My brows lifted. “You doing okay, Conor?”
“Since when do you guys speak Japanese?” Eoghan groused, breaking into our call before Conor could answer me.
“It isn’t Japanese. It’s Korean, dumbass,” Conor corrected, clearly hearing Eoghan’s grumbling though we weren't on speaker.
Because I knew he wouldn't let it drop, I told Eoghan, “It's Korean.”
“I didn’t know you spoke that, Finn,” Aoife called out, and when I shot her a look, my temper from before faded some.
Sure, she might glance at that book cover model and get hot under the collar, but only I could make her get that heavy-lidded look. I was the guy whom she burned that energy off on.
There was no need to be jealous.
It was the guilt talking.
That motherfucking Catholic guilt that plagued me despite the fact I wasn’t even really goddamn Catholic anymore.
“I speak four other languages too,” I told my woman, aware I growled the words, even more aware when she bit her bottom lip.
Fuck.
Eoghan elbowed me in the side. “Someone’s getting lucky tonight.”
My lips twisted into a smirk. “Still feel like babysitting?”
“If it’ll cheer you up, sure.”
“I think he needs to have a good fuck. Finn’s been miserable recently. Aoife,” Conor called out, loud enough to hurt my ear, “you need to—”
Eyes wide, I didn’t let him answer. I cut the call then shot her a look and saw she was frowning at me.
“He’s not wrong.” Her head tipped to the side as she studied me, and I knew we were going to be talking about this later.
Not about the sex. She, more than anyone, knew I was on her like white on rice. But her concern was clear because I had been more stressed than usual.
“Did you catch the Crashers’ game last night?”
I jerked my gaze from hers and, after glancing at Eoghan, muttered, “There wasn’t a game.”
“Nah, I know, but doubt she does,” he mocked. “I figured I’d stop that conversation in its tracks before you ended up having bluer balls than you do now.”
I didn’t correct his misinterpretation that I wasn’t getting laid, mostly because it was easier for him to think that than to discuss the reality. I just snickered and told Eoghan, “My balls thank you.”
I sent a message to Aidan Jr:
Me: You need to keep an eye on Kid. He’s taking this shit with Callum to heart.
“TMI, bro.” Eoghan sniffed.
We shared a look, and I laughed. “Bro.”
“Weird, huh?” he agreed sheepishly. “I mean, we’ve called you that a thousand times before, but it’s different now. Different good,” he clarified.
My phone buzzed.
Aidan Jr.: How can you keep an eye on Kid? That’s his job, ain’t it?
“Even though it means Senior cheated?” I grated out, trying to pick apart why Kid’s tone had put me so on edge that I’d sent that text to Junior.
Eoghan snorted, and it drew my focus his way. “Da’s a psychopath, Finn. They never said it outright, but I always thought his cheating was why Ma hit him on the fucking head with that goddamn rolling pin.
“I didn’t think it was because he told her that her chicken was dry one Sunday,” he drawled. “Plus, I think there’s a reason he’s gotten worse over the years.”
“What do you mean?”
Me: It IS his job, and he’s excelling at it right now. More than you fucking know. But still, I just spoke with him, and he sounded edgy as fuck.
And if Kid happened to be reading this, then he deserved the paranoia.
Jackass.
“Guilt. Does shit to us. Changes us.” Eoghan scratched his chin where stubble was growing.
"I agree. It does."
“Okay, less talk about the folks. More about us. Tell me a secret, and I’ll tell you one too,” Eoghan prompted.
“Why? Maybe they’re secrets because they need to be?” I retorted as I scanned the new text message.
Aidan Jr.: I’ll check in with him. He and Callum were tight, you’re right. Not only is he grieving the bastard’s death, but his friendship as well.
Me: I’ll try to keep on top of shit with him but this new project is taking all my time.
Aidan Jr.: Don’t worry about it. I got this.
Tucking my phone back in my pocket after I decided Aidan could have fun finding out Conor was a peeping Tom on his father's say-so, I watched as Eoghan slouched on the double-wide armchair, slinking back so that one ankle moved to rest on his knee.
Against the white leather, in his black suit, he looked like the killer I knew he was. His fingers rapped against the armrest, triggering a rhythmic tapping sound as he rolled from pinkie to pointer.
“I think what I’m trying to say is that confession is more important than I initially realized,” he muttered eventually.
Was this really for him or a desire to ease whatever he thought was going on with me?
Truthfully, there was no absolving me of what I’d done. The trust I’d broken, irreparably, between my wife and me, there was no fixing it.
I deserved for the truth to eat me alive, to keep me awake at night.
I deserved that, but I could tell something was making him itch. Something was eating at him too. I didn’t think it was just a desire to help me either.
He wanted to talk.
Eoghan never wanted to talk.
He was the strong and stoic sort. The ‘suffer in silence’ kind of guy.
For his sake, I hoped Inessa was someone he could confide in...
“Okay, I’ll bite. Aoife’s dad—”
“A nobody, right? Conor had to look into her as well.”
“How the fuck do you know all this shit?” I shook my head. “I guessed he would, so I’m not pissed about that... still, he ain’t that fucking good because he doesn’t know this.” Until now. I leaned forward and murmured, “Her mom had an affair and Aoife was the end result.”
Tension hit Eoghan, a stillness overtaking him that spoke clearly of how interested he was. “Who’s her father?”
“I shouldn’t be saying dick, but the idiot has painted a target on his forehead with the Sparrows and that could blow back on us.
“Still, you can’t tell your da.” I said that more for Kid and his recording devices.
“Your da too,” he pointed out, but his head swiped to the side. “I won’t tell anyone. No need to.” He mouthed, "Who's her father?"
Irony of ironies, the State of the Union flashed onto the screen, President Davidson appearing front and center.
This time, the bullshit he was spouting went on in front of Congress as well as the rest of the world. SOTU was early this year because of the New World Sparrows.
Slowly, I made a gesture at the TV. Eoghan frowned. I jabbed a finger toward it.
His brows rose then lowered but I saw understanding gleam in his eyes. Of course, that was drowned out by complete and utter shock a second later.
“Jesus H. Christ.”
His mouth worked, and I had the honor of seeing Eoghan, for the first time ever, look stunned. Even when his da had forced him down the goddamn aisle, he hadn’t looked this shell-shocked.