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“Ciarán has explained your past.”
“Whoa,” I say, backing away. “What the fuck is this? A stitch-up?”
Her gaze shoots up to mine again, and Ciarán is at her side the instant I raise my voice to her.
“Thal,” he warns.
“You told her?” I ask, not being able to fathom how to form the words.
“The basics, yeah. She needed to know. This is the long haul for me. Eternity. She deserves better than me keeping secrets from her.”
“Fuck,” I mutter, surprised by his attitude but also, in a way, not so surprised. The way he looks at her is the way I imagine I look at her.
Like she is everything.
“What did you come here for?” Ciarán asks quietly. “Is it for her or more?”
Blinking, I try to remember why I’m here. I’ve been sideswiped, and the past has crashed over me like a tidal wave. Instinctively, I reach for Summerbell’s hand, taking it and squeezing it hard enough for her to grunt. As our fingers intertwine, I feel something shift deep in my soul – a glimmer of hope that, despite everything, there might still be a chance for me. The room grows hazy, and I find myself lost in thoughts of the past. The dark memories of violence and abuse at the hands of our father cloud my mind, leaving a heavy weight on my chest. I recall the cold steel of his belt buckle as it lashed against my skin, the blood that stained my trembling hands, and the bruises that painted my body like a gruesome masterpiece. The trauma of my body being sold like a piece of meat. Those scars run deep, shaping me into the man I am today – hardened, untrusting, and some say, cruel.
I can see the same shadows reflected in Ciarán’s eyes as he stands next to Summerbell, his hand on her lower back, the pain buried beneath the surface but never truly gone. It’s this shared suffering that binds us together, even as we stand on opposite sides of a bloody battlefield carved by gang rivalries and broken promises.
A sudden surge of emotion washes over me when Summer smiles gently, and the light in her eyes is like a balm to my battered soul, soothing the raw wounds of the past. She has awakened a sense of hope, a desire for connection, and maybe even the capacity for love.
“Can we talk?” I force the words out of my dry mouth, looking directly at Ciarán.
“Yeah,” he replies, leaning forward to grip my elbow before he lets go. “We’ll go back to the penthouse, where we can talk in private.”
Nodding, I remain still as Ciarán walks forward, taking Summerbell’s other hand. Together they pull me forward in a fucking metaphor that makes me grimace.
But my feet move of their own free will, the rest of my body catching up by the time we hit the afternoon glare of the sun outside.
And I see the carving of his name down her spine.
37
CIARÁN
Summer’s eyes flicker between Cathal and me, wariness written across her face. She’s torn, caught in the crossfire of our complicated history. I wonder briefly if she regrets getting involved with us – with me.
The warmth of her skin, as I tighten my grip on her hand, ignites a fire, and I want nothing more than to keep her safe from the storm that is brewing. Whatever Cathal and I have to say to each other, it ain’t gonna be pretty. But it needs to be said. I’ve already made peace with Summer’s feelings toward him. Complicated as those are. She sees me in him, that much is obvious. I’m not sure if she has the emotional maturity to handle a relationship with two brothers at the same time, but there again, who the fuck am I to judge? I’ve never had a relationship, at all. One-nighters and flings worked for me until I sank my cock into Summer, and it was all over.
“Come on,” I mutter, leading them toward the apartment building not too far from the pub.
Several tense-filled minutes later, the penthouse door swings open, revealing the luxury I call home. Summer hesitates at the entrance for a second, her eyes scanning the room as if it’s a foreign land she’s stepping into for the first time before she moves forward, her hand still entwined with Thal’s.
Cathal follows closely behind, his face a mask of stone, unreadable.
“Take a seat,” I say, gesturing towards the sofas in the center of the living area. As they sit down, out of habit, I pour a glass of whiskey from the crystal decanter on the side table, but glaring at it, I offer it to Thal instead, who takes it with a nod. Grabbing a bottle of water each for me and Tinks, I hand it to her and then smile.
“Can you give us a few minutes, baby?”
She jumps up, her eyes wide. “Yes, of course. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
She darts off, leaving me alone with Thal, wondering what the fuck we’re doing here. I have half a mind to call Ryan to mediate this, but there’s no time. This needs dealing with now.
“Let me cut to the chase,” Cathal begins, his voice heavy with frustration, “I want to know why, Ciarán. Why didn’t you ask me to co-lead the gang with you when Dad handed over the reins?”
Shocked, I meet his gaze, the anger in his eyes making my chest tighten. It’s not an easy question to answer, but it’s one that has been hanging over him like a dark cloud for too long now, it seems.
