I’m up early, just before the sun crests over the breakers.

I’m always up early, at least since the crash. At first it was the nightmares - tires squealing, glass shattering, the weightless feeling as up becomes down, the sound of metal against the road. The sound of my friend’s scream going suddenly silent.

Yeah, I had those for a while.

But after that, being up early just became routine; something I did. Get up, get the strongest fucking coffee possible into my body, and then get the blood pumping. I stare into the mirror in the tiny bathroom of the houseboat while the drip machine works its magic, inhaling dark roast and the smell of low tide as I rub a splash of water across my face, my fingers raking across the stubble on my cheeks.

The coffee scalds on the first sip, but I drink it anyways; getting at least a few more in before I drop to the floor. I count pumping breaths as I do my pushups, In. Out. Up. Down. I go until my arms burn, and then I do two more before I flip onto my back for crunches. For those, I count by twos for some weird reason, clenching my core again and again until I can barely breathe. After that, it’s right back to the pushups, and the cycle continues ten more times.

When I’m done, my whole body is on fire, but every cell in my brain is firing on full cylinders. I refill the mug from the machine and take it out onto the deck, staring out at the mouth of the harbor as I take a fresh scalding sip.

“Well shit, kid.”

I whirl at the sound of the voice from my past - the voice of the man who sent everything shattering out of control.

Declan.

The world’s all-time shittiest uncle and legal guardian. I can’t really imagine a world where my parents’ legal will named a man like Declan as my next of kin, except in a world where I have no other family. A world where Declan McCreedy is literally the only option.

That I basically grew up in the Hammond house makes a whole lot of sense once you know Declan.

His hair is grayer now than it was then, slicked back to the point of pulling at the sallow skin of his forehead. He’s still got the same out-of-date mustache, grayer now, still tobacco streaked with yellow. I can remember him stroking it, like a nervous tick or a poker tell, that night in the car.

The night I watched her heart breaking from the hospital parking lot through the rain-streaked windshield.

The night he put a passport in my hand.

And now he’s standing right in fucking front of me, on the docks of Shelter Harbor.

He’s flanked by two bruiser-looking motherfuckers in black jackets and berets - the exact type of wannabe Irish-mob tools Declan’s always surrounded himself by. He’s got connections, sure, but he’s the big fish in a small fucking pond out here away from the city. He’s got his little criminal fiefdom here in Shelter Harbor, but he’d get eaten fucking alive in Southie or Charlestown, and he fucking knows it.

He’s wearing fucking sunglasses - big, gaudy grandmother-style ones. But I can see the lines around his eyes crinkle as the corners of his lips pull back in a grin.

“You look good, kid,” he growls out in that Boston-tinged townie accent.

“Catch a lot of rays over there in sunny fucking Dublin?”

The two goons snicker on cue. I just tighten my jaw.

Part of me wants to destroy this man for fucking up my life. Except eight years later, I know that’s only partly the blame. Deep down, I know it was me that did the destroying. Declan may have helped, but I’m man enough these years later to know that I’m to blame for my own shit.

As easy at it would be to kill this man with my bare fucking hands right here and now, even if it’d be my last move.

His goons are still chuckling when I interrupt them all.

“What do you want, Declan.”

He chuckles as he reaches up to pull the shades from his face. His grey-green eyes narrow at me, his tobacco-stained smile still leering at me.

“Just wanted to check in on my favorite nephew is all. Hey, if you don’t got family what do you have, huh?”

“You’re a pillar of the modern family, Declan.”

He grins, spreading his arms. “So, home sweet home, huh?”

“Yep.”

He shakes his head, his hand slipping into the breast pocket of his shirt for a pack of Lucky Strikes.

“I mean, shit, kid. You got me all choked up over here.”

I frown, my mouth tightening. “What.”

“What?” He laughs with the cigarette in his lips as he brings the lighter up to the end of it. Smoke billows out as he chuckles through the lighting of it.

“I mean, you don’t call, you don’t fucking write.”

I level my eyes at him. “You get that I was in fucking hiding, right?” That I was in another country without a real fucking passport? Remember that part?”

Declan pulls on his cigarette, his cheeks hollowing and his eyes never leaving mine. “Not talking about fucking Ireland, boy-o.”

I say nothing, but he raises a brow at me. “Don’t bullshit me, kid. I knew when you came back.”

I force myself not to react - not to show a single flinch or sign that I give a shit that he knows.

He grins. “It’s not that big of town, Boston,” he says with a wink. “And boy, that Valerie sure is a piece, huh?”

I can feel a horrible chill run down my spine.

“Yeah, it’s not a big town and I know people, pal.”

“Been spying on me, Dec?”

He pulls the smoke from his lips and grins again as he hold his fingers up. “Teeny bit. What can I say? I missed you, kid.”

“You didn’t.”

He shrugs. “Well, not your driving skills.”

I can feel my blood boil as he grins and as the two black-coated goons chuckle. I know he wants me to react, so he can. It’s how Declan works. Always the viper, always the provocateur, so he has a reason to strike.

Don’t let him get to you.

I’m past this.

I’m better than this.

“Whatever you say, Declan.” I purposely turn my back to him, taking a sip of my coffee as I look out at the waves beyond the mouth of the harbor.

“But hell, I guess it’s not Valerie I should be watching these days, now is it?”

I freeze, the mug halfway to my mouth, before I slowly lower it and turn back to him. He’s leering at me, a wicked grin on his face as he stands with one foot up on the side of my boot. And that look say’s he’s daring me to make a move.

I don’t.

“Oh yeah, kid, I see it all.” He taps the side of his face as he grins at me. “Like a hawk.”

I’m turning, readying myself to ignore any more of his bullshit, when that voice of his cuts deep.

“That Ivy Hammond sure has grown up.”

I turn back, my face tight. “Watch it.”

Declan chuckles. “That Instagram account of hers?” He whistles. “Shit, kid, I’ve fired off a few by myself to some of those yoga-pant and bikinis, if you know what I mean.”

I’m on him in a second, hands grabbing him by the collar and my eyes burning like hot coals into his. “You watch your fucking mouth!”

The two goons lunge forward, but my uncle waves them off with a hand. The corners of his mouth curl.

“Now, what it is you said to me all those years ago when I helped you out? When I helped you get away?” He raises a brow. “‘She means nothing,’ I think it was? That she was ‘just some girl’?”

I know what I said. I said exactly what I had to, to keep her distant from me; to make sure Declan didn’t think she was any sort of leverage on me. It’s also why I’ve got no intention of tearing a hole in him right now about the one letter she never got.

My hands loosen on his shirt.

“Just some girl, huh?” He shakes his head. “Eight years later and look at you - all piss and vinegar over it.” He snorts. “Must by some kind of cunt she’s got between her-”

I roar as I drag him around and slam him into the side of the boat. I’m seeing fucking red as I raise my fist with every intention of slamming it through his teeth, but I’m suddenly stopped and pulled away from him by the two goons.

“Whoa! Whoa!”

He’s chuckling again - fucking laughing as he stabs a finger at me.

“Mind your fucking manners, you little prick. Jesus fucking Christ, we’re family.”

I snarl as I shake loose of the two thugs holding me back. “I try and forget that detail.”

His eyes narrow as he jabs a finger at me again. “You got soft over there, kid.”

I bark out a harsh laugh.

It was the literal opposite. I grew hard over there. I grew rough, and unkind, and uncaring, doing jobs for Declan’s Irish connections that I wish I could take back.

He clears his throat as he straightens his shirt collar, frowning at me. “Jesus, I just wanted to come by and say hello and welcome back to town. Jesus fucking Christ, throw a damn tantrum about it.”

He shakes his head as he pushes past me. “Shit, guess we shoulda brought a fuckin casserole, huh boys?”

The two goons smirk at me.

“That’s all, Silas,” he says dramatically. “Just welcome home.”

My mouth stays shut this time, and Declan just gives me a final shake of his head before the three of them turn and start to go.

“Oh, Silas,” he turns. “Things haven’t changed, while you were gone.” His eyes narrow at me. “I still run this town, and kid?” He grins. “I still own you.”

“The fuck you do.”

Try me.

“I did what you asked, Declan. I worked for your fucking people over there for five damn years.”

“Beats jail, wouldn’t you say?” He pulls another cigarette out of his pack and jams it in his mouth.

He’s the only person in the world I’d actively wish cancer on.

“The statute of limitations is up,” I growl. “I did my time for you, but I’m done now.”

Five years. After five years, they can’t prosecute. That was the whole arrangement. Dodge the heat, and do jobs for the Irish Kings instead of Bubba or Curly in Walpole prison.

Declan puffs smoke through his nose as his eyes drag back to mine.

“Federal,” he says with a small little grin. “Federal is five years for grand theft.”

He flashes his teeth, his whole damn face smiling like he can’t wait to drop the other shoe on me.

“But Massachusetts state limitations is ten.”

I can feel my teeth grinding as he ashes his cigarette onto the floor of my boat.

“Walpole, now that’s a fun little place, I hear.”

He winks before he sticks the cigarette in his mouth and turns on his heel.

“Welcome home, nephew,” he calls over his shoulder as the three of them march back down the docks.