Page 54 of Starting Over

“Almost thirty years ago. I was ten.” He shrugged like he wasn’t affected by it. “Declan raised me. I don’t even really remember them.”

He stood from his desk and walked to the bar against the wall. Holding the bottle in the air, he looked at me, silently asking if I wanted a drink.

“No, thank you.”

I didn’t believe his unemotional decree. Ten years old wasn’t young enough to forget your parents. Not parents like his. Kathleen O’Rourke was a loving, devoted mother. She never turned her back on her boys. Even though she had every reason to.

His father was a man to look up to. He stood for what was right, even when it didn’t benefit him. If something helped someone in need, Curran O’Rourke was the first person in line to do what he could to make sure whatever needed to be done got done quickly and correctly.

I hadn’t seen his parents since I was ten years old. Even only seeing them a few times a week, I remembered everything I ever knew about them.

How could he not remember them, when he spent every day with them?

King threw his drink back and poured another, taking it with him back to his desk. Talking about his parents must be hard. Maybe his detachment was how he coped with the loss.

It wasn’t healthy, but it also wasn’t my place to judge.

“Were my parents in the Mob?”

King caught me off guard with that question. Looking at my hands that twisted in my lap, there was only one way to answer that question.

“You need to ask Declan about that.”

“I did. He lied.”

When I lifted my eyes to his, they focused on me. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I desperately searched for the words that would appease his curiosity.

Declan said he didn’t know the truth. If I had any hope of making a life here, I couldn’t reveal the secret King didn’t know. It wasn’t my place. It wasn’t my story.

“Not as far as I know. Your dad was a mechanic; he worked with his hands. Made men don’t do physical labor unless it’s solving a problem or cleaning up the mess that results from it.”

“What about—”

“How did they die?” I asked, interrupting his next question. I needed to change this subject, or get out of here before I said something I couldn’t take back.

Knocking back the rest of his whiskey he said, “Car accident.”

That was why he had questions.

Standing from my seat, he watched my every move.

“Thank you for letting me stay here. It meant the world to me. I am sorry about Thanksgiving. I didn’t realize who Declan was until someone mentioned your last name. All at once, I saw the resemblance he had to your dad. I wasn’t going to say anything. It wasn’t the place to—”

“Yea, Dec doesn’t understand the notion of wrong time, wrong place.” He drew in a deep, harsh breath. “I’m not upsetwith you, Maureen. My brother has never lied to me before. I know he’s keeping something from me. I just don’t know what it is or why.”

Hearing a throat clear behind me, I turned, and the man I had met whose name was Nav stood there with a file in his hand.

“Hey, Prez. Got that information you wanted,” he said, holding the file in the air. He moved to lay the file on King’s desk.

Looking at the file, I wondered what the information he had asked for was.

“Maureen, if you need help getting your things—”

Focusing back on King, I assured him, “Thank you. I’ll get out of your way.” I was almost out the door when King stopped me.

“Maureen.”

Turning back, I waited for him to continue. I tried not to stare at the file on his desk that he still hadn’t opened.

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