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Grinning again, I cut Ma a look and saw she was standing at the sink, her hands gripping the sides as she stared out of the window and onto the expansive yard. I didn’t think the pool was what had her so engrossed, though.
If anything, she was lost to me.
To the house.
To New fucking York.
What was going on with her?
The question plagued me even as Bagpipes growled, “Brennan? What the fuck do you want me to do?”
“Not get shot,” I said promptly. “She’s been managing to keep her ass in one piece without our interference. Just sit on her car. Make sure she doesn’t go anywhere without you there tailing her. Got me?”
“Yeah, I do.” He cleared his throat. “You coming over?”
In the Five Points, family was more than just blood. It came in the shape of a five-pointed star too. Bagpipes and Forrest were a part of my crew, but they were friends as well. Because I’d set them on innocuous jobs they gave me shit about, I’d enlightened them about the status quo.
They thought I was fucking nuts, but who were they to argue?
I answered to three people in this world.
God.
My father.
And Father Doyle.
Two of them, I ignored, but Da? He wasn’t the kind to let anyone ignore him. Not unless you wanted a knife between the legs.
My only saving grace was that Camille was family now, and Da wanted my balls right where they were so I could spawn the next gen of O’Donnellys. A poor fucking bunch of kids who’d take over the helm when we croaked—thirty years earlier than we probably should thanks to the shitty life we led.
Heaving a sigh, I muttered, “I’ll be over if I can make it.”
He grunted. “See you later, then.”
He didn’t tack on, “Dumbass,” but I heard it all the same.
If I hadn’t known something was wrong with Ma, I’d have known it when she didn’t ask me about the phone call... her focus was still on the back yard.
Frowning, I got to my feet and moved away from the scrubbed oak kitchen table, toward the island which I rounded, before I headed to the wide porcelain sink she was gripping like it was a life raft to cling to.
I moved to her side, slung an arm about her shoulder, and pressed my chin to her head. “You can talk to me, Ma.”
She cleared her throat. “I had some good news, by the way. Mary Catherine gave birth to a boy. Isn’t that wonderful? Her mother’s a real piece of work, but she was always such a nice girl—”
“Ma,” I grumbled. “I like Mary Catherine too, but for God’s sake, I ain’t interested in her right now. Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“Some things a son shouldn’t know about his mother,” was all she said.
“You could kill someone and I wouldn’t give a fuck, Ma,” I argued, my tone waspish with irritation. I felt her shoulders bunch thanks to my hold on her.
“You need to get going, son.”
I did. She wasn’t wrong.
But...
“You seemed fine the other day.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Some days are better than others, aren’t they? You know that as well as I do, son.”
At her words, I just blew out a breath, tilted my head so that my cheek was resting on the crown of hers this time, and I stared out the window too.
Because she wasn’t wrong.
Some days really were better than others, and there was nothing I, or anyone else, could do about it.
