But as time went by, my father kept making sure I knew my place was beneath my brother.
He is the oldest, the only one who is worthy of notice.
I’ve lived every year of my life trying to prove I’m not second best, that I’m here too, that I deserve a chance at being seen. But it never mattered.
To our father, I was always the second son, nothing more than the backup. The spare to the heir.
Sure, I could fight, but I’ve never been the one trusted to lead. Ronan was the one who got that particular crown.
And though deep down I know it’s not his fault, the truth is, the fact that he stayed silent and allowed it to happen was like a betrayal. And the resentment has only grown with time.
The fact that he now acts like our leader, our boss, instead of our brother, our equal, our partner, only makes me resent him more.
Cormac looks at Ronan. "So what? We keep watching O’Keefe?"
"Exactly. Cormac, Brennan, I want you to tail him. Don’t let him out of your sight.”
"And what about me? What's my task, big brother?"
Ronan levels me with a look. "You? You keep your damn head down."
I stare at him, stunned for a second. Then I laugh. "You're joking."
"You’ve been targeted twice in the past month, Kieran. Whoever’s pulling strings is aiming for you. You need to start locking your doors."
"Iamthe fucking door."
"This isn’t about pride. This is about staying alive."
"You think I give a shit about dying? Let the fuckers come. In fact, Iwantthem to come. I'm not afraid."
"That’s exactly the problem."
"What about Declan’s crew?" Brennan, always trying to keep the peace, steers the conversation back to business. "Any noise from his kid?"
Ronan shakes his head. "Oscar’s been silent, and I expect him to stay that way. He won’t make a move."
I look him straight in the eye. "Are you sure about that?"
He shrugs. "Oscar’s not built for war."
"I wouldn’t be so sure. The death of a parent changes you."
The silence that follows is heavier than before.
They know I’m right. We all felt that in our soul when our father was murdered in front of us. Well, not Cormac. He wasn’t there, of course. Apparently, he is too good to stay close to us, and as soon as Dad dies, he waltzes right back. Like we’re supposed to just let him take his place as if he was here all along.
Brennan lowers his eyes. "I still hear him, sometimes.”
Cormac doesn’t speak, but his expression turns solemn. He might not have been here, but he feels the loss, too.
Ronan stares into space, as if lost in his own grief for a moment.
A familiar weight settles on my chest, and as grief swallows me, an even more suffocating pressure that I can’t seem to shift pulls at me.
I carry this family on my back just as much as Ronan does, but it’s never enough.I’mnever enough.
Never will be fucking enough.
I look around the room at my brothers, at the maps and lists and half-drunk whiskey glasses, at the cluttered violence of our lives, and something twists in my chest.
This used to be easier, but lately, it feels like we’re barely keeping our heads above water.
"If we’re done here, I’ve got shit to do." I climb to my feet.
Ronan doesn’t stop me. After all, he's given me my orders and expects me to just blindly follow them.
But at some point, he’s going to learn that he’s not always right, and I just have to hope that I’ll still be standing when it all falls apart.
