“Not tired?” Killian asked, taking a seat in the chair beside the sofa. He set down a bottle of old liquor and two glasses, pouring a knuckle for both of us.
“Even if I was, I know I won’t sleep.” I sighed, sitting up.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“How do you think I’m doing?” It was an idiotic question. Both of our parents were murdered, we were being hunted down by a psycho, and our family had nearly been destroyed in the process.
“Right.” His fingers tapped along his knees. “Do you even miss him?”
I blinked. The question had taken me by surprise. “Who?”
“Our dad.”
It took me a few minutes to process his question. Our father had been cruel at times. Most days, I questioned whether or not he really loved us. I couldn’t even remember a time where he’d just been the father figure rather than our Don. The only time he’d been somewhat fatherly had been when I’d succeeded on missions.
“Is it bad if I said not really?” I said finally.
Killian shifted in his chair. “No. I’d say the same. Though I’m sort of surprised by your answer.”
I frowned. “Why?”
“Because,” his hand waved in the air, “you’re you. Dad’s golden boy. The heir.”
“So?”
“So, you were like his buddy.” Killian’s hand dropped.
“Dad didn’t have buddies. He had minions,” I joked. “Besides, just because I was the chosen heir doesn’t mean he went easy on me.”
“No, I know.” His eyes darted away. “But, for me, even bad attention was good attention.”
I paused at his admission. I knew there was a reason why Killian acted out and that it had something to do with how distant our father had been throughout his childhood. It didn’t take a child psychologist to figure that out.
“Trust me, even his bad attention wasn’t that great,” I grunted, tipping back the glass. “You have no idea how bad he could get.”
“At least it was something. At least you got to actually do something,” Killian muttered. “What’s the point of being the son of the Don when the biggest responsibility you’re given is making sure your mother wasn’t alone for too long?”
Carefully, I set the empty glass on the table. Killian refilled it silently. “I didn’t know you wanted to be more involved,” I said quietly.
“Not as involved as you, maybe,” he said. “But at least more involved than I was. I wanted something—anything—to be included. But I never was.”
“Yeah, well, that’s probably for the best,” I told him, thinking of all the shit I had to go through. “You didn’t want to be involved—trust me.”
“Maybe.” He didn’t look entirely convinced.
I could tell that our father had hurt him. He’d hurt me as well. But now he was dead. We’d never be hurt by him ever again. Taking up the bottle, I topped off his glass before picking up my own. I raised it slowly. “Let’s have one last drink in his memory,” I said, “and then never fucking think about him ever again.”
Killian’s lips twitched as his glass clinked with mine. “To the fucking asshole.”
“To the asshole,” I murmured, chugging the liquor. It burned on its way down, but I welcomed the pain. It was the perfect reminder of how bitter our father’s love had made us.
But as we set our glasses down again, I made one more promise. That, no matter what happened, I would be there for my brother better than I had been in the past. He was the only family I had left, and I wasn’t about to leave him behind like I had when we were children. He wanted to be involved. He wanted to be a part of this family. And I wasn’t about to push him away again.
“When we finally get this asshole, would you still want to be more involved?” I asked hesitantly. Just because he wanted to do more, didn’t necessarily mean he knew what came along with it.
“I want to keep my family safe,” Killian said firmly. “And, right now, that’s you and Sienna.”
“And your nephew,” I said. “Or niece.”