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CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Eoghan
“What in premeditated murder is this?” I say, entering Riordan’s living room early Saturday afternoon.
In a plastic baby pool, Priscilla sits in about ten inches of water with her legs spread and Riordan behind her, whispering into her ear.
He’s shirtless and wearing skimpy swim trunks. Priscilla has on a T-shirt that I guess no one told her has gone transparent from the water. I don’t even want to know if she’s wearing anything below the waist.
Three blue tarps protect the new hand-scraped wooden planks Rior and Pris installed in their renovated farmhouse located in a very old and hidden rural section of Astoria.
“It’s a water birth,” Isabella says, breezing past me carrying a tray with mugs of tea.
Like it’s the most normal thing in the world, Kieran’s wife, our queen, kneels in front of the pool and hands Riordan a mug. He brings it to Priscilla’s mouth for a sip, kissing her neck.
This is in between the screaming. Hers, of course.
Isabella birthed her twins in the hospital, heavily sedated, under strict medical supervision. Not to mention guards at every exit. Riordan and Priscilla have known each other since high school, and I guess looking back, they were always a little on the bohemian side.
Being away for nearly three weeks, I’ve been stripped of my tolerance of having so many people around me. At every turn, I see another set of eyes like mine, another set of wide shoulders, another pair of size-thirteen shoes.
It’s a star-studded event with O’Rourkes as far as the eye can see.
Except my parents, who left for Ireland a few days ago. I’m livid my father wouldn’t wait for the baby, or me, to say goodbye. We’ve never been close Da and I, a chasm that widened after what I did that night in Boston. I’ve kept how I detest him to myself.
Darragh struts past me, holding his son, knocking me out of my thoughts. At least he’s a doctor and can intervene if anything goes wrong. Heck, he delivered that wee-one in his arms when Ana’s doctor never showed up.
“How do I get a birth certificate to use for all my paperwork?” I tug him.
“Amelia and I will sign off on a certificate of live birth, then we’ll have it registered at the town hall,” he answers, and one-handedly, bites down on a sandwich from the six-foot hero in the dining room.
Amelia is Amelia Quinlan, Darcy Quinlan’s mother who moved here from Ireland with her husband Rian. Ewan and Rian hover in the corner with Lachlan. If you haven’t pieced it together, Ewan and Rian are brothers, half-brothers, and Darcy is technically Ewan’s niece. Or was when he banged her, not knowing she was adopted. They have two wee-ones who are here somewhere running around with Sophie, Darragh’s daughter.
We’re bleedin’ outnumbered with all these kids.
Darragh’s words register, and I realize I can’t file any paperwork for this baby as far as trusts or college funds until that formal birth certificate from the state is issued. I’m still happy to be here for Riordan.
But, fuck, it already feels like I don’t live here anymore.
“What’s going on in Vegas?” Kieran’s thick brogue sails into my ear from behind.
I turn around and the permanent scowl he wore for years from drowning in grief is gone. He’s still wicked and dangerous, but a confident smile sits on his lips now.
Riordan had just pretended to be happy by pushing away the sorrow of his past with Priscilla. But now, he smiles all the time, too. When he’s not murdering someone.
Lachlan always wore a big evil grin. Cracking jokes. Even in our black site when he’s ripping out someone’s liver.
I catch a glance at myself and wonder who the hell I’ve been all these years. Serious, yes. Hiding from the trauma of that night in the woods, sure. Taking life day by day, and by the balls because the financial health and sound legal standing of my family has been my responsibility for almost a decade.
“Let’s talk later,” I say to Kieran, sipping the beer in my hand.
This might as well be a Super Bowl party.
“Monday morning. My office.” Kieran gives a tight squeeze on my shoulder. “Anything pressing I need to know?”
“No,” I lie, since I’ve been worrying for hours that I told Jillian, a prosecutor, that I murdered two people and buried their bodies Upstate.
Bodies. Buried…
