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“Ya wee fucker.”
Regardless of the bombshell he just dropped, he doesn’t let me off and comes charging toward me. I get into position, ready to fight until the death. He swings, but I dodge and connect with his ribs. It doesn’t stop him, however.
We circle one another, fists raised, ready to tear the other apart—just how I knew it would always end.
“Yer ma was fucking a Catholic!” He spits on the ground, expressing his repulsion at the fact. “Ya could be anyone’s son for all I know.”
His words just fuel this out of control anger, and I strike out, belting him in the stomach. He bends in half, but I don’t show any mercy because he’s never done so to me. I kick him in the face, setting him off balance as he tumbles onto his back.
I dive on top of him, pinning one shoulder to the ground as I punch him in the face over and over again. His warm blood coats my knuckles, blood which may not run through my veins. With an indignant howl, I grip his cheeks and slam his head onto the hard ground.
He laughs in response, bloody and beaten. “Ye may not be my son, but ye fight like a Kelly.”
“Ya fucker!” I scream, and just as I raise my fist, prepared to knock him out for good, strong hands scoop under my arms and drag me off him.
I fight wildly, but my uncle Sean hushes me, pinning me to his chest. “Catch yerself on! Enough!”
But not this time. He can’t calm this over.
I shove him away, and he staggers back, shook, as it’s the first time I’ve been forceful with him.
“What’s going on here?” he asks, looking between me and my da.
But he doesn’t get to play peacemaker. He is as much to blame as my da.
“How could you lie to me? I expected it from him, but not from you,” I say, shaking my head, ragin’ but also, hurt.
Uncle Sean sighs, interlacing his hands atop his head.
“So it’s true then? My ma was…fucking Brody Doyle?”
This is it; the truth I sought so hard for.
“Aye, lad. I’m sorry ya found out. I wished for ya to never know the truth,” he says regretfully.
“Ya lied to me!” I shout, unable to accept this because the only person who showed me an ounce of decency was in on this ruse.
“Only ’cause I wanted to protect ya from the truth.”
“And what is the truth, Uncle?” I question, peering down at my hands coated in Kelly blood. “Am I a Kelly? Or am I a…Doyle?”
There it is—the truth which has been staring me in the face.
My da or, rather, Connor comes into a sitting position, flinching as he clutches his ribs.
Uncle Sean looks at Connor, who nods. Connor knows I’ll only believe Uncle Sean to tell me the truth.
“Lad, we don’t know, but we think so. We think Brody Doyle is yer father. When yer ma fell pregnant, yer da and she were separated. The time don’t match up for Connor to be yer da. We never thought much of it, but when yer ma’s deceit became clear, we joined the dots.”
I shake my head, shook.
“We never avenged yer ma ’cause she was goin’ to sell yer da out. The secret she kept was that she would ruin the Kellys by revealin’ to everyone that she was havin’ an affair with yer da’s archnemesis.
“Can ya imagine how that’d look? We’d be the laughin’ stock of Northern Ireland. Connor Kelly can’t control his wife; how was he to manage a multimillion-pound illegal business? How were his men supposed to look at him with respect?
“How were the enemies supposed to be afraid? This would ruin us. Ya know that. But it was leverage yer ma had. She thought she had the upper hand. She was cocky and careless and demanded things in a world she didn’t understand.
“Yer da tolerated yer ma’s rebellion because he loved her. But Brody didn’t; this is why he had yer ma killed. She was becomin’ a liability to him, as at the end of the day, she was always a Protestant and he a Catholic. I’m sorry, Punky, but it’s the truth.”
