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“Hi, Uncle Rían,” I quietly greet with a short wave.
“Tate!” He enthusiastically shouts on a toss of a hand. “Bloody hell you look like fucking shite.”
“He feels like it, too,” Dad informs on my behalf. “He needs our advice.”
Bewilderment blasts through my crinkled expression. “How did you-”
“The forehead rub,” Dad announces causing his brothers to collectively groan their comprehension.
“Wait,” my body inches to the edge of the lumpy couch, “what do you mean the forehead rub? We have our own bloody forehead rub?”
“Those of us who have fallen in love do,” Uncle Raff casually explains. “Your granddad told me about it. And I told them when their time came. And now we’re telling you.”
“Telling me…what precisely?”
“That yes, it was a cock up,” Dad jumps in as if he knows all the details.
“And things are bad,” Uncle Rían immediately continues.
“But they are not over,” Uncle Raff reassures on a comforting grin. “Now, would you like to share the specific details of yours or should I just start with a general O’Clery rundown of problems?”
Curiosity pokes me in the ribs too hard to ignore. “We have general O’Clery problems?”
“Some of us drink a wee bit too much,” Uncle Rían begrudgingly admits.
“Some of us have a wee bit of a temper,” Uncle Raff acknowledges, “or not enough of one.”
“Some of us can be a wee bit…too jealous at times,” Dad confesses through gritted teeth.
“That.” Pointing at him on the screen is followed by a twitched glare. “I have that.”
“Probably because I have that.” Dad rolls his eyes. “Genetics.”
Yeah, I don’t think jealousy is genetic trait like alcoholism; however, now does not seem like the time to discuss that.
“You get in a scrap?” Uncle Rían promptly interrogates. “She upset because it’s your fifth this year?”
Shock over the accusation has me stuttering out, “N-n-no. Nothing at…that level.”
“Then you’re tamer than your old man,” Uncle Rían impishly jokes. “We were worried they were going to deport him before he had a chance to bloody move on his own.”
I cut my father a glance who struggles to look innocent.
Or sorry.
Oh…bloody hell.
Jealousy is genetic, isn’t it?
“Details, nephew,” Uncle Raff commands on a gesturing of the hand.
I hesitate yet eventually begin. “Harper-”
“Rory says she’s a lovely woman,” Uncle Rían needlessly interjects.
“She is,” Dad politely reiterates.
“Harper has an ex-husband who,” resentment rages up my throat and I force myself to shove it down, “she’s still bloody mates with. Best. Bloody. Mates. And I…hate it.”
