“What is it? What else?”
“The boy you pushed off the roof of the Free Canary is not the same one today, Cillian,” Rory warns in a measured voice. “Neither is the father. They both want the O’Sullivans eradicated.”
I nearly laugh. I refuse to be threatened by that.
“Yeah? Well, I’m not the same boy who pushed him off that roof either,” I counter. “I lost years of my life, same as he did. I was stripped of everything and everyone I knew and I was forced to re-build myself. From the ground up.”
I take a step back and make sure everyone in the room is listening to me.
“I can take Brody Murtagh. I can take the Kinahans. I can take on the whole fucking world if I have to.”
Rory looks at me with awe, mingled with new hope.
“I didn’t come back from the dead for nothing,” I finish.
Rory’s eyebrows rise. “Sounds like a story.”
“It is,” I reply, clapping him on the back. “And I’ll tell you about it one day.”
Then I move towards the table to check on Kian. Dr. Doyle has just finished setting his leg and Kian’s now slumped over, exhausted but done with the worst of it.
“Well,” I say, giving him the once-over, “no doubt about it: I’m definitely the better-looking brother now.”
“Fuck you,” Kian seethes as a burst of pained laughter escapes his lips.
Everyone clears the table to give the two of us some space. I move to Kian’s left shoulder and sit down right in front of him. He twists his head to the side so he can see me better.
“How do you feel?” I ask.
“Like I’ve just had my fucking leg broken.”
“Perceptive.”
“Learned from the best.”
I smirk. A moment later, though, it fades. “Why’d you do it?” I ask softly. “Why take that for me?”
His bright eyes meet mine. Despite the obvious pain swimming there, he’s still determined. Still fierce.
Still an O’Sullivan, through and through.
“It wouldn’t have made a very inspiring story if you’d come all the way back home just to die here quick as all that,” he says with a wry grin.
“No,” I agree sadly. “I suppose it wouldn’t.”
“Story’s just beginning, I’d say.”
“This isn’t a fucking story,” I rebut. “It’s an errand. Da’s gone. Ma, too,” I point out. “We have to get them back.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Kian says. “But this one’s on you, big brother.”
I frown. “You—”
“I can’t walk, Cil,” he reminds me, jutting his chin towards his swaddled leg. “I can’t fight or lead men or even drive a fucking car. You’re the only one who can do it.”
I stare at him for a long moment. “Kian…”
“I’m serious,” he interrupts. “It has to be you. There’s no one else.”