The Reckoning (The O'Neils Book 6)

by Kathryn Shay

  Pa turned to Mama. “You don’t know some things.” He swept his kids with a glance. “You either.”

  “Tell us, Pa.” Liam tried to control the emotion in his voice.

  “I made a botún mór.” They’d all been on the receiving end of a really big mistake in Gaelic. “I been sufferin’ over it all my life.”

  They all frowned now.

  Pa focused on Mama. “When I told you about Moira, I left out that she had a twin. He was a big boy, in trouble with gangs, too, and he hated me. I couldn’t burden you, our family, with another boy, let alone one with his issues.”

  “And that’s Kinley?” Liam asked, horrified. “What happened to him?”

  “After his mother died, his aunt and uncle wanted him. They had no babes, and they convinced him to go with them.”

  “Did you ever follow up on what happened to him?” Aidan asked.

  “I did, lad. They got him into prep school, straightened him out. I always hoped he’d had a decent life. When he got to college, I knew he’d be okay.”

  Patrick scraped back his chair and stood. “You hoped? You abandoned your son. Damn you, Pa.” He trounced away and went out the front door even though the snow was coming down heavily.

  “I’m with him,” Dylan said and left, too.

  Bailey touched Pa’s arm. “You made a big mistake. Who knows what would have happened to Moira if he was here?”

  “I thought of that already, a ghrá. My sin cuts deep.”

  Mama stood. “I need some time. I’m takin’ myself upstairs. Stay away for a bit, Paddy.” Their mother’s usual sunny face had filled with clouds.

  Liam sat back. “I’m not going to judge.” He scanned the others. “It isn’t like any of us never made a mistake. Maybe not such a life-altering one, but I don’t believe God forgives only our little sins.”

  Aidan nodded. Liam could see he was too emotional to speak.

  Tears coursed down Bailey’s cheeks. “You’re right, Liam. We’re in no position to judge and we shouldn’t. I’m sorry I said that about Moira.”

  “I deserve this, mo pháistí. But it’s a hard thing knowing you can’t change something this big, this bad.”

  Liam and Aidan sighed. There was really no comfort to give his Pa. He’d done a horrible thing.

  Instead of getting depressed about the situation, Aidan persuaded the guys to agree to a little search and discovery.

  “I don’t like this,” Liam told them. He nonetheless sat at the table with all of them. “It’s an invasion of his privacy.”

  “Fuck his privacy.” Dylan hadn’t said much, but Aidan could tell he was smoldering with anger. “He’s out to destroy us.”

  “We know why.” This from Aidan. “Though I still don’t get it. He never answered Pat’s question about why he didn’t just tell us who he was and join our family?”

  “He’s full of Irish blood,” Pat speculated. “It would be pride.”

  “Which you’d know a lot about.” Liam tried to joke but it fell flat. The atmosphere was funereal at the pub today.

  “Okay, here’s the bio.” First Aidan read dates of when he was born, his education, his work, including when he formed Moran Associates as CEO. Then he frowned.

  “What?”

  “I’m even more confused. His adoptive parents sent him to Wimberley Prep school, onto Harvard then Wharton School of Business.” Aidan shook his head. “Those are advantages we never had.”

  “True,” Liam mused. “But we had each other.”

  Pat’s face was morose. “Read more.”

  “His business history: interned with Charles Swartz, the big investment broker agency, then formed his own. So that’s what he does.”

  “There’s big bucks in investment brokering,” Dylan put in.

  “His net worth is in the billions.”

  “Níl Tada Níos Measa Na Bód Ina Seasamh.” Pat lapsed into Gaelic whenever he was furious.

  “What the hell does that mean?” Aidan asked.

  Dylan laughed. “Basically, Pat called him a prick.”

  “What about personally?” Liam wanted to know. He’s near my age. He has to have married, had kids of his own.”

  “This is curious. None of the above. He’s dated movie stars, politicians and other businesswomen.” A frown. “Fuck.”

  “What?”

  Aidan raked his longish hair off his face. “He’s dating Blandine.”

  “Blandine who?” Pat asked.

  “No last name. She’s a supermodel. And she’s got red hair.”

  The other guys chuckled, as he hoped they would. Though he’d married a blonde, Aidan always had a weakness for redheads. He sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t get it. He’s had a charmed life.”

  Liam scowled. “Oh yeah, after he experienced God knows what in gangs for fourteen years. If Pa claimed him early on, and Moira for that matter, the gang stuff might not have happened.

  “And what on earth was it like for your pa to keep abandoning you.” Liam sighed. “At birth, then again fourteen years later when his mom dies, Pa abandons him again.”

  They were all silent. No one wanted to feel sorry for the man who was out to destroy them. But they all did.

  “Hey, thanks for coming. This isn’t our monthly night together.” Portia Lincoln smiled at Kinley from a table in a swank New York high rise. La Scala was perched on the top floor of a skyscraper, in a restaurant that circled around giving full view of the skyline. She was lovely with her heart-shaped face, dark, chin-length hair and dark eyes. Though tonight she looked stressed.

  “No worries.” He kissed her cheek. Portia was the only family he had, the daughter of his father’s brother. “I was surprised to get your call.”

  “I know. I, um, needed to see you tonight.”

  He caught the underlying sadness in her voice. “All right.” The waiter came over and Kinley nodded to the champagne bottle. The man poured him a glass.

  “I don’t have any friends but you, Kin.”

  She was the only one to call him that. She was also the only woman he wanted to spend time with lately.

  “That’s okay. I’m in the same boat. What happened?”

  “Eric broke up with me.” His cousin had been in a committed relationship for a year.

  “Aw, you two were so in sync. What happened?”

  “The usual. He met someone else. A massage therapist.” Portia herself was a CPA and Eric a COO of a small, well-known software business.

  Reaching out, he grasped her hand. “I’m sorry, honey.”

  “I needed company tonight.”

  “You can come and stay with me for a bit.”

  “No, Eric moved out. I have a place to live.”

  “Then maybe tonight at least?”

  “Maybe. Let’s see at the end of the meal.”

  They were as close as sister and brother. Ever since they were teens, and his adoptive parents would go visit her family, he and Moira were forced into spending time with her. She was also sent to boarding school near his prep academy. It didn’t take long for them to bond, for them to experiment with weed and alcohol together. Actually, it was Portia who helped him shake loose of that gang which could have ruined his life.

  Over lobster, asparagus and baked potatoes, they discussed Eric, their respective jobs and the political news. At the end of the meal, he paid the bill and said, “Okay, let’s go home.”

  “I don’t know. I’m a little old to have to spend the night with my cousin because of a broken relationship.”

  “Oh?” He arched a brow. “When’s the cutoff point?”

  That made her laugh. They left the restaurant and walked toward his place. Soon, The Ritz Carlton, which had apartments as well as hotel rooms, came into sight. She peered up. “I still can’t believe you bought something way up there.”

  “I like the view.”

  “You like being above everyone.”

  “You know me so well.”

  “D
id I leave clothes here?”

  “Yeah, work clothes, pajamas, dress down stuff. You can change into your jammies and we can order banana splits from room service.”

  “Okay, cuz, you’re on.”

  “Mommy, mommy, wake up.”

  Jamie rolled over. Lethargic because she needed more sleep, she said, “Climb in with me buddy.”

  “’Kay.” He scrambled under the covers.

  “Close your eyes a bit.”

  “I’m done sleeping!”

  “Let me close mine then. Give me until the big hand is on the twelve.” He knew numbers but not how to tell time.

  At least he agreed to that. She rolled out of bed at seven a.m. and hit the bathroom, then went to the kitchen with Ben. Grandma Jean had made coffee and was enjoying a cup at the table. Jamie poured herself a mugful and gave Ben a bowl of fruit. She sat down adjacent to Jean. “How are you feeling today, Grandma?”

  “Good, child. Don’t worry about me.”

  Easier said than done. “You were rushed to the hospital two weeks ago. I don’t think you’re fully recovered from pneumonia in such a short time.”

  “’Course not fully. But the pills make it better.”

  “I heard you coughing last night.”

  The older woman’s eyes shadowed. “Sorry if I disturbed you.”

  Since she was sincere, Jamie reached over and squeezed her hand. The skin was thinner, veins showed more. “Nana,” she said using the old nickname, “I slept fine. Please don’t worry about that too.”

  “All right, dear.”

  “I’m going to give in and let you stay alone with Ben tonight.”

  “Hallelujah!”

  “Mama, pancakes!”

  After one more sip of caffeine, she got out the makings. She let Ben pour the flour part in the bowl, but she insisted on cracking the eggs. They both stirred. While the little round spheres sizzled on the cooktop, she let her mind wander. Today was Sunday, so she worked dinner at the pub. No classes, either, but her thesis was due at the end of the school year. Ben no longer napped in the afternoons but on the weekends, she insisted he go into his bedroom for an hour or so to play alone. He rarely fell asleep but it was down time for them both. She could work on the thesis then. And sort out some of the bills.

  “Aren’t they done yet?” Ben asked.

  “Almost.”

  After she slid them on plates, she sat down. They tried to create some sense of normalcy by having group meals when they could. Grandma Jean said a brief grace. Jamie went along, though she didn’t believe anymore. Because Jamie Ralston knew she was the only one who would take care of her and her son.

  Chapter 2

  * * *

  Kinley was deeply involved in analyzing today’s stock prices when his buzzer sounded. He answered somewhat impatiently. “Yes, Nigel? I’m busy.”

  “I know you are, sir. But…your father is here.”

  “My father?”

  “He says his name is Patrick O’Neil. Not Moran. Should I have the guard usher him out?”

  So, the old man came to him.

  “No, no, show him up.”

  For a few moments, he pictured a different scenario than the one that was coming. His father would enter the office, whistle at Kinley’s penthouse digs, walk around smiling then take him in a big hug, saying, I’m proud of you, son.

  But reality intruded when a knock sounded at the door. Kinley purposely waited some then pressed the buzzer and called over the intercom, “Come in.”

  He didn’t stand when Patrick O’Neil entered his domain. Instead, Kinley swiveled around in his best-money-could-buy leather chair and looked at the man who’d rejected him at the worst time in his life.

  “Hello, Patrick. Come in and have a seat.”

  “Thanks for seein’ me, lad.”

  His birth father had been big and robust when Kinley had last seen him, but now his gait was unsteady as he walked to the seating in front of his desk. Back then, he’d sported black hair like Kinley’s own, but what he had left had turned white. And he’d shrunk in size. He was, literally, an old man. “What can I do for you?”

  “How can you ask me that, son?”

  “Do not ever call me that again! You have four sons, that you prized over me. Chose over me. You’re only my birth father.” He’d raised his voice which he hadn’t meant to do. He needed to be cool and calm with all the O’Neils.

  Staring down at the floor, Patrick waited. Then he said, “I’m sorry, so sorry. I made a terrible mistake.”

  The admission came thirty years too late.

  “So, fine. You made a mistake. Apology accepted. If there’s nothing else, I need to get back to my work.”

  Patrick gestured to the well-appointed office. “Seems like you got a successful business goin’ on here. Why do you want the boys’ bar?”

  The pencil in his hand snapped. “Because part of it is rightfully mine.”

  “We would have given that to you and more.”

  “Ha! When I was fourteen, I promised myself I’d never again ask you for anything.”

  His brow furrowed with wrinkles, he said, “You wouldn’t come with me.”

  “You should have forced me. I was fucking fourteen! What did I know?”

  “You seem to think you know a lot. But if you’d give me a chance to make up…”

  “Why? You never gave me one.”

  “I have to fix this, Kinley. Please let me.”

  “So your boys won’t get hurt.”

  “So all my boys won’t get hurt. Revenge can eat you alive.”

  “Just the opposite. It’s gotten me where I am, Patrick. I’m fully content. Now get out before I call security.”

  After a moment, Patrick got to his feet and lumbered out of his office.

  And though Kinley promised himself he’d never do this, he felt an incredible sense of loss.

  Kinley opened the heavy wooden door to the gym right around the corner from his office, built for men and women in his social position. Simply named “Complete Fitness,” the place was selective in its clientele, expensive and, best of all, nobody bothered you within these walls. He headed here at least three times a week, preferably after work to excise some of the stress of the day. Tonight, his father’s visit early this morning had increased Kinley’s need to work out.

  Soft harp music greeted him through hidden speakers in the reception area, and the scent of eucalyptus filled the air. He approached the receptionist’s desk and, without paying much attention to her, pulled out his ID.

  The woman said, “Mr. Moran.”

  He looked up when he heard a familiar voice. What the hell? “Jamie? What are you doing at my gym?”

  “I got a job here yesterday.”

  “Why on earth…” Then anger surged. “Are the O’Neils paying you to spy on me?”

  Her face reddened and her eyes shot sparks at him. “No, of course not. That’s the most ludicrous thing I ever heard.”

  A bit chagrined, he asked, “Aren’t they paying you enough to live on?”

  “Of course they do. I had some expenses I didn’t plan for and I need to take care of the bill. Please,” she lowered her voice “Please don’t tell them I got this job. I need more hours than the pub can give me without firing somebody else. And they might do that for me.”

  In these kinds of situations, Kinley never committed. He assumed his normal, haughty composure. Besides, he hated that she defended the family. “So, now you have two jobs? What about your son?” She’d shown him pictures weeks ago. As a matter of fact, they’d talk a lot about the boy.

  “You know about Ben. I spent the whole morning with him. He goes to afternoon kindergarten which is why I work lunches at Bailey’s. On weekends I cover the pub for dinners.”

  “I thought you were going to be a teacher.”

  “I have two more classes, which I’m taking now. I can start applying for fall teaching positions soon.”

  Another patron walked in. Kinley moved al
ong with a nod. Inside the mahogany paneled locker room, he changed into workout clothes, headed to the aerobic section and jumped on one of the four treadmills. Slowly, at first. He was a cautious, deliberate man, even in training. Unfortunately, at such a slow pace, his mind wandered to Jamie. Despite trying not to, he’d liked her during those weeks that he’d gone to the pub incognito. And she was easy on the eyes even tonight when she was dressed in a maroon blouse and skirt. No cleavage showing or short dresses allowed here. Her hair was back in a braid. She should leave it down. And why the hell was he thinking about her appearance?

  He sped up and got to a point that his mind blanked. He managed the same concentration lifting weights. On the horizontal bench, his muscles strained as he pressed up the barbell over his head. Some trainers worked with individual clients, and others walked around, observing until someone asked them a question or for attention. He asked for a spotter for the weights, but that was all. At the end of the workout he was brought a bottle of water by an employee. Jamie Ralston. “We have to stop meeting like this,” he said joking.

  “I would think so.” She smiled, a genuine one that gave the sunrise competition. “The shifts are changing and I’m on my way out. I’m supposed to bring water to clients before I leave.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Have a nice night.”

  “You, too.”

  He did some cool-down routines, then left the workout area and decided to shower at home. He grabbed his clothes from his locker and was on his way through the door when Jamie came out of a side room next to the desk.

  They walked to the exit together. She tried to pull the handle first but he stayed her hand and opened the door himself. “It’s cold out here,” he said, turning up the collar of his coat. “I can give you a lift to the employee parking lot.” The words escaped his mouth before he could censor them.

  “No need.” Her cheerful tone prohibited him from taking offense. “I’m walking to the bus stop.” He noticed now her boots, her long quilted mauve coat with a hood. She was dressed for cold New York winters.