ChapterTwo
Ronan watched Chloe walk away, knowing it was for the best. It didn’t stop him from studying the sway of her sweet ass in those tiny shorts though. He drained his beer and stood.
Killian glanced down the block. “I think I’ll go say hi.”
“See you later.”
“Will I?”
Ronan tried not to hear it as a dig about his lack of visiting. “You could call me if you want to get together.”
“We’ve tried that.”
“I’ve never been one for big groups. You’d have better luck if we’re one on one.”
Killian burst out in laughter. “Our family is a big group. There’s no avoiding that.”
“That’s the reason I don’t like groups. Give me a call when you’re free.”
“Will do.”
Ronan turned and went back into the house, glad there were no hard feelings between him and his brother. Killian had tested the waters to see if Ronan was willing to give in. He’d report back to Brendan that he was as steadfast as ever.
His mother had gone down the block earlier to visit but came home early. Inside, he’d expected that she might’ve gone to bed, but she was sitting on the couch in the living room, the blue glow of the TV illuminating her face. “Hey, Mom.”
She reached over to the end table and flicked on a lamp. “You’re overdue for a haircut.”
Was he? He ran his fingers through the mop on his head.
She stood. “Come on. I’ll give it a trim now.”
“It’ll keep. It’s late.”
“I’m not asleep, am I? Downstairs.”
He didn’t bother to put up any further argument. When Ann Doyle gave a command, it was wise to do as you were told. She moved ahead and turned on the basement lights. He followed her down the creaky stairs, ducking as he neared the bottom as he’d done since his teens. Whoever built the house hadn’t considered anyone over five foot six.
He turned the corner where his mom stood holding a cape beside her wash sink. He remembered how she’d used the utility sink beside the washer when she first started doing hair from home. It had been like that for a couple of years after Dad disappeared. She’d scraped together enough money to get a proper wash sink and a real salon chair—used—to set up shop.
That first year she’d had a lot of clients from the neighborhood. He’d figured they’d come mostly out of pity. She was a rare single mother in this area and she had seven mouths to feed. It wasn’t until he was in his twenties that he realized she had so much business because she was damn good.
He sat in the chair and let her drape the plastic cape over him, but when he slid back to rest his neck against the basin, he felt like Godzilla trying to squeeze into a closet. Didn’t faze Mom though.
“I’m glad you came to visit. You should do that more often. Your brothers miss you.”
“They know where to find me.”
She turned the water on and waited for it to warm. “Street goes both ways.”
He closed his eyes and sighed. He’d never win this argument or any other for that matter. She was right. He didn’t come home because he didn’t like how he felt here. Too many memories.
Her hands massaging his scalp were hypnotic and his shoulders released tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His mom had been cutting his hair his whole life. The handful of times he’d paid someone to do it had felt like a betrayal, so he didn’t do much to his head until he saw her.
When the water cut off, he opened his eyes. She roughly wrapped a towel on his head and pointed to the other chair. He moved in silence, wondering why it was imperative for her to cut his hair tonight. She squeezed out the excess water and tossed the towel into a basket near the washer.
As she ran a comb through his hair, she said, “Sometimes you look so much like him I have to do a double-take.”
He remembered his father’s face clearly and while he didn’t notice the resemblance when he looked in a mirror, pictures didn’t lie. His father had always been clean-shaven, though, which was part of his reason for sporting a beard.
As much as he’d loved his dad, he didn’t want the constant reminder.
“How are you?” she asked.
He knew those three words were asking more than the state of his life. The anniversary of his dad’s disappearance hit them all hard.
“This one is harder than most,” he admitted. He thought he’d have answers by now.
“Maybe it’s time for all of us to let go.”
“Damn, Brendan,” he muttered. Meeting his mother’s eyes in the mirror in front of him, he said, “Don’t let him pressure you into doing anything.”
She arched a brow at him. “My children have never been able to pressure me into giving in on anything. I’m not about to start now.”
She clipped hair around his ears. Lowering her voice as she concentrated on the task at hand, she continued. “A long time ago, I accepted that he’s gone. He’s never coming back. In truth, if he were to show up on my doorstep today, I don’t know that I’d have him.”
What? He’d always thought she couldn’t move on. “Then why haven’t you declared him dead? Why haven’t you gone on with your life?”
She stopped snipping and rested a fist on her hip. “Who says I haven’t?”
Her steely gaze met his and he realized he had no idea what his mom did with her life.
“You don’t date. You haven’t remarried.”
She took a slow deep breath. “I never made the official declaration because of you kids.”
She meant him. He’d been the one arguing about it for years.
“At first, there was the hope he would come back. Later, it was...you needed it to be a possibility.” Picking up another lock of hair, she went back to cutting. “And as for dating, I’ve done my share. I’ve never remarried because I didn’t want to. More than the fact that I’m still married to your father, I decided I never wanted to be in that position again. I like my life just fine, thank you.”
The truth spilling in this basement was a little too much to handle. He felt like nearly half his life was a lie.
He watched his mother’s quick movements as she cut wayward curls but remembered that he didn’t like it too short. No need to look too much like Brendan either.
When she seemed satisfied with her work, she nodded and knocked loose hair to the floor. But as he moved to stand, she pressed a hand to his shoulder. “Let me clean up that thing growin’ on your face.”
He settled back and she tilted the chair. With a straight razor, she cleaned up the lines of his beard and trimmed it close. While she didn’t mind the facial hair, she didn’t like it wild. This time when she finished, she stroked his cheek. Then she stepped back and pulled the cape from around his neck.
He stood and ran a hand over his head. Then he bent and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Thanks for the haircut. As for the rest, I need answers. I need to know what happened.”
“It won’t change anything.”
“It might not. But at least I’ll know. We’ll all know. Just give me a little more time.”
She nodded. At least she had his back. She wouldn’t let Brendan or Killian make a move. She’d hold them at bay and take the heat for it.
Which meant he needed to press harder to finally get the answers he’d been searching for.