The word echoes around the space, knocking on my skull but not able to press inside, like something I can’t quite accept.
“What?” I ask, my voice more robust now.
“Fine,” he says again, but he’s just as stony-faced and harsh as the first time. “I’ll let you live. And him.” He tosses his head at Micah. “But only because I’m sick of this overgrown cornfield of a town. It stinks of shit, and I haven’t found two brain cells to rub together in the whole damn place. Do whatever the fuck you want. But my name is dead to you, boy. You ruined that. Tadhg Moynihan does not exist anymore.”
I open my mouth. My agreement is on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t seem to force it out. I’m not hesitating. I don’t give a fuck about his shitty name. I don’t know why I can’t make the sounds.
“Deal,” Micah says for me. I sag with relief, and something deep inside me begins to accept that this might finally be over. “Now leave. Tonight. If anything happens to a single one of us, the feds are getting that dossier, remember.”
For a second, I think he’s going to say something to me. Some kind of goodbye, or a final insult, or a little closure. I think I want it, even if it’s hateful. Even if it’s acknowledgement that he couldn’t love me and never will. Anything to confirm this feeling that it’s all done.
He doesn’t, though. I’m left hanging as Father looks at me once, opens his mouth and then shuts it again before turning to Colm.
“I guess you’re proud of yourself, you little snake.”
Colm takes a deep breath, looking as steady and calm as always. “I want what’s best for the Banna, sir. Always. Eamon was causing problems. This feud between you and your son was causing problems. It’ll be better this way, when we can focus on the real enemy. Besides, we need you at home more than we need you here, caught up in drama. Let me handle the bullshitwhile you go back to the big picture, and I promise this can all seem like a shitty memory.”
Father doesn’t say anything. Without a single backward glance or another acknowledgement of me, he sets off walking toward the car, expecting Colm to follow.
Colm comes over to me instead. I think he’s going to shake my hand or something, but instead he leans in close, pulling me into a half-hug that’s more intimate than any physical contact I’ve experienced from someone other than Micah.
“I’m proud of you,” he whispers in my ear.
Then he’s gone, too. Everyone else is staring at me, as if I’m supposed to do something. As if I should know what to do next, like I wasn’t the only useless person during this entire situation.
I sit my ass back down on the ground, because it’s the only thing I can think of.
There is not one single part of me that knows what I’m supposed to do next.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Micah
Ispent so much time emotionally preparing for the whole Western showdown situation, I forgot to plan for the aftermath. I wasn’t totally convinced there would be an aftermath, to be honest. A significant, rational portion of my consciousness was convinced none of us would be walking away from tonight alive, let alone successful.
Whatever I did to have the gay gods bless this union,thank you. Because that was all a shot in the fucking dark.
I still have no idea if Patrick knew we were bluffing about going to the FBI. I know I sold it, and I’m a good liar when I have to be. Tadhg, bless his soul, is a terrible liar. It’s one of the reasons I was always planning to crash the party. That and the fact that something like what did happened was probably inevitable.
Maybe he thought we were bluffing but didn’t want to risk it. Maybe he believed me. Maybe he just decided all this drama wasn’t worth it, and he wanted to free himself of the son who hadbecome such a burden to him as soon as it was obvious Tadhg would never be what Patrick wanted.
The real gamble was that Patrick had enough humanity in him to let Tadhg leave alive. I was always leaning toward yes, because as much as that man has terrorized our lives, he’s not a Disney villain. We both know he raised us how he was raised. I was always a write-off for him, my queerness evident from the start, but I’m sure he thought he could ‘fix’ Tadhg’s shortcomings if he just pushed him hard enough.
Unfortunately, my babygirl doesn’t respond well to beatings. So buh-bye, Patrick. Whether you bought the FBI story or not, we’re finally free. No more you, no more Eamon, no more Banna bullshit.
If only Tadhg seemed willing to accept this.
As soon as he hit the ground outside Ford’s shop, I knew he wasn’t taking this well. He’s been nearly catatonic ever since. It took Ford and Tristan helping to get him into the car, and by the time we got back to the apartment he was focused enough to walk upstairs for me, but unresponsive for anything else.
He’s sitting on the couch now, staring into space. I wrap a blanket around his shoulders even though it isn’t cold in here, because I don’t really know what else to do. I want to get him out of those stupid tactical clothes, but it would be too much of a fight. I don’t expect him to be magically okay.
Sure, he got what he wanted, but he also got abandoned by someone he’s spent his whole life fighting for approval from. That’s tough. I get it.
But he’s scaring me.
I kneel in front of him, positioned between his legs with one hand resting on each knee. My hands rub up and down his thighs over and over, gradually drawing his attention to me.
“Can you say something for me, doll? Anything. How you feel, what you want, what you’re worried about?”
