Ronan’s expression is unreadable, a mask I’ve seen him wear a hundred times when he doesn’t want anybody to know what he’s feeling.
Meanwhile, Lochlan’s apathetic, like he could take or leave the situation. He’s got his hands in his pockets and comes up the rear of the other two.
I step toward them for an update.
Simone excuses herself with a low murmur about finding Chantal and Monique. That leaves the three of us—four, if you count Jhene still sitting quietly a few feet away.
“How is he?” I ask.
Ronan heaves a sigh. “Not good. The doctors are still running tests.”
“This might be it,” Lochlan says. He gives a slow shake of his head. “This might be the end.”
Grim silence follows as the possibility weighs on us.
We’ve grown up together. From the time we were young, we’ve watched Seamus lead the Callahan clan, a true force to be reckoned with.
The idea of him withering away in a hospital bed serves as a reminder that even the most powerful men are mortal at the end of the day. Even they can’t cheat death.
Cancer is the great equalizer, uncaring of how much devastation it causes.
“We’ve known it was gonna happen,” Lochlan adds, voice flat. “His cancer’s terminal. He said it himself—he only had a matter of months if not weeks.”
Ronan works his jaw, his brow furrowed in agitation. “I’m gonna go speak to the doctor.”
He walks off before either of us can respond.
I turn to Lochlan. “How’re things going between you two?”
The older Callahan brother gives a half shrug. “We’re no longer at each other’s throats. But still doesn’t mean we’ll be breaking bread anytime soon.”
“Figured as much.”
He claps me on the shoulder, a brief gesture of solidarity, then follows his brother down the corridor.
I stay put for a moment, processing everything that’s happened tonight. Then I turn and walk back toward where Jhene’s sitting. The same talk show plays, the live audience laughing at some witty quip made by the host.
I lower myself into the chair beside her, leaving one empty seat between us.
“How’s Seamus doing?” she asks.
“Not great.”
She nods. “I guess that’s not surprising. He didn’t look well tonight.”
“He hasn’t looked well in a long time.”
“Now what?” she asks. “What’s going to happen to the future of the clan if Seamus dies?”
I lean back in the chair, staring at the TV screen as the host welcomes some celebrity fucker to the stage.
Really, my mind’s elsewhere. Miles away as it combs through what’s happening.
We’re at war with the Bratva. We’ve made our moves, they’ve made theirs, and there’s no telling who’s going to come out on top.
Losing Seamus would change things, even if he isn’t Clan Chief anymore. It’s what he symbolizes to the family. The many young buttonmen loyal to our clan.
I run a hand through my hair and say, “We’ll have to wait and see.”
