Page 35 of Bozo

As I step inside, I see a man I don't recognize seated in the living room. He’s young, probably five or so years older than I am. Jerry closes the door behind me, and I feel a chill run down my spine.

"What's going on?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as my gaze darts between Jer and the mystery guy.

“Have you met Freddie Kinnock yet?” he asks me.

I breathe a sigh of relief. I know Freddie—well, I don’tknowhim, but I’ve heard about him. He’s one of Jerry’s best men. He’s known as the Thief, because he’s good at thieving. He can get into the most secure places without being seen.

“Loveen,” Jer says as he directs me to the sofa. “I know you’ve got a lot on with your studies and whatnot, and I have afeeling that this is going to throw everything up in the air, but the moment Freddie told me, I knew I had to let you know.”

My brows furrow even more. “Let me know what?”

I watch as Jer’s shoulders tighten and his lips purse.

“It’s your dad, Gráinne,” Freddie says, his voice gentle. “Since you came to live with Jer, we’ve been keeping an eye on him. Jer’s orders. He means something to you, so Jer wanted to ensure he was kept on radar.”

I turn to Jer, surprised he’s done that. My heart warms. He really does have a soft heart behind the gangster facade.

“We hadn’t seen him in a few days,” Freddie continues. “We started to get worried.”

My heart starts to race. "What do you mean? Is he okay?"

Freddie and Jerry exchange a look that makes my stomach drop.

"We found him, Grá," Jerry says softly. "But... it's not good news."

I feel the blood drain from my face. "What happened?" I whisper.

Jerry sits next to me on the sofa, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Liver failure,” he tells me. “Damn man drank himself to death.”

The room starts to spin. My father, the man I left behind years ago, the alcoholic who could never stay sober long enough to be a real parent—he's dead. I should feel relieved, maybe even happy that he’ll never hurt me again. But instead, I feel a crushing weight of grief and regret. I should have been there to help him. Instead, I ran away and focused on myself.

I feel the tears welling up in my eyes, threatening to spill over. Jerry's arm wraps around my shoulders, pulling me close. Despite everything, despite the years of neglect and pain, he was still my father. And now he's gone.

"I'm so sorry, loveen," Jerry murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "I know it's not easy."

Freddie clears his throat awkwardly. "There's more," he says quietly.

I look up, wiping my eyes. "What do you mean?"

Jerry and Freddie exchange another loaded glance. "Your dad," Jerry begins carefully. "He left something behind. For you."

My heart skips a beat. "For me?"

Freddie nods, reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulls out a small, worn envelope. "We found this in his apartment. It's addressed to you."

With trembling hands, I take the envelope. My name is scrawled across the front in my father's messy handwriting. I trace the letters with my finger, feeling a lump form in my throat.

“Do you want me to take you home?” Jer asks.

I stare at the envelope with my name on it in shock. Why did he write me a letter? I don’t understand. He never cared about me, not after Mam died anyway. So why the letter?

“Grá.” I hear the thick and gravelly voice of Connor and turn to look up at him. It’s hard to make him out with tears in my eyes. “Come on, Sunshine, let’s get you home.”

I turn to find Jer watching me with a soft look, his eyes filled with concern, but he nods. “Go with Connor, Grá. I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”

I nod numbly, clutching the envelope to my chest as Connor gently guides me to my feet. The world feels hazy and distant as we walk out to his car. I barely register the drive home, lost in a fog of grief and guilt.

When we arrive at my small apartment, Connor helps me inside and settles me on the sofa. He disappears into the kitchen, returning moments later with a steaming cup of tea.

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