Page 124 of Godless Saints

A small, tired laugh slipped out of him. “I swear you take years off my life,” he muttered.

The plane climbed. I kept my voice steady. “Enjoy your night out. Stay out of trouble.”

Moon scoffed. Weak. “You’re telling me to stay out of trouble?”

“Yeah. I am. See you soon, baby.”

“Yeah. See you soon.”

The line went dead.

I stared out the window. Dark clouds rushed past. I’d fix this. For him. Whatever it took.

A few hours later the car pulled up the long gravel drive. Grey stone. Tall chimneys against a flat sky. The front door opened.

Keira caught my arm before I reached the door. “First things first.” Her eyes sparkled. “Did he keep the ring?”

“Complained about it.”

“Obviously.”

“Still wears it.”

“Knew he would.”

Ma appeared right behind her. She pulled me into a crushing hug, then held me at arm’s length, searching my face. “Mo chroí,” she murmured, cupping my cheeks. “Now that’s a new look on you.”

She studied me. Her expression softened. “Never seen you like this about anyone. Not once. So this Hyun-seo… he’s important to you.”

Keira grinned, still holding my arm. “Important enough that Lorcan’s been growling about it for days. Try not to scare the poor boy away when you finally bring him home. We don’t need you making the same stone-faced mistakes your brother does.”

Lorcan muttered from the hallway. “I heard that.”

“You were meant to,” Keira shot back sweetly. “The boy doesn’t need us adding to whatever he’s already dealing with. So feed him. Be nice. Don’t loom over him like a bloody gargoyle. Simple instructions, even for Ashbourne men.”

Rory looked up at me, gap-toothed and grinning. He started shadow boxing right there in the hallway. “Uncle Cil, Da said you’re bringing a boy home. Can he come watch me box? I won on Sunday. Knocked the other lad clean off his feet!”

Keira laughed softly and caught him by the shoulders. “Okay, okay, Rory. Save the championship demonstration for after dinner. You can show Uncle Cil all your trophies later.”

She guided the bouncing kid toward the kitchen.

Ma ignored all of us, already leading me inside with one hand on my back. The smell hit me—beef stew thick with Guinness, soda bread still warm. Proper Irish. Home.

“Sit,” she ordered. “Eat first. Then you boys can go talk your bloody business.”

I dropped into a chair. For twenty minutes the table was loud with the family.

Then the front door opened. Da stepped in. Coat still wet from the rain. Those same sharp green eyes found me immediately.

“Cillian.”

He crossed the room and pulled me into a rough hug, clapping my back hard enough to feel it.

“Good to see you, son.”

“Da.”

He pulled back, studying me. “Heard Carrick’s been giving you trouble at that academy.”