Page 94 of Dirty Padraig: Dirty Dusters

“I’m sorry, Paddy.”

“When did you tell him?” I close my eyes in frustration.

“The day after you told me. He was putting me under pressure and asking what had gone on between the pair of you, and it just sort of slipped out.”

“It just sort of slipped out. Jesus Christ, Dylan. You were the one who told me not to tell him!”

“I know.”

“And what if Sophia finds out? She already hates Jaine’s guts. Do you really want her and Luc gunning for her? Why the hell do you think I’ve been distancing myself from her all this time? Through fucking choice?”

“Do you think they would?”

“I wouldn’t put anything past them. Why do you think I want out of this toxic arrangement? A marriage my own family forced me into.”

“No one knew, Paddy. It was seen as a good match.”

“That’s just the same shite they’ve been feeding you since day one. The Ruoccos were deemed untrustworthy even back then. The union was hinged on the fact that Luc was the don and that he was always going to remain so.”

“Paddy…”

“Enough, Dylan.”

It’s no wonder Eoin looked at me like he wished me dead. He thinks something is going on between me and Jaine. He thinks I’m trampling on his toes.

Like he did mine.

I would never do that. Not to him. Not to her.

“In fact, Dylan, change of plan. Given that our big brother will now be baying for my blood, it’s probably best I stay away. I’ll conduct my own search.”

“What are you going to do?”

“First, I’ll pray to The Almighty, and then I’ll scour the streets until I find her because find her I will.”

“I think that might be for the best, Paddy. Please, be careful… and I really am sorry.”

“I will, and I know you are.”

“Do you want me to send a car? Liam still has yours.”

“I’ll sort myself out.”

St. Peter’s Church, Upper East Side, New York

Here’s me criticizing Jaine, and I’ve done exactly the same thing.

I check my pockets once more, having now vacated the cab, but I’ve definitely left my phone at home.

“Fucking eejit.” I run my hand through my hair in frustration as I stare at St. Peter’s, allowing the familiar sense of calm this place always affords me to descend.

Father O’Reilly is away at present. He’s taking a well-deserved vacation while some essential remedial works are undertaken inside. Two weeks of repairs started two days ago. In the meantime, the congregation has been asked to attend St. Gabriel’s just up the road or to pray at the end of their beds like they used to do when they were in kindergarten.

Neither option is for me.

This little church is part of my soul. It’s where I always saw myself taking the vows with Jaine. It’s where I always saw our children being baptized.

It’s also where my final resting place will be.

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