I clench my teeth. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
“Just trying to lighten the mood.”
Ronan groans. “I hate seeing her like this.”
Brennan shoves the torte and liquor in front of Ronan along with a fork. “Have some of this, it’s fucking delicious.”
“What about Sean?” Ronan ignores Brennan.
“I think we’ve got him. Lorcan’s intel on the weapons shipment will line up with Callum’s, so we should be able to take him out in one hit.”
“Hell, yeah, we will,” Brennan says through a mouthful of torte.
“Use some cutlery, you neanderthal.” Ronan scoffs, tossing him the fork. He turns to me as Brennan starts digging into the torte. “So, you’re sure about this?”
I nod as I reach for the bourbon and pull out the cork.
“Don’t have much of a choice.” I take a swig from the bottle.
I watch Ronan, his knuckles whitening as he balls his hands into fists.
There’s some relief there that Ciara’s pain has stopped, for now, but I can still see the guilt clawing at him.
Brennan catches the tension too and smirks. “Christ, Ronan. I’ve seen you put a bullet between a man’s eyes without blinking, but labor has you looking ready to faint.”
“Fuck off. I’m handling it better than you would.”
“Nah, I would take it like a champ. Kieran, on the other hand, would definitely be the type of dad to pass out when asked to cut the cord.”
“He’s not wrong.” I shrug, and Ronan huffs a laugh.
Death I can understand. Pain I can compartmentalize. Planning, executing, and eliminating threats is something I can control. It's all mine to manage. But birth?
Birth is messy and unpredictable, two things that I don’t do well with. There’s something primal and terrifying about it, knowing that I would be able to do nothing but stand there and watch.
Ronan looks at each of us in turn. “Ever think we’d be here?”
I frown. “What, waiting for your wife to give birth?”
Brennan chuckles. “I think you were always destined to have a gun in one hand and a diaper in the other.”
Ronan scowls, rubbing at his temple.
“Welcome to the life you chose.”
Ronan exhales, running a hand through his hair. “And if things go sideways with Sean?”
I smirk before taking another swig of bourbon. “Trust me, they won’t.”
“I admire your arrogance, brother.”
“I think it’s more confidence than arrogance.”
“You can call it whatever you like, but your head is still lodged firmly up your own ass,” Brennan mutters through a mouthful of torte.
“Remind me to ask Riley to add rat poison to the recipe next time.” I reach across the table and yank the dessert out of Brennan’s hands.
Brennan grins, revealing his chocolate-stained teeth.
