only seemed to happen when Cash Kelly looked at me with those fierce green eyes.
After setting down the cups, I made myself a bowl of cereal and set it on the table next to my tea, to the left of Kelly. He’d always move my plate at dinner when I’d try to sit too far from him. So I made things easier on the both of us this time.
We ate in silence for a few until Killian sat his spoon down and cleared his throat. “That’s disgusting,” he said, nodding toward my bowl and my tea.
“What?” I said, about to take bite. “They’re both made with milk.”
Cash dropped his napkin, sat back, and gave his brother a pointed look. “You know I’m not much for fucking around.” He cleared his throat. “Why are you here so early?”
“About that. Why are you sleeping so late?”
“Answer my fucking question, Kill.”
Killian turned and removed a long envelope from the pocket of his wheelchair. He slid it toward Cash. “It’s a good thing you’re sittin’,” he said, “or I’d tell you to take a seat.”
Before Cash could open the envelope, a knock came at the door. It was much lighter than Killian’s. Almost a tap. Loud enough in my ears, though, that it almost rang.
Cash and Killian stared at each other.
“I’ll get it,” I said, standing.
It was hard to tell if the woman on the opposite side of the door hated to be where she was or couldn’t believe that she was standing there. Her black hair streaked with silver was pulled back, emphasizing harsh lines on her face and eyes rimmed red from crying.
“Hello,” she said, her voice quiet. “I’ve come—”
“Come in,” Killian said from behind me.
I nodded, opening the door wider. After she entered, I offered her my hand. “Keely,” I said.
Her grip was firm. “Keely Kelly,” she said. “I’m Saoirse Kelly.” Her name came out as ser-sha. Her eyes were no longer on me, though. They were feasting on the man sitting at the table, his face turned forward, refusing to give her the power of his eyes.
At her voice, though, I sensed something in Cash. The giant stone he’d told me about the night before? He’d taken a similar one to the gut.
His mother was, in fact, not dead as he’d been led to believe.
“Take a seat, Ma,” Killian said, nodding to the spot where I’d been sitting.
Saoirse nodded, but she didn’t take my seat. She took the one at the other end of the table so Cash was forced to look at her. The same stone seemed to go through him and hit me, directly in the gut, when their eyes met. It was the subtlest fucking thing I’d ever seen, but as they looked at each other for the first time in years, Saoirse’s fingers closed over the edge of the table, her knuckles turning white.
“Son,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
He didn’t answer her, and the tension in the room grew thick. I cleared my throat and asked her if she would like a cup of tea. She nodded, but she still didn’t look away from him. I quickly made her cup, set it down, and then put my hand on Cash’s shoulder before I told him I was going for a walk.
“Sit down,” he said to me. “Right here.” He tapped the spot next to him.
His voice was cold and hard, and even though my first reaction was to resist his tone, I gave in to the plea hidden behind the demand. After I took my seat, I slipped my hand under the table, resting it on his leg.
“Is this where your father hid you both?” Saoirse said, looking around at the house and then at her sons in equal turns. She only got an answer from Killian, though.
“We lived here with Gran and Granda after we were told that you were dead. He took us to New York, after, like I’ve told you.”
“So you have,” she said.
The three of us turned to Cash as the envelope crinkled when he opened it, but the sound was like a bomb going off. He pulled out numerous pictures of his father, Ronan Kelly, and numerous newspaper clippings and reports. He spread them out so he could look them over. His eyes scanned the words that described whatever his father had been doing at the time.
Some of the words stood out like deadly debris flying through the air. Nationalist. Wanted man. Dangerous. On the run. Radical.
“We were young.”