Curran

“Later, Levon,” I call to him.

Levon smiles. It’s forced, but it’s a step forward—not the expression of defeat he usually carries. And the way he stands makes me think he’s not done fighting yet.

“Later, Curran,” he yells back.

I cross through the church garden again, pausing in front of the Holy Mother. I thank her for giving Levon another week with us. I also thank her for Tess’s laugh that morning, and for keeping our baby safe. Tess hasn’t laughed much lately. But since the doctor assured us everything’s fine, and now that she’s twelve weeks along, she’s smiling more, and yeah, laughing, too.

As if on cue, my phone buzzes.

Hey, cop. I miss you. Is everything all right?

I speak into the mic and send her back a text. I’m fine. Group went a little longer tonight. Who am I kidding? It went a lot longer. I was supposed to meet Tess an hour ago.

Are you coming to the pub?

I grin. Of course I am. Can’t miss my brother’s big celebration, can I? Not every day one man destroys an entire mafia empire.

I know. Twenty consecutive life terms for Montenegro alone. Can you believe it?

No. Declan fucking owned it.

So you’re coming? For sure?

I’ll be there in fifteen.

Good. He needs you. Despite all the higher-ups here, they don’t mean as much to him as his family.

I grin, knowing she’s right. Are my brothers and Wren there yet?

Yes. Finn and Wren were the last to show, but they’ve been here awhile now. She pauses, then adds, If you can believe it, Miles Fenske’s daughter is also here.

Melissa?

Yes.

Did she call Declan an asshole yet?

In the seconds it takes for her to respond, I know I’ve missed another of her cute laughs. No, but everyone is drinking, so I’m sure it’s coming. She waits, then adds, If she doesn’t sleep with him first.

What the…? You serious?

Curran, it’s odd. But despite their atrocious first meeting, neither can seem to tear their eyes off the other.

No shit? On my way. Save me a ringside seat.

I pocket my phone, but stop short when I catch sight of who’s waiting for me.

Joey sits by the entrance in his wheelchair, arms crossed, face tight. Seeing how his group had to wait for mine to end, it looks like he’s been waiting there a long time. All that aside, he doesn’t seem in a hurry to round the corner and head inside.

“Hey, Curran,” he says. “You have a minute?”

I don’t. But for him I do. “Yeah. Sure.”

I sit on the bottom step leading out of the elevated garden area. For all he seems to want to talk, he takes his time. I don’t rush him, just wait. I owe him as much. He angles his chair around so instead of facing me, we’re both looking in the direction of the parking lot, the streetlights casting an odd shade of white against his light skin.

“Do you want to know something about me?” he asks.

I steel myself—expecting him to say he’s getting worse, or that he can’t have kids, or that I screwed him up more than I know. “Yeah. Sure.”

He keeps his sights ahead. “I was supposed to be better than you.”

I frown his way. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

He rubs his hands, his expression turning dark despite the glare from the lights. “In the academy, me and the other recruits, all we heard about was you—how fast you moved, what a first-class shot you were, and how your instincts were something they couldn’t teach—an ‘ingrained talent’ one of the trainers called it.” He huffs. “They played you up like you were some sort of god—even the way you wrote up your reports was something they threw in our faces. Your agility, your speed—it wasn’t enough you had the physical shit down. The old-timers made sure to tell us you had the smarts, too—and the rest of us could only be so lucky to sweat in your damn shadow.”

I’m not sure where he’s headed, but I listen, and listen hard.

“Thing was, I was fast, too. I could shoot, and passed my exams like they were nothing. Reports? Hell, they were almost a joke to me. But it wasn’t good enough. Not like the legend of Curran O’Brien,” he says, playing with the brakes on his chair. “The first time I saw you was when you came to do a demo with an assault rifle. By the way the instructors talked you up, I thought you’d walk in wearing a cape or some shit. Do you remember that day you taught us? You remember me?”

I want to say yes, but I don’t want to lie. “No. But I taught a lot of recruits—”

“Save it,” he says, his nostrils flaring. “I hit every target faster and closer to the mark than anyone in my class. Every time I squeezed that trigger I blew my competition away, and you didn’t say shit. Neither did the other trainers. But didn’t the world stop spinning when you showed everyone how it was done.”

“You wanted praise,” I say, thinking I know what he means.

“No. I wanted recognition for how good I was, because I deserved it.” It’s what he says, but something in the memory makes him lower his head. “Instead, you moved on to those who were struggling, instead of commending those who got it right the first time around. Maybe I impressed myself, and maybe a few others there, too, but I sure as hell didn’t impress the one guy I thought I should, you.”

“Why’d you care what I thought?” I’m not just blowing smoke. I honestly don’t know where he’s going with this.

“I told you: because I was supposed to be better than you. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself….”

Joey stares out into the deserted lot, where an old rusty Buick is parked in the corner. “I think everyone knew how good I was,” he says. “But where they saw confidence in you, they found arrogance in me. I was placed with you for a reason. So maybe one day, I could be better. The thing was, since I wasn’t impressed by you, I didn’t see it for the gift the higher-ups meant it to be.”

I don’t move, mostly because the claws ripping their way down to my soul won’t let me.

“You know why I’m stuck in this chair?” he asks, his voice cracking.

Christ. I look hard at the pavement, realizing he’s crying. “Because I didn’t do my job,” I admit.

“No,” he gasps, trying to speak. “It’s because I didn’t do mine.”

I turn in his direction, watching the tears pour out of him like a faucet.

“When you went to cuff that perp, I housed my weapon instead of covering you. I was rolling my eyes at how you were taking your time talking him down—thinking you were nothing but a pussy when you yelled ‘Gun!’ The first shot was meant for you and it just missed your head. I barely had time to yank my piece out of my holster. But as fast as I was, I wasn’t fast enough.” Joey breaks down then, his voice forcing its way through his sobs. “I’m sorry. Jesus Christ, Curran, I’m so fucking sorry….”