Page 2 of Craving Sin

“In business, yes. In here, yes.” She points to her head. “But not where it really counts…in your heart. You’re a good father, Rian. The best. You’re the best uncle, friend, family member, even to people who don’t deserve it.” We both know she’s talking about Sloan. “You’re loyal and kind, despite what you think. Don’t lose that. Don’t pull away when I’m gone. Don’t get lost in the pain. I can’t…I can’t go peacefully if I think that will happen.”

“It won’t,” I lie, before kissing her hand again. “I promise.”

And just like I knew I would, when Moira dies, I break that promise to her. I’m no longer the same Rian O’Shea without her.

I’m not the man she knew, or the father Cillian deserves, and no matter how much I love my son, I don’t know how to be worthy of him, without her.

*

Last Thanksgiving

I’m meeting my son’s boyfriend. When I’d called, letting my nephew, Tiernan, know I wanted them home for the holiday that really shouldn’t be a holiday, I hadn’t expected Cillian to come. I’d wanted him to, of course. Not being close to him since Moira’s death had never been because I don’t love Cillian.

It’s because I love him too much, and loving hurts. And because I always knew it would only be a matter of time before I let him down—before he saw I’m not nearly the man everyone thought I was when I had his mother.

My good came from her.

My strength, too.

Cillian was better off without me.

I’d been selfish with Moira, and I hadn’t wanted to be selfish with Cillian, too, but in the end, all I did was hurt him because I hadn’t been there for him. I’d abandoned him when he needed me.

It’s impossible to miss the hate in my son’s eyes when they arrive. His boyfriend—Ollie—isn’t what I expected. He’s blond and wears glasses, looks like the kind of boy who would spend his free time in the library, not hanging around mobsters…but then, Moira had been the same, hadn’t she?

Ollie’s got a backbone, that much is clear from the second I meet him. He doesn’t take anyone’s shit, and as my house fills with more and more Irish mobsters, he holds his own, proudly at my son’s side and standing up for himself, as my closest friend, Conan, or Finan, Flynn, or any other members of my organization try to test him. It’s important that he be made of tough stuff if he and Cillian have a chance at making it work.

And as I spend the day watching them together, seeing the way my son looks at him, the way he always makes sure Ollie is comfortable, the way he wraps his arms around Ollie, keeping him close and guaranteeing everyone in the room knows he’s Cillian’s and that he’ll always protect him, I find that I actually have to try and force myself not to smile.

Moira would have loved to see him in love.

She would have been proud of the man he is.

I’m proud of the man he is.

And I want to make sure Cillian knows he has options I never had. That he gets to choose if he wants to protect Ollie in ways I couldn’t with Moira.

Eventually, the party settles down, and my family members—both blood and found—begin to leave.

Fia, my brother’s wife before he died, kisses me goodbye. “He’s great,” she says softly.

I only nod.

“Moira would have loved him. He’s a good fit for Cillian.”

“Good,” is all I say. I’ve never been great at showing my emotions to anyone other than Moira and Cillian, before her death. I’m not cruel in the same ways my brother was, but it’s safer in this life if no one knows what can hurt you. Especially now that I’m the leader of the O’Shea family—something that happened with the death of my brother. My life is always in danger. People will always try to hurt me to take control of the hold we have over Massachusetts. “I love you, Rian,” she says, then squeezes my hand and slips away.

I’m thankful Cillian and Ollie don’t leave with my niece, Aislin, Tiernan, and his partner, Dean. Cillian often chooses to stay at Fia’s house when they’re visiting Boston from Ashford, where they go to college.

He also doesn’t linger around waiting to talk to me, instead going upstairs with Ollie and leaving me downstairs alone.

I don’t bother with the mess and make my way into my office, the house feeling emptier than it usually does, even though Cillian is right upstairs.

I avoid my room because I know I won’t be able to sleep.

I try to distract myself by going over business transactions—what money is funneled where to be cleaned and how to continue to make everything look like it’s on the up-and-up. Our drug and gun business is lucrative, but I’m a businessman too.

I don’t know how much time passes when I hear the creak of the fourth stair from the bottom and know someone is coming down.