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“Christ.” He let out a shuddering breath and scrubbed at his face. “I can’t even let go completely. There’s no ‘cry it out and feel better afterward.’ If I don’t put a lid on it, I just won’t stop.”
I couldn’t imagine that level of despair.
“My thoughts terrify me sometimes too,” he admitted. His hands fell to his lap, and he stared unseeingly at his palms. “When I get that desperate, I start bargaining with a god I’m not sure I believe in anymore.”
We needed more alcohol.
I refilled his glass and handed it to him. “Tell me.”
“Oh no. It’s…” He shook his head and accepted the drink. “No. It’s my biggest shame. My mind turns into a dark place.”
“Like I would judge you?” Christ, I didn’t care how dark it was. He’d lost his child. “It’s better you get it off your chest.”
And I could tell he needed to talk. I was willing to bet he felt alone in his grief if he believed his own thoughts were shameful.
I didn’t want him to feel alone even for a minute.
I took a big swallow of my drink as he summoned the courage. He was right there on the edge. On any other day, under normal circumstances, Shannon wasn’t the type of man who shared his feelings or troubles. But these weren’t normal circumstances.
“You know what? Screw it,” he muttered with a thin, bitter smile. “I won’t blame you for kicking me out of your guest room after this.” He wasn’t gonna get a response from me at that. It was ridiculous. “I have bargained—I’ve literally sat down and thought about who I would sacrifice to get my son back. How many I would kill…” That was where his temporary detachment faltered, and he didn’t look so indifferent anymore. “Oh God, please forgive me.” He suddenly appeared nauseated, and he averted his stare.
His jaw clenched.
I felt for him, but I could do the math, and I didn’t find it shameful whatsoever. “You’ve included family members,” I murmured. “You’ve gone through the whole list to rank us—to see who you’d sacrifice to get Pat back.”
He nodded with a dip of his chin and wiped away a stray tear that rolled down his cheek. “I remember holding Finn and Emilia’s son for the first time when they announced his name was Ryan Patrick O’Shea. This sweet, innocent little form in my arms—and his proud parents right there. Emilia, so exhausted and beautiful. My son—it’s not often we see Finn overwhelmed with happiness and pride like that. And then me… I stood there and looked down at Ryan, and I thought, ‘Would I give you up to save the man you’re named after?’”
Jesus Christ.
Just hearing about it made me sick too. Even though I could still see Shan’s side of things.
“I barely made it home before I fell apart,” he muttered into his drink.
“And now you think I’m gonna see you as a monster or something?” I shook my head. “I don’t, Shan. I see a father who’s going through the worst loss imaginable to a parent. And what you think in your darkest moment isn’t a reflection of what you’d actually do. It’s not like you’d ever harm a child.”
“Of course not,” he replied in a rush. “I couldn’t bring myself to do that even in a hypothetical scenario—and it doesn’t matter. My son was many things, but heartless wasn’t one. He wouldn’t be able to look me in the eye if I’d done something to someone he cared for—for his sake. He’d never speak to me again.”
He was right about that.
“We have to change the topic. I hate this.” Yeah, he definitely felt sick. “I talk too much around you, Kellan.”
I smiled and lifted my glass to my lips. “That’s a good thing, you dryshite.” Then I took a sip and felt the first rush of alcohol-induced contentment flow through me. “I’m surprised Finn hasn’t told you to go to confession.”
He huffed a little chuckle. “He does that every time I’m at their place.”
But that had never been Shannon’s thing.
“You were never like Grace and Finn when it came to Mass and church in general,” I noted. “I’ve seen you do sudoku when Father O’Malley drones on.”
He smirked slightly before finishing his drink. “And I’ve seen you spend an entire service on your phone.”
Well, I went to church because it was expected of me. My relationship with religion was shaky at best. On the one side, I had my parents who’d cursed me to the fiery pits of hell for being gay, and they’d actually quoted the scriptures as I’d packed my bag, mortified and crushed. Then on the other side, I had Father O’Malley and family like Finn. Our priest said only one could judge, and it certainly wasn’t my folks. His church was open for everyone, and he spoke out against homophobia and racism. And Finn…well, he’d legit asked Father O’Malley if it was okay to stab my parents for being dickheads.
