“Let’s set up a tour with the distillery’s seller,” Hugh announced. Topic change. Noted.
“I’ll send an email this—” They were walking in. Raven, in all her big-bellied glory, Bran, Devlen, Rowan, Nan, and— oh fuck— River. “Christ.”
“Steady, Pat,” Dad growled.
Pat watched the three sisters laugh and hug their Nan and Devlen— probably for the hundredth time. The announcement went well, apparently. He wasn’t sure what he should do. Leave? Ignore River? Go to the restroom and stay there?Thatwould bring back lovely memories for River.
River made eye contact with him then. Her steps slowed. She took a deep breath, and then another, and another. Patrick was standing. He hadn’t intended on standing. The family chatter ceased.
River broke eye contact first, so he quickly sat while he decided his best course of action. River announced to the waitress when she approached, “Shots all the way ’round, minus one, pointing at Raven, we’re celebrating an engagement.”
“That’s grand,” the waitress grinned. “Any preference?”
“Your choice,” River answered, smiling. The smile almost reached her eyes. But not quite. Everyone took their seats. Chatter resumed. Wedding plans for Nan. Raven’s Braxton Hicks— and yes, he knew what those were. Bran insisted he and their dad readWhat to Expect When You’re Expecting. “In case of emergencies.” Patrick didn’t state the obvious. Emergencies would begin and end with a 911 call, but whatever.
He didn’t want River to have to force good cheer during such an important celebration. So, he stood again, causing everyone to go quiet. Again. The opposite of celebratory. “No, everyone, don’t let me interrupt. I have to get back home and send off some emails.” Bran looked at Patrick and nodded. He understood.
Dad said, “Be sure to ask for the end of this week or the beginning of next, Pat.”
Patrick nodded, stepping away from the table when River froze him like Medusa. “Hello, Patrick. Could you stay long enough to toast Nan?”
Stunned. Elated. Patrick slowly sank back into his chair. “I would really like to. Thank you.” She didn’t address him again, but her smile seemed less forced. What a first day back. Better than he ever dreamed. He got to see River, and she spoke to him.
Nan was sitting next to Patrick. She patted his leg under the table.
Rowan was sitting next to River. She looked at him and shrugged, but she did give him a small smile.
Raven only looked at Patrick with speculation. He knew she would take a while to forgive him.
Bran was staring at Raven. Dad was staring at Rowan— who was studiously ignoring him. Their blended family was not for the faint of heart.
Devlen placed his hand over Nan’s on the tabletop. She blushed. The old man winked at her. The sisters whooped in joy.
Patrick didn’t say anything or join in the banter. He smiled and was thankful to be a part of the group again. The truth was, though, Patrick was unsure where he fit. He felt like they were all puzzle pieces, but his piece was bent on one corner. Close, but not quite right.
Shots were passed around, something sweet and gross. Everyone grimaced while congratulating Nan and Devlen.
Patrick excused himself after another thirty minutes, not wanting to overstay, and he truly did need to email the distillery people. He said his goodbyes to the table at large, briefly touching on River but not allowing his eyes to linger.
As he stepped outside, he froze. The first thing River said to him was,Hello Patrick.
Oh my God. River was quoting his letter.
26
Thanks to information from one of his dark web acquaintances, Sam found himself standing outside a derelict warehouse on some back street in Tallaght, South Dublin County. T, which Sam could only assume wasn’t his real name, dealt in arms and drug trafficking. T knew somebody, that knew somebody, that provided weapons to the person who sold guns to Mickey, the man he was supposed to be meeting tonight.
The warehouse looked abandoned. Sam’s excitement started to dim. Surely, this wasn’t another dead end. He had to take several deep breaths, so he didn’t lose his shit. He was tired of nothing going his way. Tired of working at the coffee shop. He’d considered quitting, but it did give him an excuse to be in the area of Triskelion. Working and shopping. He wanted the guards to see him every day.
The cons outweighed the pros in favor of quitting, but God, he was tired of the comments from the people who used to be his fans. He’d lost another ten subscribers. He couldn’t chance making any videos while he was here. He wanted to go back to the States. He missed the freedom of life in the motor home.
The O’Faolains, yet again, ruining his life.
Fuck them, and fuck Dublin.
Meeting Mickey was supposed to be the first step in taking back control of his revenge narrative. He’d been waiting on this shadowed sidewalk for twenty minutes, a duffle slung over his shoulder, shivering in the cold damp.
The rattle of metal sounded to his left. Sam spun at the sound. A dingy, white metal door creaked on its ancient hinges as it was pulled open. A man with spiked hair was illuminated by the low light behind him.
