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CHAPTER 1
SAOIRSE
No one here knows my smile is fake as fuck. It’s almost a joke at this point. I wonder how much I can get away with, how far I can take the ruse, and how deeply people believe I’m happy to be here and around them. Does anyone even care how much I hate it in California and have spent all semester wishing I was at home in Boston?
I doubt they do.
I hate to admit I was wrong about leaving home to go to school, but I was. I was so fucking wrong. I made the decision for the right reasons—I needed to get away and I thought going somewhere new and meeting new people would help with the feelings I was having. I figured California was as good a place as any, and it was far enough away from him to give me a fresh start.
It is far, there’s no denying that, but I haven’t stopped thinking about the man who owns my heart. I think the situation has gotten worse. Like I’m going through withdrawal or something. Before I left Boston, I could see Conor. Now I’m in California and going cold turkey is not all that it’s cracked up to be.
Nothing I’ve done has shaken Conor from my system. I’ve become very aware of the hole in my soul which only Conor can fill. It’s become a dark, yawning abyss.
I’ve tried to fill it with friends, a party here and there, courses, and anything else that’s supposed to make up the college experience. I have the freedom I crave being all the way across the country from my brother, Declan, and Conor, but it’s not as sweet as I wanted it to be.
My brother rules the city of Boston as head of the McCarthy Irish mob. It’s something I grew up with as part of my life. I don’t remember my parents because I was just a baby when they died. Declan wasn’t an adult, not quite, and yet he still stepped up to not only be my big brother, but the only father figure I’ve ever known. He didn’t have to. He could have hired someone until I was old enough for boarding school.
He didn’t.
Declan was there for all the scraped knees, tea parties, growing pains, homework, and friends who came and went. I wish I had gotten a picture of his face when I first got my period. He was beside himself and hated every moment, but it didn’t stop him from putting his personal feelings aside and telling me straight up what was going on with my body. Then he took me to a gynecologist just in case he got anything wrong.
He wasn’t the one who went out to the store to make sure I had what I needed, but he made sure it happened. I pity the poor guy who got assigned that task. I’m sure buying feminine products for me was not in his job description. I’m also sure he got paid a bonus for doing it.
Declan never made me feel like an obligation. We’re family. I also felt the love he has for me, and he never let the world he walks within touch me. Not fucking once.
It’s odd to be surrounded by people who have no idea who I am or how I could have their entire family killed with one phone call. Well, I probably could. I’ve never tested the theory because it’s not the kind of person I am, but I bet I could make it happen.
Everyone knew who I was and who had my back when I was growing up. It made it difficult to make friends, especially when I got older. I found out some of the girls who were my friends just wanted to get close to Declan. Like in his bed close. Good genes run in the family, but I never needed that kind of visual in my life. Never.
Then there were the guys who wanted to try and use me to get in good with the organization and try to earn their spot. That was even stupider than the girls who thought Declan would want them in his bed. I’ve never had anything to do with Declan’s business. I’m not naïve to the fact that my brother operates outside of the law, he never hid that from me, but I’m not privy to all the innerworkings.
I don’t want to be.
Always being associated with Declan is one of the reasons I moved across the country for school. Not the biggest one, but it certainly was a factor. I needed to get away and try something normal while hoping to forget that my heart is branded with the name of a man who will never want me.
“So,” my closest friend, if you can call her that, and roommate, Isla, throws her arm around my shoulders, “are you excited about going home?”
I keep my face a mask of neutrality instead of cringing at the thought of going home while also yearning for Boston, the cold, Declan, and fucking normalcy. I never thought I would experience culture shock when I’m in the same damn country, but things are so different in California compared to Boston.
The accents alone are enough to send me home with my tail between my legs. They all think mine is strange while I need everyone from here to hurry the fuck up and say their words like they aren’t stoned.
I held out for a long time, telling myself this is what I wanted. It was, it’s true, but I’m not afraid to admit I hate it here.
It’s too sunny. Everyone is too into their bodies. There are times when we’re speaking a completely different language.
I need to go home and stop trying to be someone I’m not.
“I’m excited for the holidays,” I hedge when I answer Isla.
I haven’t told her that when I leave, I’m not planning on coming back. I’ll be back and get my stuff, but by the time next semester starts again, she’ll have the room all to herself.
It hasn’t been bad sharing a dorm room with her, but there have been a few times when I really wished I had taken Declan up on his offer to get me an apartment. I staunchly refused the notion. Maybe there was something inside of me warning me I wasn’t going to stay, even though I didn’t want to acknowledge it.
“Will there be snow there?” Isla’s eyes twinkle at the thought and I can’t help but laugh at my friend. She’s a Cali girl through and through. “I’ve only ever seen snow when we’ve gone to Tahoe, and I’ve never had a white Christmas.”
“It doesn’t snow as much in December as it does in the other winter months. It’ll be fucking cold though.” I bump her shoulder with mine and tease her, “You wouldn’t really give up the sunshine for winter gear, though.”
She shrugs her shoulders and takes a big gulp from the cup in her hand, finishing off her drink. “Probably not,” her words are starting to run together, and her cheeks are pink.
