by now.