He heaved an impatient sigh, which amused me as my patience was increasing as his decreased, and he stormed off.
“Fuck’s sake,” I heard a couple of minutes later, before he returned and said, “Brennan’s here.”
I shrugged. “He should be actually. It should be a rule. You can’t eat dinner alone if you’ve been shot.”
Shay bit his lip at that, and while I knew I shouldn’t be joking about it, I had to.
People did things like that in this world. They got shot, had the shit kicked out of them, and came back with black eyes and stab wounds.
It was violent.
It was dark.
It was grimy.
He needed to get used to that. Even if I wished I could keep him squeaky clean for an eternity, it just wasn’t possible.
Conor arched a brow at my levity, but commented, “I didn’t think you’d have told him.”
“Like he said, he isn’t five,” I said softly, sharing a gentle smile with my son.
Clapping him on the back, Conor remarked, “Don’t worry. Dec was telling me in the car the other day that you want to be a lawyer. If you work behind a desk like me, you don’t get shot.”
Declan called out, “Bull.”
Conor’s nose wrinkled. “That was a mistake.”
“Almost shot himself in the foot,” Declan shared dryly, as he grabbed his beer and tossed it back, taking a deep gulp.
Shay’s eyes flared, but he twisted to face Conor, his curiosity clear. “You shot yourself in the foot?”
“Now, Seamus, the key to being a lawyer is getting the facts straight then twisting them,” Conor chided. “The key word there isalmost. I missed by a whole eight inches.”
Declan smirked, then peered out into the hall which clued me in to the fact that the elevator doors had whirred open.
When he dangled a beer in the doorway, a hand grabbed it, and Brennan took a deep pull before sighing. “Damn, I needed that.”
Seamus frowned. “Are you supposed to drink when you’ve just been shot?”
“Or cracked your head on the steering wheel?” Conor grumbled, his tone disapproving.
“No better timetodrink,” Brennan replied with a wince as he moved deeper into the room and slumped at the table. “Christ, what a day.”
That about summed it up.
“Shouldn’t you be in the hospital?”
Brennan shook his head, but his lips twitched at the unease in Seamus’s voice. “No, it was only a flesh wound.”
That had me arching a brow because I knew the bullet had gone through his arm. He had a flesh tunnel—bicep style.
Still, who was I to argue? They were probably used to being human sieves.
“I’m ordering in because I refuse to cook for you all,” I interjected, before Seamus could get into a discussion about only God knew what. There were hospitals, guns, shootouts, and mafia wars on the table, and I’d prefer for there to be actual dishes of food.
Suddenly, I was ravenous.
And after the way I’d spent most of my afternoon, it was an honest hunger, that was for certain.