Page 67 of Paddy

“I brought him downstairs,” she admitted, stammering.

“Good. It means he hasn't heard anything.” A small relief over a major problem.

“I figured he would be safer down there. I told him to hide in a closet and don't come out unless I specifically told him to.”

Pretty put her hand to her chest, finally letting it sink in that Vernon was also gone and she couldn't turn back the clock. “Oh my god, what am I going to tell Elijah? How am I going to explain what I did to his father?” She spoke through uncontrollable sobs.

“Pretty, I can fix this, but there’s some things you gotta do?—”

“I’m so sorry, Paddy. I’m sure I made things worse?—”

“You did what you had to. You saved yourself and you saved your son. That’s the only thing that’s important for now. But I need you to be calm right now,” as I touched her face, staining it with Moore’s blood in efforts to comfort her.

“I just couldn’t let him kill you,” she kept crying, unable to keep her emotions in check.

“Pack that up. Right now you can’t be like this. Remember that person I told you that you gotta be when I taught you how to fire a gun?” She nodded.

“Well, that’s who I’m gonna need you to be. You gotta be strong, even though you don’t really wanna be,” not even realizing I was taking my own advice. “And I need you to get yourself cleaned up. Anything you touched with blood on it, you gotta clean that up, or tell me what you touched, okay?”

“Okay.” She spoke in a weak voice.

“When you’re done with that, you gotta give me your clothes, so I can get rid of them?—”

“What are you gonna do?” She interrupted.

“I’m an Irish gangster,” repeating back her words. “This is what I do. I’m giving you one last job and that’s making sure Elijah stays put. That kid’s been through enough and he don’t need to see his father like this. I can make this look like it happened someplace else but you and Elijah are gonna have to get your stories straight. Can you do that for me?” As she nervously nodded and I sent her off.

Once alone, I nervously paced and swore at the top of my lungs, letting out one last desperate cry for Moore and everything I was walking away from after this. It seemed like I had done this shite a hundred times, but I had never had to do it with a friend.

Packing all that anger, all that fear, all the resentment and grief you were supposed to feel in such high intensity moments like this, I turned it off and became the raven. Calmly walking to the first phone I could, I dialed Órfhlaith’s number, not surprised when Bellamy answered.

“Any of you got a minute?”

***

The weeks that passed that gruesome day still weighed heavy on me. A lot of things went unsaid as Pretty and me mutually agreed that it was in the best interest of everyone to take some time to breathe so everyone could properly grieve. I hadn't even seen her since Vernon's funeral.

Moore hadn't had family, so I took care of his burial arrangements myself and honored him with at least a wake, just in case an army buddy or two wanted to pay their respects.

Even though I hadn’t liked how things went down, I had been privy to my job ever since I met Vernon, and that was to protect Pretty. In doing so, she had lost her husband, and in doing so, I had lost a mate who had held a special place for me.

The last few weeks had been a whirlwind of emotions. As I looked down at his tombstone, I mourned the man who had not only saved my life, but gave me a life as well. “Moore, you eejit. You pulled your gun on me. Lord, why'd you have to pull your gun on me?” I said, teary eyed, fixing myself before I went on.

“Once you did that, I knew one of us wasn't walking out of there. I wanted you to have a lifetime to find yourself. It never mattered to me who you loved. I just wanted you to make it so the next time I saw you wouldn't be visiting a place like this. I'm fucking mad at you, but I understand why you did what you did. Love. It makes strong men like us weak. And for a woman like Pretty, I would have killed for her too.”

Reaching in my pocket, I placed his dog tags on his tombstone, readying myself to meet my siblings, as I asked them to come here so I could share with them my truth.

They probably thought I was still mourning my friend as they showed up, respectfully dressed, spotting me quickly. “It's been two weeks, Pad. Moore ain't exactly going anywhere,” Bellamy offhandedly joked.

When I assured them we weren’t here for Moore, I silently led the four of them to a grave site that readConnorMulligan. “Pad, you okay?” Órfhlaith comforted, squeezing my shoulder, confused to why I had brought them here.

“I have to tell you guys something. Something I've been carrying a while now. Something I can't carry by myself no more.” I swallowed hard, looking down at the tombstone. “You know, I thought I’d feel something. Or maybe visiting it would explain something in me that I never been able to explain. But I don't feel anything,” I woefully admitted.

“Who the hell is this?” Cillian impatiently questioned.

“When I tell you, you might be resistant at first. But before Pa died, he told me I might not be his. And if I wasn't, this would be the man who likely fathered me,” I admitted, in a defeated huff.

It was quiet at first, as I imagined shock and disbelief was swimming through their mixed emotions. “Well, say something!” I said, annoyed by the silence.

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