Page 86 of Lucky Strike

“You’re fifty-four years old!” I cry, standing. “For Christ’s sake!”

Grampa frowns. “Con.”

“Sit down,” Dad says to me, unmoved. “Your mother would kill you if she heard you taking the Lord’s name in vain like that, by the way. Clean up your mouth.”

I obey, sitting stiffly at the edge of my seat. “If you need to step away for a while, I get it. We’ve done it before, and we’ll do it again. But handing the reins over to me now feels premature.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Always.”

“Then do as I say.”

The finality in his voice tells me all I need to know. He’s at peace with this, which means Mom probably is, too. Drawing in a long, deep breath, I nod. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

I nod, eyes on the Oriental rug he’s had in here forever. Rising, he stands beside me, his hand warm on my shoulder. “I know it’s been a wild ride, Con. I know life’s thrown some serious curveballs your way, but that’s how it is. Happens to all of us at some point. You just keep rollin’ with it. Keep moving. Trust that God’s got ya—because He does—and keep moving.”

Tears burn my eyes, but I nod again. It’s not that I can’t do this. I can. There’s nothing I can’t do. It’s how we were raised. But death and sickness have a way of reminding us of our own mortality. Our utter lack of control. When Rachel died, that reality came into cruel, sharp relief. One moment she was there, the next, gone. Dad’s heart condition was scary enough the first time it reared its head, but now, for some reason, it feels worse, dread’s cold fingers curling around my heart.

When we’re kids, our parents handle everything. But when we grow up, we get a glimpse behind the curtain, and we realize just how precarious it all is.

“This is the way it’s always been, Con.” My grandfather rests his hand on my head as if he’s knighting me. “We wouldn’t put you in charge if we didn’t think you could handle it. You know that, right?”

Somehow his words settle me. I nod, accepting the weight of my father’s mantle the way he accepted the weight of his father’s many years ago.

“No matter what happens at the vote tomorrow night,” Dad says quietly. “We know you’ll represent this family well.”

I meet Mom,Dad, and Tristan in the lobby of the Four Seasons Boston around twilight the following day. Saoirse meets here twice a year, in a meeting room overlooking the Boston Public Garden. It’s a tradition that spans decades, a way for the leadership to come togetherin an official capacity to discuss issues, make decisions, and take votes. The founding families used to hang out casually and more often, but over the years things changed. Everyone’s families are growing, sometimes spreading beyond Boston, and people are doing their own thing. Some, like my sister, aren’t interested in this life at all.

But we’ll always have the Four Seasons. Stepping out of the elevator on the second floor, we run into my godparents, Maya and Donovan Brennan. They’re my parents’ closest friends. Dad and Uncle Keegan grew up with Donovan, running the streets, and Sterling, like hooligans back in the eighties.

The others trickle in behind us. Uncle Keegan and Aunt Vicki, with Finn. Heath and Pattie Murphy, with their son Steven. Will and Eileen O’Reilly. Alva and Teddy Walsh, with their kids Tess and Teddy Jr. Tess is married now, but her new husband isn’t allowed to attend yet. Everyone catches up as the waitstaff serves dinner, and for a while, it’s like a family reunion. I grew up with these people. We went to Mass together, attended each other’s baptisms and birthday parties. Some of us are closer than others, but everyone in this room shares bonds that were established before our families even came to this country.

It would’ve been great if my grandparents had come, but they felt that the meeting would run more smoothly without them. As beloved as they are, they still have a lot of sway, and their presence might’ve been distracting. It’s important that tonight’s vote is authentic.

When dinner’s done and the doors are secured, Dad moves to a podium up front. The room erupts into applause and cheers, everyone glad to see him alive and well after the shit year he’s had.

He grins, cheeks red with pleasure. And alcohol, which is in generous supply. “Good evening, folks.”

“Can’t keep a good man down, right, Owen?” roars Donovan. “Still kicking ass and taking names!”

Everyone laughs, and Dad shakes his head, motioning for quiet. “Can you believe it’s been six months already? It’s good to see your faces, up close and personal, and be reminded of what matters most: each other. Our friendships. Our history and our future.”

There’s a hum of agreement. Dad’s eyes flicker to mine, and my stomach tightens. This is it. He’s going to announce the change in Kellyleadership. Mom must sense it too, because she grasps my hand beneath the table.

“Before we vote on the next Boss, I’d like to announce that Conlan has agreed to step into my role as head of our family. I’m easing into a mentorship role from here on out.” Maya and Donovan look over with warm smiles, but I see a few unsettled faces. Is it because Dad’s sicker than he’s let on, or because he’s passing the baton to me? “Come on up, Con.”

Tristan whistles obnoxiously loud, clapping as I join my father at the podium. “Yeah, Lucky!”

Mom smacks his arm, and someone snorts. Dad slides his arm around me, lending me strength as I look out over the expectant faces in the room. Speaking has always been easy for me—I was president of my senior class and on the debate team for years. But this isn’t a rhetorical argument or a general issue. It’s my dad. Our family. The people in this room, who have known me my entire life and my parents for most of theirs. It’s heavy.

And then I think about Bria, what I’d say if she were here. Because even though she’s at home taking care of my son, who might one day be the one standing here, I want to be the kind of man she needs me to be. Someone she can trust.

I pull in a slow, deep breath and exhale even slower. “We all know what Dad’s been dealing with, so none of this should be a surprise. But it is, isn’t it? I just want you to know that Dad might not be leading from the front anymore, but he’ll always be a leader. He’s my mentor, my greatest teacher.”

Dad rubs my back, the same way he did when I was little. I don’t have to look at him to know he’s tearing up. Several people in the room are.

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