His nostrils flared. He knew I was right. There was nothing he could say to deny the years he had ignored me.
“My mother fucking left me,” he said as he stood from his seat. “For you!” His finger was directed at me to make his point. “She walked away from her oldest child to raise her grandson, without a goddamn goodbye. Do you have any idea how that fucking felt? You didn’t know your mother. I am so fucking sorry that you never will, because she was fucking amazing. She was the best thing that ever happened in my life, and now she’s gone. But you hadmymother.” He slammed his hand on the table. “I lost her twice. The day she left me and then again when she was killed.”
“I never fucking had my mother!”
“No, you didn’t. And I wish there were something I could do to change it. Had I known Duane was looking for her, I would have protected him. Had I known my best fucking friend was the reason she left, I would have killed the motherfucker then.” His eyes dropped to the table.
I knew he was grieving too, but I didn’t fucking care. He was the reason I didn’t have my mother. Either of them.
“I can’t change the past.” His fingers trailed over something in front of him that looked like maybe they were pictures. He lifted them and moved around the table to stand in front of me.
“I know this doesn’t make up for all the shit you had handed to you. But here.”
He held them out, and I stared at him. I couldn’t look at what was in his hands. I knew what they were. They were pictures of her. I closed my eyes and shook my head.
I didn’t want them.
I didn’t want to know what I was missing.
“I’ll leave them here for when you’re ready.”
I turned away, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing my grief.
“There’s more.”
“Of course there is,” I scoffed.
“She had another son that we know about.”
My eyes snapped to him. My grief quickly dissolved into anger that bordered on rage.
“What?”
“We don’t know anything about him. His name, his age, nothing. All we know is he died before she did. We’re still looking for her. We know she was in California, but she changed her name multiple times. I don’t know what name she was living under when she passed away.”
“Get the fuck out.”
“Son—”
“Get the fuck out of my house. And take the damn pictures with you.” I shoved them off the table, letting them scatter on the floor.
I heard his weary sigh.
Fuck you, asshole! I’m fucking tired too! Tired of this shit. Tired of the fucking secrets.
Sal left the pictures on the floor and walked around the table. I waited for the sound of the door opening. When it didn’t, I turned.
Braesal O’Malley, head of the Irish Mob, stood with his back to me. His shoulders slumped in grief and what I assumed was defeat. He didn’t turn when he spoke. He held his head high and stared at the doors in front of him.
“I know you hate me, but I fucking love you. If for no other reason than you’re all I have left of them both.”
He walked out the door, and I stood long enough for the doors to close before I fell into my chair.
Chapter Three
King
I watched Sinclair disappear down the hall. The memory of that conversation with Sal played on a loop in my head. I pulled my phone from my cut and dialed a number I didn’t use often.
