Page 57 of One Kill

Fuck. I can’t believe I haven’t thought of this sooner but…

“We need to call my grandparents.” Hallie turns to look at me, the mention of Murphy’s parents opening up the dam and making her crumble all over again.

“Yeah, baby girl, we do. I’ll take care of it, okay?” My hand, the one not greasy with bacon delight, rubs soothing circles on her back as she leans into me and rests her weary head on my shoulder.

“I should do it and we need to lie to them.” My spine turns to steel at her words, not sure why this is necessary. In fact, they should know that the Irish mob is responsible for the horror of losing their child.

“Lie about what, exactly?” I use my calm voice, the one that shows zero emotion, in fear of spooking her.

“You. I don’t think they ever forgave you for abandoning me. And if we tell them what happened, they’ll blame you.” Hallie raises her head and looks straight into my eyes. What I see isn’t a thirteen-year-old girl whose only worries are hanging out with her friends and doing well in school. There’s something new, something darker, swimming in the depths of her eyes and I hate that it’s there.

She’s come face to face with the grim reality of life and it’s taken a piece of her innocence and smashed it into tiny shards.

“But, Hallie…” I try to find an argument to her logic but it’s not that easy.

“If they blame you, they’ll fight to take me away from you and I can’t lose another parent.”

Goddammit. She’s right, but also… would it be so bad? I mean, she’d be safe in Florida with her grandparents, far away from the Irish mob. She’d be down there enjoying life while I purge Newark of their filthy presence.

But then what?

Would Murphy’s parents ever give her back to me? Would they use legal avenues to take her away permanently? Because as far as the government is concerned, I don’t exactly exist anymore. Not on paper, at least.

Looking around the room we’ve holed ourselves up in for the last forty-eight hours, I make the decision I should have made thirteen years ago. I stay. I fight for my daughter with her by my side.

I’m older now, wiser, definitely stronger mentally and physically. Not only can I protect my daughter, I will do so with every last breath in my lungs.

“Okay, Hals, we’ll tell them it was a car accident. Drunk driver, both killed in the accident.” I make a mental note to have Glitch conjure up a coroner’s report that declares Murphy’s death as a traffic accident.

“Yeah, it’ll save them the heartache of having to blame someone and then fight them in court or something.” I nod but she can’t see me, her head still resting on my shoulder, my hand still rubbing circles on her back.

“We’ll be okay, Hals. We’ll learn to be okay.” To be honest, I’m not sure who I’m trying to reassure. Her or me.

“We’ll never be okay because Dad was the best human in the world and now the world has to live without him.” I don’t argue, there’s nothing to argue about. She’s one hundred percent correct and this world, like my soul, will be a little less bright without his presence than it was two days ago.

“Let’s take a shower, maybe start with that. I’ll get Flower to bring all your things here from home. This is the safest place we can be, I promise you.”

I know there are steps to this grief thing, but what I don’t understand is why some of the steps keep coming back. I wish I could have the feeling, deal with it, then go to the next.

Like anger. That motherfucker is pissing me off. It comes and goes and just when I think I’m breathing through the loss of him, anger comes right back around and stabs me in the fucking heart. In the exact place Murph took a bullet.

Glitch tapped into some chatter about Ronan finding Riley exactly where we intentionally left him and burying him in the family cemetery. We needed this information so we could have the funeral on the same day to avoid any retaliation. Personally, I wanted to head down to that church and blow the whole fucking thing up into the sky and watch them all burn on their way down to Hell.

Marco vetoed that idea, his rational side clearing my own fog and helping me to see that having them busy on the other side of Newark was the only way to give Murphy’s parents a proper funeral, no suspicions raised.

I hate him for being right.

Jonathan and Mary Gallagher haven’t spoken a fucking word to me since they arrived yesterday following Hallie’s phone call. They haven’t insulted me, screamed at me, blamed me for anything. No, they have literally turned their backs on me every time to speak with Hallie, like I’m not even there.

Fortunately, my emotions are on lockdown throughout the entire funeral, my senses on high alert just in case Marco was wrong and some Irish fuckers decide to pay us a visit while armed to the teeth.

I could insert myself in the conversations but I don’t have the mental space for it, and pretending to give a fuck has never been a skill I’ve acquired. Instead, I hold Hallie’s hand and squeeze it every time her sobs burst out from the kind words of the priest.

My mind is hyper focused on every movement in my peripheral vision—every dancing leaf, every moving car, every person shifting in their seats.

“Why are there so few people here? Murphy was loved by the community.” Mary’s question is aimed at her husband but it’s loud enough to be an accusation thrown at me. I want to answer her, tell her the very fucking people who supposedly loved him are the ones that killed him, but I keep my promise to Hallie and grit my teeth instead.

“I forgot to make an announcement, Grandma, I’m sorry.” Hallie takes the blame and that shit just makes me angrier and angrier.

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