“I can’t wait for you to meet Saoirse,” I tell him. “I can’t wait for her to meet you.”
“She’s amazing,” Kian says with complete sincerity. The two of them have become fast friends in the last several months. I might be jealous if I didn’t love them both so fucking much.
“I mean, she’s way out of Cillian’s league,” Kian continues. “I honestly don’t know why she’s with him.”
I slug him in the arm. “Well, she wanted the hottest, smartest O’Sullivan brother,” I say, gesturing to myself. “The choice was obvious.”
“Yeah, sure,” Kian says with a snide smile. “But only because Sean had already left the country and I was ten when you made your move.”
I narrow my eyes at him and he and Sean burst out laughing.
It’s amazing to have this. What’s even more amazing is how natural it feels, despite the fact that we’ve never experienced this before.
It’s been fourteen fucking years.
We were kids when we parted ways.
We’re men now.
But it feels like we’ve slipped into a relationship that has always existed.
“So,” I say, gripping Sean by the shoulder. Maybe I just want an excuse to touch him. To prove to myself that he’s real. “Are you here alone?”
Sean gives us both a smile that transforms his face. “Actually… no.”
Kian and I exchange a glance.
“Well, doesn’t that smile speak volumes?”
Sean laughs. “You’ll meet her at the ceremony. She’s downstairs right now with Ma.”
“Are you gonna tell us how you two met?” I ask.
“I think I’m going to wait until you meet her first,” Sean says evasively. “Like I said, this day is about you and Saoirse.”
Before I can respond and tell him what an annoying prick he’s being, the door opens.
All three of us look up as Da walks in.
The three of us pivot to face him as he pauses a step inside the doorway. His light eyes glide over all three of us with something almost passing for affection.
“I never thought I’d see all three of my sons standing together in the same room again,” he says, breaking the silence.
There’s definitely still some lingering tension—each of us has our own fraught relationship with the man—but it doesn’t burn the air between us the way I might’ve expected.
Da stares at each of us in turn, long and hard.
He offers Kian his hand first. The two of them shake solemnly without a word spoken.
I’m next. I meet my father in the eye and shake his hand. Man to man. O’Sullivan to O’Sullivan. Father to son.
Last, he turns and offers his hand to Sean. The gesture may look formal, but I understand the significance of it. We all do.
An open palm, offered in peace. A truce after fourteen years of being at silent, estranged warfare with one another.
And for once, I don’t make a joke. I let the serious moment stand.
Sometimes, that’s the right choice.