Page 178 of The Thief
"No, it's not. This is Henry's life, and he's gone. Without him, I'm just an outsider who brought violence to their door."
Freddie turns to face me fully, and there's something fierce in his expression. Something that brooks no argument.
"Get dressed," he says.
"What?"
"You heard me. Get dressed. We're going downstairs, and you're going to let these people show you exactly how wrong you are."
"Freddie—"
"No. You don't get to decide you don't belong. You don't get to run away because grief is hard and guilt is easier than love. You're a Gallagher, whether you like it or not, and today we bury the man who was proud as hell to call you his granddaughter."
His words cut through my self-pity like a blade, sharp and necessary. I want to argue, want to insist that he doesn't understand, but there's truth in what he's saying. A truth I've been avoiding because it's easier to feel sorry for myself than to face the reality of what I've lost.
"I don't know how to do this," I admit.
"Do what?"
"Be part of a family. Be someone people love enough to die for. I spent my whole life with just Dad, and even he kept me at arm's length sometimes. Kept parts of himself hidden because he thought it would keep me safe."
"So learn. Let them teach you."
"What if I can't? What if I'm too broken, too used to being alone?"
"Then we'll figure it out together. But you don't get to decide that before you even try."
I nod, not trusting my voice. He's right, of course. I've been so focused on my guilt, so convinced that Henry's death is my fault, that I haven't allowed myself to grieve properly. Haven't allowed myself to accept the love that still surrounds me, even in loss.
Twenty minutes later, I'm dressed in black and following Freddie downstairs. The safe house is full of people now, voices murmuring in the kind of hushed tones reserved for death and sorrow. Some I recognize, others are strangers, but they all look up when I enter the room.
The conversations fade to silence. They're studying me. Everyone is here—all of Henry's grandchildren, along with Edwina, his daughter. They're all taking measure of the girl the man they loved died protecting. I can feel their judgment, their curiosity, their assessment of whether I was worth the price Henry paid.
"Alastríona." Denis appears at my elbow, solid and reassuring. "How are you holding up?"
"I'm fine."
"Liar." His tone is gentle, understanding. "Come on. There are people who want to meet you."
He guides me toward a group gathered near the fireplace. I recognize Holly immediately. She's got the kind of beauty that's hard to forget. Red hair like autumn leaves, green eyes that miss nothing, and the same underlying strength that seems to run in the Gallagher bloodline.
"Holly," Denis says, "I'd like you to properly meet your cousin, Alastríona."
Holly's smile is immediate and genuine, cutting through my nervousness like sunshine through clouds.
"I'm so glad to finally talk to you properly," she says, taking my hands in hers. "I've been wanting to, but with everything that's been happening..."
"I know. It's been chaos."
"That's one word for it." Her expression grows serious. "I'm sorry about Granddad. I know you two were just getting to know each other."
The simple acknowledgment of my loss, of the relationship I barely had time to build, breaks something loose in my chest. These people understand. They know what it means to love someone and lose them too soon.
"He was proud of you," Holly continues. "He talked about you constantly after you arrived. How smart you were, how strong. How much you reminded him of our grandmother."
"Did he really?"
"Oh yes. He was absolutely besotted. Da was actually getting a bit jealous of how much attention you were getting."
