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"Is it true about the rolling pin?"
A laugh escaped him. "How did you find that out?"
"Do you really want to know?"
He cocked a brow. "What do you think?"
"There’s this coffee shop in Hell’s Kitchen where these women get together and talk about shit. They’re there every day." I shrugged. "They’re loud."
"Jesus, are they all old?"
"I guess. Most of them, at any rate. Some are in their fifties?"
"That’s the Old Wives’ Club. They’re the wives of the guys who died on the job. So long as they don’t marry again, Da provides for them." He rolled his eyes. "Guess who never gets married again?"
"All of them," I said with a laugh. "Canny ladies."
He grunted. "You overheard the rolling pin story?"
"I did. Guess that means it’s true? That she hit him over the head and it knocked some sense into him?"
"Apparently. I wonder if she knew at the time he was cheating. We never got that version of events, truth be told."
"You really didn’t know that Finn was your brother?" I asked softly.
"No. I really didn’t."
"I mean, you look alike." I bit my lip. "I just thought it was something you guys didn’t talk about. You know, a dirty secret?"
"Did the Old Wives’ Club say that?"
"Nah, I‘ve got eyes, don’t I?" I tapped my nose. "Plus, I’ve made it my business to look into everything O’Donnelly."
"True." He grunted. "So, for all that I’m surprised, you’re not at all... Typical."
"Sorry," I said with a grimace.
"Don’t be." He heaved a sigh. "Jesus, Savannah, tonight has been a real fucking night."
"I’m sorry, Aidan," I whispered, edging nearer to him, and pressing myself against his side.
"I’ve watched Da brain himself on the wall, torture a goddamn Archbishop, and then almost self-immolate—"
"What?" I burst out. "He tried to kill himself?"
"He did. Ma almost did as well," he rasped, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I had to knock him over then drag him down the fucking aisle."
I reached for the hand that was trying to wipe away his fatigue and pressed it to my cheek. "You saved him from himself."
"I did. He called me Aidan as well."
"That’s your name?"
"He calls me Junior." His brow furrowed even further and he let out a nasty-sounding cough. "What a weird motherfucking day."
Even though I knew he was processing something, something he wasn’t comfortable sharing, my lips curved. "Funny how it’s the fact that your dad stopped calling you by your nickname, and not that you burned down a cathedral that was weird about your day."
He scoffed, "You’re not wrong. Jesus. You should run away, kicking and screaming, Savannah."
