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He sighed. “You know I can’t see first thing in a morning.”
“By choice,” I retorted, hiding a smile at his dramatics.
Brennan and Conor eyed Seamus like he was a coiled rattlesnake that was waiting to strike. Conor had even stopped eating! They watched him as he wandered over to the trolley and picked up a couple of slices of bacon, all without turning to look at me.
It was quite clear that he didn’t have an inkling I was with someone.
I decided not to clue him into that fact, wondering what he’d do when he saw I wasn’t alone.
Would he recognize them?
How couldn’t he?
When he looked in the mirror in the morning, he had to see the likeness between them all.
He hummed as he chomped down on the bacon, nice and dark like he loved it, then he picked up the cloche and took a slice of dry toast.
“Where’s the sauce, Mom?”
“I didn’t bring any this time.”
His head whipped around. “You always bring sauce!” Then he saw them. And he froze. His cheeks burned hot before blanching, and he took a step back.
Conor tipped his head to the side. “What sauce do you like?”
Seamus bit his lip, then looked to me for backup. Because I’d always give him that, I smiled at him. Gently. Coaxingly. Trying to tell him that everything was okay. That everythingwould beokay too. Not exactly easy after what had gone down in our home, but he trusted me, just like I trusted him. That’d take more than a night to destroy.
Warily, he gulped, then rasped, “It’s called HP sauce. Americans never know what it is.”
“I know what it is,” Brennan rumbled. “Had it when I was over in Ireland.” He elbowed Conor. “That stuff that’s like A1 sauce but better.”
Conor evidently processed that and took a bite of egg and bacon as he did so. Then he hummed. “I remember that stuff. Brown sauce I think you called it?”
“That’s the stuff. Seamus likes to have a bacon sandwich with it,” I explained.
“Huh,” Conor said simply. “Don’t they stock it here?”
“I get it online.” To Seamus, I asked, “You going to come and sit down and eat with us? There’s butter for the toast.”
He licked his lips. “I-I guess.”
Brennan moved, ever so slightly, and I only noticed because I was aware of him. His shoulders shrank a little and he slipped down in his chair. Conor saw it too, but he didn’t look at me askance, just stunned me by doing the same thing.
Then, when Seamus took a seat, I got it. And I wouldn’t lie, my heart melted a little bit.
They’d made themselves smaller.
I mean, there was only so much they could do to achieve that, for God’s sake. They were both big guys, and Seamus was big for his age too, but I appreciated the gesture. More than they’d ever know, because it gave me hope. Hope that they’d be a good influence and not just a bad one. That they’d be family first, and Irish Mob second where my kid was concerned.
I’d thought they might backhand him for being cheeky, yet here they were, hunkering down to make him more at ease… the relief was real.
Seamus was quiet over breakfast, and I let him get away with it, didn’t bother to chivvy him into talking because I wasn’t about to force that on him.
What with everything that had happened, it was a wonder he was still functioning. Period. But he was resilient—I’d done that.
I gave myself kudos for it too.
When, an hour later, we’d finished eating and talking about nothing in particular which, somehow, hadn’t been as painful as I might have imagined, I told Seamus to pack up his things. He slid off and a little while later, I heard the shower rumble on in his room.
