I was used to it, but even so, it pissed me off because the last thing I wanted was her to get upset and for Da to blame those tears on me.
We had a working theory as a family that every tear Ma shed, Da would go out and kill some of our enemies to that exact number.
Sure, sounded lofty and romantic, impossible even. Only it wasn’t.
Da was just that much of a psycho.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, and muttered, “You know how things ended with Deirdre, Ma.”
“I do.”
When Da didn’t give me shit for swearing in front of her, I figured getting shot came with some perks. “Well then, you know that what happened with Aela was—”
“Was that why Deirdre was down at the docks that day? Following you around? Because she thought you were cheating on her…and she was right.”
I was well aware that it made me a dick, but I shrugged. “She shouldn’t have been there.”
Ma frowned at me, her hands pleating a handkerchief on her lap.
The weirdest thing about my family?
We all looked like the Kennedys. I didn’t mean we shared facial features. I meant that we looked like a political dynasty. Here I was, in the middle of a makeshift ER/ICU unit in a warehouse probably in Queens, but Ma looked like Jackie O with her pearls and neatly coiffed hair. She even wore a pencil skirt and had a blouse tucked into her trim waist. She wore makeup, perfectly applied, and could have graced any magazine with ease.
As for Da, his suits were expensive, and it showed. The pair of them looked after themselves, and though they were nearly seventy, they didn’t really look it. Da had let his hair go gray, but Ma hadn’t. She was still a redhead, just with more silver sparkles shining through.
So as I looked at them, seeing how picture perfect they both were, I had to shake my head because here I was, talking about a girlfriend who’d been murdered.
A girlfriend who I was glad had died.
A woman who my entire family thought I loved and had mourned for over a decade.
I pursed my lips, wondering what I could even say to explain all this because there wasn’t much to say anymore. I’d thought that part of my life was over and done with, and I’d been mostly happy about that.
Except for one thing.
One not so small thing.
Aela O’Neill.
Was it fate that brought her back into my life?
Fate or just God laughing at me?
Maybe a bit of both considering what I did for a living.
My jaw worked as I said, “Aela was a good girl.”
I’d admit that whatever I thought I was going to say? It definitely wasn’t that.
I knew they hadn’t expected it either, because their shoulders straightened and they jerked back like I’d slapped them.
Couldn’t blame them.
Aela had denied us access to my kid and to their grandson for, what? Fourteen years? Was that how old the kid would be? Maybe fifteen? I blew out a breath.
I had a fourteen-year-old son.
What the actual fuck?