Page 11 of Grind
Connor
The shower stopped twenty minutes ago, and the lights went out. She’s probably asleep, and I can’t sit on this damned couch anymore staring at that door.
Grabbing my keys and phone, I head into the outer hallway and take the stairs two at a time up to the apartment building’s penthouse. My fist pounds the door for just a second before my brother throws it back. Seamus stands there, looking annoyed but not surprised to see me.
“What the hell?”
I push past him into his apartment and turn to face him. Despite the late hour, he’s dressed for a business meeting in a pressed shirt and black slacks. Every hair in place. I don’t know how he does this.
He returns my gaze, and clearly I look like a brawling Irishman at 2:00 a.m. Fair.
“Can we talk, Seamus?”
He quirks an eyebrow. I didn’t exactly give him a choice. But that’s one of the best things about Seamus. He might seem like an uptight hardass, and he is, but he’s an excellent listener. Even gives good advice, not that I’d admit it to him. Wordlessly, he crosses to the bar, pours two fingers of Macallen into crystal glasses and hands me one. He sits down at the chair behind his desk, leans back and regards me.
My eyes drop to the papers spread on his desk.
“Dad?” I can’t help but ask.
He nods and sighs. His eyes are bloodshot and the worry lines deepening on his face.
“Everything is a damn mess, Connor. I need to get it straightened out, some assets moved around, and protected. Trusts. Wills. You know…” His voice trails off.
“And fast.”
My head begins to pound, as it has for the last several weeks when the details that I’ve been blocking out seep in. Not long ago, my father brought us all together to tell us that he was sick. For a second, I’m back in my dad’s favorite booth at the Kildare, the beer-stained wood sticky beneath my fingers. My brothers are crowding around, giving each other shit.
And then the silence as his words wash over me.Cancer. Sick. No treatment. A few months, several at most. You boys will handle it. Keep the damn Carneys out.
Everything changed in an instant. From a safe world where the toughest guy I know keeps us on the straight and narrow as we continue to take the Doyle businesses into the modern world, to one where I’m trying to imagine how everything’s going to work without my father at the helm.
What the hell is my role, and how am I supposed to help?
My throat constricts and I clear it quickly.
“Listen, what can you tell me about the Stacy family?”
Seamus instantly looks wary. Whatever he was expecting me to ask, it wasn’t that. Some of it I know, but he’s more plugged in, handling all the legal and business details.
“Boston political dynasty. Carter’s the mayor, his brother’s big into property development. Their father owns half the seaport. We’ve gone head to head a few times and haven’t gotten much city work since the last election. But you know all this. What’s up?”
He leans forward, putting his elbows on his desk. His tattoo is the same one as mine.
I run a hand through my hair. It’s sticking up in every direction.
“A woman came into Intrigue tonight. She was running away from some drunk asshole that beat her up. Turns out it was Brooks Stacy.” I don’t tell Seamus I had Sully rough him up.
At the name, Seamus takes a strong pull from his drink, before giving a disgusted headshake. “Jesus, Connor. Brooks is the mayor’s son. He’s in law school down at Suffolk.”
He gives a little shrug and can’t seem to stop from adding, “ Couldn’t get into Harvard. Not even with all his connections.”
Unable to help myself, I snort. Leave it to Seamus to throw in a Harvard reference whenever he can.
“Honestly, Connor, he’s bad news. He’s been in court a bunch of times, DUIs, fighting. And I heard he beat up a girl very badly last year, although it sounds like nothing has stuck. He’s been in a few courses I’ve lectured to at law schools here in Boston, and every instinct says he’s a piece of shit.”
He shakes his head and his eyes take on a guarded look. “Bad news. I’d stay out of it if you can.”
He’s watching me hard, and I can tell from the tightening line of his mouth that he doesn’t like what he sees on my face.
