Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 103141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“Good morning,” I say to Conan.
“I made coffee.” He nods toward the pot. He and I have been on better terms since the day Rian left me with him when he went to speak to Cillian.
I head over and pour a cup. “So…what are our plans today? Anything exciting?”
Conan chuckles. “You’re bored?”
“Out of my fucking mind.”
“Rian said you’re helping with the music stuff.” Conan knowing that is news to me. I didn’t realize Rian had shared it with anyone other than Cillian.
“I am, but there’s only so much I can do from here and…”
“And you want something that’s your own?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m not used to this. Between college, medical school, residency, and then practicing, all I’ve done is be on the go, and now I’m in this weird place where I miss it, but I don’t feel like the same person, so I’m not sure how to go back to it.”
He nods, then takes a sip of his coffee. “What do you like?”
What do I like? It shouldn’t be that hard a question. “Music.”
“Yes, and that’s fine. You can like that, but that’s also something you share with Rian. You need something that’s for you.”
He’s right, but Conan surprises me by saying it. He’s an interesting guy, and I’m not sure what to make of him. He can be so serious…but also not. So distant and cold, but also…not. I guess he’s made of multitudes just like the rest of us.
I walk over, open one of the kitchen drawers, and pull out paper and a pen. “Let’s make a list.”
He quirks a brow. “Of possible things you can be into?”
“Yes.”
So that’s exactly what we do. Some of them are ridiculous, like knife throwing, but others are more serious, like clinics for low-income populations and things like that.
Eventually, we end up sitting at the table together, me with my feet up on one of the other chairs, Conan across from me. “You don’t…have anyone? Like a partner or anything?”
“No.” Conan shakes his head, not looking at me.
“What about your family?”
“I lost them when I found my new family. My father is a retired cop. I was disowned long ago.”
Guilt ping-pongs around inside of me. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
Conan shrugs. “It is what it is.”
“Family is hard. I don’t feel like I’ve had any since my mom died.”
“You have us now,” he says without looking at me. “That’s the kind of man Rian is, which makes it easier for the rest of us to be. Before…when Sloan was in charge, we weren’t a real family. Now we are, and since you’re Rian’s, you’re now ours.”
His words fill me up in a completely unexpected way.
“Thank you,” I say, and Conan shrugs as if it’s not a big deal, but it is. “I’m serious.”
“I know.” His phone buzzes. Conan pulls it out and looks at it, smiling.
“Rian?” I ask.
“No. Tiernan.”
“The two of you are close?”
He replies to the text, then sets his phone down again.
“That was a dumb question. You’re all close, but—”
“I love Tiernan like a son,” he says, silencing me with his admission. “He’s had it harder than most people will ever realize, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.” Conan picks up his phone again and stands, feeling more distant than he had a moment ago—more like the Conan he was in the beginning, only not as mean, just different. “I’ll be in Rian’s office if you need me.”
I nod, watching him walk away. I’d forgotten there was an exposed nerve there. I should have been more careful not to hit it.
I take our cups to the sink and rinse them before getting the laptop Rian gave me to use.
I spend some time working on what I can for the concert hall remotely, but I can’t seem to concentrate. I keep looking at the cell beside me, thinking about what Conan said about his own family, but also about Tiernan and the closeness between them. The love I know Rian feels for Cillian.
I haven’t spoken to my father since his one call after I got home from the cabin—somewhere he hadn’t even known I’d been.
Has he realized we haven’t spoken in a while? Has he tried my cell, and if so, does he wonder why I haven’t called him back?
I try to push thoughts of him out of my head and log into my email. I haven’t checked it for a while because, without me working, what’s the point? Nothing important ever goes there that’s not work-related. But the second I’m logged in, I see numerous emails from my father’s private, personal account.
A moment of panic hits me, this fear that something is wrong because if not, then he wouldn’t be emailing me.
I click on the first one, some words feeling louder, looking bigger than others.
Rian O’Shea?
What the fuck are you thinking?