Page 6 of On The Rocks

He managed bars and restaurants and loved it so much that he decided to start his own business. After the family tried to involve him in a shady protection racket, he moved Mam to Hambleton and opened the Lucky Shamrock.

Their marriage was mostly a happy one, lasting forty-two years, but then a few years ago, Da was diagnosed with an aggressive type of lymphoma.

And here we were.

I gave Paddy a tight-lipped smile of acknowledgment.

Everybody was sorry for our loss, but what could I say?

Da was gone.

Death was a part of life, and my responsibility now was to honor Da and look after my ma and younger siblings the way he would’ve wanted. I had a bar to run, and my family needed help to navigate the grieving process. People’s condolences, although comforting, didn’t put food on the table.

Only working hard did that, which was why I didn’t protest about Paddy being there. I needed Kennedy to hurry this along so I could go pull more pints.

She led us into my office and nodded toward the chairs situated around my desk. Kennedy sat next to where a thick file lay on the table. “If you could sit, gentlemen, we can start.”

Grabbing the chair furthest from the door, I parked my ass and watched Paddy unbutton his suit jacket before he did the same. Our eyes caught, and he gave me a small nod before turning his head to study Kennedy.

She opened the file, took out a single sheet of paper, and donned a pair of large, black-rimmed glasses. “Gentlemen, thank you for coming,” she began. “I have a letter here from Lorcan, who left instructions to read it when you were together. He also asked that you let me finish before speaking. Lorcan came to my partner six months ago and asked Scotty to outline his intentions in regard to his business and financial affairs. Hewould like this letter read to explain his decision and why he made it, and that’s what I’ll do today in accordance with his wishes.”

I took a deep, calming breath, preparing myself to hear Da’s last words.

“I, Lorcan O’Shea, being of sound mind, do bequeath the contents of my savings and checking account to my wife, Maureen. Along with those, I would like to bequeath my two life insurance policies in the hope that, combined, the proceeds will allow her to live a good life until the day we meet again. If the dividends fall short, I’d ask that my eldest son, Callum, help his mother financially to ensure she’s looked after.”

I bowed my head.

“The family business, The Lucky Shamrock bar, is to be given to Patrick Doyle, to whom I owe three hundred thousand dollars.”

My body locked.

What?

Kennedy paused briefly, her face paling, then she cleared her throat and continued, “Son. I’m sorry. We had a rough couple of years back when our patrons were getting drugged. Profits went down, overheads went up, and I had medical bills to pay—bills I didn’t want to leave your mother worrying about. I was happy to refuse treatment and leave everything in God’s hands, but your mother begged me to fight, and my insurance didn’t cover everything I needed.”

Slowly, my stomach sank.

No. No. No.

Kennedy’s incredulous stare met mine, and she went on, “You have choices available, Callum. You could sell the bar and open a new one with the proceeds, or you could listen to the proposal Patrick and I discussed. Personally, I want the Shamrock to continue in the family. I want you to settle, behappy, give my Maureen grandbabies, and make a success of the bar. I know I’ve left you in an awkward spot, but I didn’t have a choice. There’s no question about how much we both love the place and the memories we made there together, but I’ve been telling you for years, what good is it if there’s nobody to pass it on to? Please think about what Patrick’s about to offer; don’t write it off, Son, you could do a lot worse. I love you, your mam, and your brothers and sister. Never forget that, and do everything in your power to keep the Shamrock.”

My ribs squeezed so hard I thought my chest would cave in. My skin itched, and blood rushed through my ears as I tried to make sense of what was happening.

I knew the bar had gone through a rough patch a few years before, but Da never mentioned that it was bad enough that he had to take out a goddamned loan.

And from Patrick Doyle, of all people.

Jesus Christ.

I wasn’t even sure the bar was worth that much. Hambleton was a sought-after town to live in, but after it came to light that the mayor was trafficking local women, house prices plummeted. The townsfolk didn’t care; they were here for life, but it didn’t bode well for me if I sold the bar, and there was no guarantee there’d even be enough to pay off Da’s loan.

Plus, we’d be fucked.

No bar.

No livelihood.

No income.

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