Page 90 of The Thief
The vulnerability in his voice catches me off guard. This powerful man, this king of Dublin's underworld, is asking for my permission to love me.
"I'd like that," I say quietly.
"Good. Because I've got eighteen years of birthdays to make up for, eighteen years of Christmas presents gathering dust in storage."
"You kept presents?"
"Every year. Your father would tell me what you were interested in, and I'd buy something I thought you'd like. Just in case."
The image of Henry Gallagher wandering through toy stores and bookshops, picking out gifts for a granddaughter he'd never met, makes my chest tight.
"What did you buy me?"
"Books, mostly. Your father said you loved to read. Art supplies when you went through your painting phase. Dancing shoes when you started lessons."
"He told you about all that?"
"He told me everything. Every scraped knee, every school play, every boy who broke your heart. I knew you before I met you."
Tears threaten, and I blink them back. "I wish I'd known about you, too."
"You know about me now. That's what matters."
"Is it? Because I've spent the last year or so thinking I was alone in the world. Thinking nobody cared whether I lived or died."
"I cared. I've always cared."
"But you never came for me."
"Because your father made me promise not to. He made me swear that if anything happened to him, I'd respect his wishes about keeping you separate from the family business."
"And you kept that promise."
"Until now. Until Trace forced my hand."
I lean back against the sofa, overwhelmed by everything I'm learning. Dad's death, Henry's love—it's too much to process all at once.
"Are you proud of him?" I ask. "Of the man Dad became?"
"Immensely. He could have been anything, done anything. Instead, he chose to use his strength to protect people who couldn't protect themselves."
"Even if it got him killed?"
"Especially because it got him killed. There's no honor in living if you're not willing to die for something that matters."
"And what about me? Are you proud of the woman I became?"
Henry studies my face for a long moment. "You survived eighteen months alone in Belfast. You built a life from nothing but stubbornness and spite. You learned to fight, to protect yourself, to trust your instincts. You walked into my world without backing down, even when it scared you."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer that matters. Yes, I'm proud of you. Prouder than I have any right to be, considering I had nothing to do with the woman you became."
"You had everything to do with it. You're the reason Dad taught me to fight, to survive, to be strong enough to stand on my own."
"And you're the reason he stayed human in a world that turns most men into monsters."
We sit in comfortable silence for a while, the weight of eighteen years of separation finally lifting. This man, this grandfather I barely know, has been carrying me in his heart all this time. Just like I've been carrying the fantasy of family I never thought I'd have.
