Page 121 of Beat of Love
Tilting his head back against the wood, Rafferty met his father’s gaze. “I told Aidan about the accident.”
His father didn’t flinch. Just nodded. There was no judgment in his eyes. No anger. Only acceptance. And something steadier.
Love.
Only he didn’t deserve love.
Not from the man who lost the use of his legs due to his choices.
*
Jonathan looked down at his son — his heartbroken boy, all grown and still so lost. “I heard them,” he said, his voice low. “Back then.”
Rafferty blinked. “You … heard?”
“I was conscious long enough,” Jonathan replied, nodding. “Heard the threats. The awful things they said they’d do.” He paused, letting that truth settle. “I never blamed you, son. Not once.”
“Pa.”
“What did they…?” Jonathan couldn’t finish the question. The memory of the days following the accident was too thick. Even through the fog of pain and medication, and the crushing news about his spine, his thoughts had been consumed by one thing. “All I could think about was where you were … If you were alive … If they’d hurt you, too.”
Rafferty's throat worked. “I figured you’d hate me,” he murmured. “For not fighting harder. For not staying.” He sucked in a breath.
“Never. I was just very worried about you.”
“I was fine,” Rafferty said, though the words sounded hollow. “They needed me for a … job.”
Jonathan didn’t respond right away. He simply watched his son, seeing the flicker of memory and pain moving behind those wounded eyes and through his body. The way his shoulders curled slightly inward, like he was still carrying weight he couldn’t set down. “Doesn’t sound like fine to me.”
Rafferty’s lips twitched, but not into a smile. “It wasn’t. Not at all.”
Jonathan nodded, slow and steady. “Tell me.”
His son’s eyes flicked to meet his, surprise in them.
Then indecision.
Finally, Rafferty said, “They sent me to Italy.”
Jonathan’s brow furrowed. “Italy?” Not what he’d expected.
“I need to backtrack a bit. My fourteen months with the O’Malleys was part of a long, carefully orchestrated sting,” Rafferty said. “At the time, there were two major trafficking syndicates operating out of Boston — the O’Malleys and the Barbieris from Sicily. We — meaning a joint task force between Interpol and multiple U.S. agencies — engineered a way to pit them against each other.”
Jonathan listened, his knuckles white as he gripped the armrests of his wheelchair.
“The takedown happened during an op the O’Malleys launched to wipe out the Sicilians. What they didn’t know was that the task force was lying in wait. When the dust settled, we arrested both organizations in one sweep.”
Jonathan didn’t move, didn’t speak, barely breathed.
“That’s when I was ‘arrested.’ We had to maintain my cover because my next assignment — undercover with the Taisechs — was already in motion.”
Rafferty paused, his gaze fixed on some far-off place. “But during the trial, Sean O’Malley must’ve figured out I’d had a hand in the fall of his empire. He swore revenge.”
His boy’s eyes moved, catching and holding his. The depth of regret and pain in them tore through Jonathan.
“I thought I’d covered my tracks, Pa. I really did. Then I came home for Colin’s funeral and …” Rafferty’s voice cracked as he swiped at his face with the back of his hand.
Jonathan watched his son closely. A part of him wanted to stop the confession — to shield them both from the truth of what was coming — but he knew the words had to be spoken. By bringing this burden into the light, Rafferty might begin to let go of the guilt he carried.
