Amused, I told him, “I got something for you.”
“What?” he asked warily.
“There’s an office. They’re in there.”
“What is it?”
“A gift.”
“A gift?” His wariness tripled. “But I got into another fight…” Then he huffed. “Is this because of Cameron?
“Look, I get it. I’m an older brother now. I need to set a good example. But he’s like three weeks old. I can’t set a bad example when he can’t sit up straight.”
He had a point.
I cleared my throat. “This isn’t because of Cameron. And it isn’t about you getting into a fight. Your mom’s going to punish you. I don’t need to worry about that,” I disregarded, stepping away from him and heading to the back office. “This is about you and the man you’re going to become.”
“You could tell her that it was self-defense,” he argued, but I heard his footsteps and knew he was following me.
“Why would I do that?” I drawled. “It would be a lie.”
The office was bare apart from a shitty desk and two chairs. On the desk were my gifts, and I took a seat in one of the chairs.
“You’re not gonna be like me, are you, Shay? I commit a crime; I never do the time. That’s not your path, is it?”
I knew he was about to answer, but then he saw the gifts and his eyes bugged. “Is that a gun?”
I nodded. “Know what a ghost gun is?”
“No.” His brow furrowed as he dropped his school bag beside the seat and slumped in the chair. “What is it?”
“It means it has no registration ID. For all intents and purposes, it doesn’t exist. To the government, anyway.” I slipped the weapon across the desk. “Pick it up. See how it feels in your hands.”
Eyes still wide, he did as I suggested, and because he knew how to wield a gun, I watched him go through the steps of checking whether it was loaded with bullets or not.
Even though I didn’t want him to be comfortable with guns, I was proud of how he held it. That he knew what to do with it, but it remained alien to him.
At his age, I’d fired a gun too many times, and I didn’t want that for him, but I knew from experience that you couldn’t make a kid do dick. They made their own decisions and took their own path.
“You’re giving me this?” he rumbled after a few minutes of gawking at it.
I didn’t answer. “Look at the other stuff.”
He blinked but picked up the Mont Blanc fountain pen. It had slivers of lacquer all over it, like a mosaic or a stained-glass window.
“Wow, that’s heavy,” he pointed out.
“Some parts are platinum; others are white gold.” I shrugged. “It’s limited edition.”
He unscrewed the cap to reveal the nib. “I’ve never used a fountain pen before.”
“First time for everything.”
“It’s mine?”
“It can be.”
“It looks expensive.”
My lips twitched. “It is. But the gun wasn’t cheap either.”
He gnawed on the inside of his cheek as he placed the pen down with more care than the gun. My heart leaped at the sight with hope.
When he picked up the ring next, he licked his lips. “This looks old.”
“It is.” I leaned forward and snatched it from his palm where he’d placed it. Rolling it around my fingers, I told him, “It’s from Ancient Greece.”
A shaky breath escaped him, and he proved himself to be mine and Aela’s kid as he whispered, awe in his tone, “No way.”
“Way. It’s ancient gold, and the gemstone is—”
“Sapphire,” he blurted out.
“Yeah. Apollo’s symbol. They’d have worn a signet ring like this before they consulted the Oracle at Delphi.”
He stared at me. “Wow.”
I smiled. “See how the setting is in relief?”
Squinting at it, he nodded. “They’re little flowers.”
“Not flowers, leaves,” I corrected. “From an olive tree.”
“Whoa.” He snagged it and raised it to his eyes to squint at. “That’s so cool.”
“I’m glad you think so,” I told him as I crossed my legs at the ankle and sat back, watching him as he eyed the ring then picked up the pen, totally ignoring the gun.
I let him study them both, content to wait on him to speak, happy to just watch him.
After what Finn and Aoife had gone through… it had made me realize how fucking lucky I was. I mean, I’d known that already. But it was confirmation.
I’d spent the rest of Aela’s pregnancy hovering over her like a mother fucking hen. I’d even prayed that we wouldn’t lose our kid. That I’d get the chance to be there from the start this time.
Aela had done such a good job with Shay, and mostly, my influence was fucking that up. A part of me was terrified I’d do the same with Cameron, but I had to hope that she’d steer me on the right path.
I had to have faith.
“Why you giving me these, Dad?” Shay asked after a good ten minutes. His gaze darted to me and back again.
Did he know what it did to me when he called me that?
Dad.
I’d never thought about having kids before, despite knowing that in Da’s eyes, it was our ‘duty.’ Yet, here I was, one sitting in front of me with blacker eyes than a panda, and one currently driving his mom crazy back home because he wouldn’t sleep.
Reaching up, I rubbed my finger along my bottom lip and murmured, “Wanted to give you a choice. They’re gifts but you don’t have to accept them all.”
He tilted his head to the side. “What do you mean?”
I reached for the gun. “They’re paths.”
“Huh?”
Twisting the weapon in my hand, I explained, “This is violence in the flesh. One click and someone’s dead. One click, you’ve committed a crime that can get you put in jail. Everything changes when you press that trigger.
"You and I both know that I want you to be competent at shooting, but being able to do it doesn’t mean you should. It just means that I’d like you to be able to defend yourself.”
“I can’t carry that until I’m eighteen,” he pointed out.
“You never have to carry one, period,” I retorted. “Your guards carry. That’s plenty.”
He sank back in his chair, and I knew I had his attention as I returned it to its earlier position on the desk and picked up the pen.
“The written word is a powerful tool, Shay. History is forged on it; laws are made with it. I figured that was worthy of a special pen.”
I saw understanding glimmer to life in his eyes. “What about the ring?”
“What does an olive branch represent?”
“Peace,” he replied.
Nodding, I told him, “You can go two ways, son. My way.” The gun. “Or you can take a different path. The one you always intended on taking before you learned what I am and what I do.”
He scowled at me. “I still want that. You know I do.”
I didn’t know if he knew it’d be close to impossible for him to get where he wanted when he was my son, when the O’Donnelly name was an albatross around his fucking neck in D.C., but I didn’t say that.