Cillian
Kian’s Room
“You brought her back here?” Kian balks.
“Where else would I have taken her?”
Kian’s on forced bedrest for the next few weeks while Dr. Doyle monitors his progress. He looks better, but I can tell his leg is killing him. Every time he moves too abruptly, his face turns purple for a few seconds.
If he hadn’t taken the quasi-literal bullet for me, so to speak, I might have had to laugh.
“Jesus, Cillian,” Kian grimaces.
“Are you about to give me a lecture, little brother?”
Kian sighs like he’s considering it, and then shrugs. “I suppose we’re in enough shit already. This can’t do any more damage.”
“That’s the spirit!” I say. “Always knew you were an optimist.”
Kian laughs, but it’s followed by a wince. “Fuck, this hurts,” he sighs.
“You big baby.”
He gives me a glare. “I knew I’d regret taking the hit for you.”
“Still can’t believe you did that.”
“You’d have done it for me.”
“You’re right. Glad I didn’t, though. Looks like it sucks.”
I plop into a seat and rest my feet up on Kian’s bed. He gives me an annoyed glance, but I just return it with a grin.
“So?” he remarks.
“So what?”
“What was it like seeing her again?”
I can understand his curiosity, but something holds me back.
What was it like?Thirteen years of imagining the moment didn’t do it justice.
I don’t say that, though. Wouldn’t even know where to begin with explaining how it felt.
“It was fucking weird,” I say in the end. “I found her in a goddamn holding cell.”
“Oof. Tristan Rearden is going to be an issue,” Kian says. “They’re piling up.”
“I can take that motherfucker.”
“Don’t underestimate him,” Kian warns. “He may be a Kinahan thug, but he’s a thug with connections.”
“I’ve got connections, too. Connection One and Connection Two, right here.” I waggle my fists in the air one at a time and flex.
But Kian doesn’t bite on the joke. Truthfully, I’m not feeling it, either.
He’s right. We have problems that need solutions.