"Nobody's skipping school."
"Then how, Lorcan? It's a five-mile walk. Lemme guess, you have a helicopter on the roof?"
“Johnson is driving them." The voice comes from the doorway. Kathleen stands there in a dove-gray sweater and pressed slacks, put together at this early hour like she's ready for a magazine shoot.
"To and from school," she continues, crossing to the coffee pot as if this is all long settled. "Every day, starting this morning. He's bringing the car around now.”
I open my mouth. Close it. Everything around me is moving at high speed, and I can't find the brake pedal. "That’s…Mrs. O'Rourke, that's very generous, but I can't ask?—"
"You didn't ask. I offered." She pours herself a cup of coffee. "And before you object further, my Mercedes has the highest safety rating in its class, Johnson has been with this family for years, we trust him with our lives. He’s ex-military and trained in things I won't discuss in front of the children.” She fixes me with her penetrating eyes. "They’ll be safe. Much safer than on a school bus."
"We're getting dropped off in aBenz?!" Jamie's voice hikes up an octave. His fork is frozen midair, syrup dripping, his whole gloomy-teenager mask blown clean off his face, and for one second he is just a fourteen-year-old boy, lit up like it’s Christmas morning.
Then he hears himself, clears his throat, slouches back down, and stabs a pancake with tremendous indifference. "I mean. Whatever. That's...fine, I guess."
"Mm," Lorcan says into his coffee, eyes dancing.
I bite the inside of my cheek. Hard. Because I know my brother, and I know he's going to spend the entire ride figuring out the exact spot to be dropped off so the maximum number of kids see him climb out of a chauffeured Mercedes. And Cara. Her eyes have gone bright and round, and there’s a soft smile on her face.
They're excited. Their bellies are full, and they’reexcited.
My insides feel like they’re being pulled two directions at once—gratitude on one side and fear on the other. This is what I wanted. This is exactly what I traded myself for. So why do I feel like I’m grasping for a handhold?
"Fifteen minutes," Kathleen announces to the table, and it's remarkable, truly, how fast two children move for a woman with a stern voice and a raised eyebrow.
In the sudden bustle—Jamie thundering upstairs, Cara carefully carrying her plate to the sink first, Deirdre pressing awrapped muffin into each backpack—Lorcan drifts over and sets Oisin down beside my chair.
"We'll head into O'Rourke's around noon," he says. "Deirdre will watch Oisin. She raised six of her own and terrorized four of us. He’s in expert hands. It’ll give you time to shower, to take a breath." His mouth tips up. "Maybe even to eat a second breakfast. I hear that's a thing."
"I'm fine."
"You're always fine. It's your most alarming quality." He gives the crease between my brows a quick tap before I can dodge him.
He grins and heads for the stairs, and I sit there in a warm kitchen that smells like cinnamon, in a mansion behind iron gates, watching my little brother chase a giggling echo down the hall while a driver pulls a gleaming black Mercedes S-Class up for a fourteen-year-old and a nine-year-old who are stuffed with a breakfast of all-you-can-eat pancakes.
I’m on a merry-go-round that's spinning so fast I can’t catch my bearings.
Chapter 11
Lorcan
O’Rourke’s has had occasional upgrades throughout the years, but the family pub started by my grandparents retains the same atmosphere as always—old wood, hops, and almost a hundred years of good times, celebrations, and drinking away sorrows. My family's history is soaked into the walls.
I watch Maeve take it in—the exposed brick, the dark wood, the brass rail along the bar, the wall of framed photographs going back to 1946.
"Everyone," I announce, “Gather ‘round. Employee meeting.”
Sully emerges from the back with a case of limes on his shoulder, Susie from the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron. Brianna, already behind the bar cutting fruit, looks up with a slow, flirty smile.
I put a hand on the small of Maeve's back.
"This is Maeve," I say. "My wife."
Susie's mouth drops open. Sully sets the limes down very carefully.
"Wife," Sully repeats.
I hold up my hand to show off my wedding ring. “As of last Saturday, I’m a married man.”
