Tiernan
I wake up drenched in sweat, my heart beating unnaturally fast, like a runaway freight train about to come off its rails. Most bosses and dons have nightmares about the blood they’ve shed in the war. They’re haunted by crushed skulls and cries for mercy they never gave.
I, however, have had the same consistent nightmare for the past five years.
No matter how it starts, it always ends the same way—me opening Patrick’s bedroom door and finding him hung by a rope slung around the ceiling fan. Every time the nightmare comes, so do the cold sweats it provokes and the rancid taste of bile clawing at my throat.
I run to the bathroom and throw up all my stomach’s contents, heaving so loudly it is sure to wake up the dead. Once there is nothing left to purge, I get up off my knees, brush my teeth, and jump in the shower just so I can feel human again.
The memory of my brother giving in to his suffering never gets any easier with time.
People are fond of saying that time heals all wounds.
That’s a lie.
Some wounds just fester until they rot your soul and blacken your heart.
After Patrick died, this family has never been the same.
I haven’t been the same.
I was his older brother, the one he came to when he had nightmares of his own and needed a protector to cast them away. But somewhere between childhood and adolescence, he no longer turned to me for help. Instead, he shrunk into his melancholic cocoon until all that was left of him was a shell of the sweet, sensitive brother I used to hold in my arms to help him sleep.
Of course, I had to find someone to blame for his death.
I couldn’t stomach the thought of blaming him for being so weak.
For being so cruel to leave us like that.
No.
There was another party that deserved my wrath, and their name was Hernandez.
If it wasn’t for their drugs, Patrick would have never summoned the courage to kill himself. I can still see the needle and smack on top of his dresser. He knew that his suicide would cause the ultimate suffering to his family. And because he couldn’t handle that, he needed to get high to be able to take the easy way out.
But life for Patrick was never easy.
He never understood the life of made men .
Never agreed with our actions nor how we earned our living.
He attended too many of his friends’ and kins’ funerals, sang too many Danny Boys, for it not to have made a deep impact on his soul. He was too good. Too kind. Too damn empathetic to the world’s pain, and he suffered even more for the part our family had in such destruction. And so, he did the only thing he could do to stop his misery. He killed himself just so he could finally find the peace that had eluded him all his life.
My brother was the least selfish person I have ever met.
And yet, it was his last and only selfish act that permanently scarred me.
“I miss you, brother. But I still can’t forgive you,” I whisper, letting the water fall down my face, pretending my tears aren’t mixed in with it.
After there are no more tears to be shed, I get out of the shower and walk into my bedroom to put on some sweatpants. A quick glance at my phone tells me it’s not yet four in the morning. Too early to start the day and too late to go back to sleep. I decide to answer some emails from my office, but when I pass Rosa’s room and hear her small cries coming from inside, panic sets in. I stand by the door, hearing her weep, knowing I’m the cause of such anguish. The way I treated her last night and again today still shames me. I couldn’t even handle the damage I had done to her sober, needing to drink myself into a stupor just to gain my nerve to do what had to be done.
I shouldn’t be surprised that lately my nights are filled with nightmares of Patrick.
My guilty conscience has always had a way of manifesting at the most inopportune times.
And after all I’ve done to my wife, the devil himself should come to me in my sleep and have his way with me.
I know I should leave Rosa to her grief, but as each of her pained wails get louder, so does my resolve to stay away from her evaporate. I creak the door open and see her twist and turn in the bed, tears similar to the ones I just shed streaming down her face.
The devil is even crueler than I gave him credit for.
Instead of continuously tormenting me in my sleep, he decided my wife was fair game.
I quickly run inside, slide in next to her on the bed, and wrap my arms around her.
“Shh, acushla . It’s only a bad dream,” I coo softly in her ear.
She nestles into me, hiding her face in the crook of my neck, her tears scorching my skin.
“Shh, love. You’re safe. Shh. All is well. Shh,” I try to comfort her, rubbing her back so her tears can subside. But each one that falls is another cut to my already slashed-up heart.
“Tiernan,” she croaks, her voice still sounding half asleep and in pain.
“I’m here, acushla . I’m here. You’re safe, love. You’re safe,” I repeat on a loop, hoping my voice will coax her fully awake and away from the demons that plague her.
I run a hand down her spine while craning her head back just enough so I can look at her properly. I brush her wet locks away from her face and kiss her temple. Then her cheek. Then the other cheek. Then the tip of her nose.
“Tiernan,” she whispers again, her palm going to the nape of my neck, while her other hand presses up against my pec where my family crest is tattooed.
“You had a bad dream, acushla . All is well now.”
“No.” She shakes her head adamantly, tears still freefalling. “It wasn’t a dream. It was real. It was real, Tiernan.”
My palms cup her face so she can look me in the eye.
“Just a dream, wife. No other demon here aside from your husband.”
She sobs on a hiccup at my failed attempt at humor. Shay has always been the funny one in the family. I lack the capacity.
“I can’t have children, Tiernan. I can’t,” she cries, making a large lump clog my throat at the desperation in her eyes. “God is punishing me. For what I’ve done. For what my family has done. I’ll never have children because of it. I don’t deserve such a blessing when all my life I’ve lived at the expense of other people’s suffering.”
“Stop.” My tone is so severe that her sob actually stops midway. “You are not being punished. God has a long list of assholes who deserve his wrath way before you ever make the list. You are good, acushla . So fucking good, my soul weeps sometimes at how good your heart is.”
She tries to shake her head, but I force her to keep still.
“God does not punish the kind-hearted. He does not punish those who still see beauty in this world. He does not punish the frail and delicate. If that is the kind of God you believe in, then fuck him. He doesn’t deserve your kind soul. In fact, I don’t think there is anyone who does. I sure as fuck don’t.”
Her lashes beat a mile a minute, as if stunned with all the things that I’m saying.
“You don’t think you deserve me?” she asks, apparently the only thing she got out of my rant.
“I know I don’t, acushla . Not after everything I’ve put you through,” I confess mournfully.
Not after last night when I purposely hurt you with my lies just so you wouldn’t see my fear.
Her eyelashes continue to flutter, but at least there are no more tears.
“Why are you here, Tiernan?” she asks outright, pushing herself out of my grip. My arms feel naked without her in them, but I don’t make a move to pull her to me.
“Because I heard you hurting,” I admit, hoping she hears the truth in my words.
“Why did that bother you? You’ve done worse than just hear my pain and done nothing to stop it. You’ve even gone as far as to provoke it,” she accuses, but her tone is so soft that it pains me further that there is no malice behind her words.
“I know.”
Shit.
Fuck.
How can I start making amends when I can’t even find the right words to explain myself?
I turn onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, feeling her gaze on me the entire time.
“I lied to you.”
“When did you lie?”
“Last night when I told you that I didn’t want to have a child with you because I would hate it. It was a lie.”
She doesn’t so much as breathe, waiting for me to explain.
“I’m sure by now someone must have told you about my brother Patrick. My mother, perhaps? Shay or Colin?”
Again, she stays silent.
“Whatever they told you about him, it’s true. He had the purest of hearts. So pure that it was easy to wound and hurt. When we were children, Ma used to say we were each other’s shadows. Where I went, Patrick was never far behind. Maybe it was because Patrick and I already had a strong brotherly connection before Shay and Iris were born, or maybe it was due to the fact that we were closer in age than we were with our other brother and sister. Whatever the reason, we were more than just brothers. He was my best friend. Where I was cocky and hard, he was humble and kind. Opposites in every way, yet we never fought. Never said one mean thing to the other.”
Rosa’s breathing begins to slow down so as to not miss a single word, completely enthralled by my story.
“But once we became teenagers, we started to drift apart. I was so hungry to do my part in the Mafia Wars, help Athair fight the enemies that wanted to see us buried ten feet under, that I badgered my father until he relented and let me fight. I made my first kill just days shy of my fifteenth birthday. It was one of the proudest moments of my life, but Patrick didn’t speak to me for a full month when he found out what I had done. He couldn’t understand how I could condone taking a life in any capacity. He said there was no honor to be found if my actions spilled even one drop of innocent blood. That someone needed to be brave enough to put old feuds aside. That was the only way we could ever guarantee our family’s survival. And for me to pick up a gun and knife and intentionally steal any life was a sin in his book. My brother spoke passionately of peace, while my heart burned only for vengeance.”
I let out a long exhale, thinking about how many times I called him naïve. That this feud between the families would never cease until one family ruled them all. And I was determined that it’d be us.
“As the years passed by and I got more involved in protecting our family, making a name for myself on the streets, my brother became more withdrawn from me. From all of us. The war at that time was taking lives, left and right. Each name in the obituary section was either an acquaintance, friend, or loved one. Not a week went by that there wasn’t a funeral to attend, and Patrick made sure he went to each one to pay his respects. I could see my brother’s soul slowly being ripped out of his chest with each eulogy he heard, each pint of Guinness he drank in honor of the fallen. He began walking around the house like he was a ghost, not making a sound, too afraid we would tell him another one of his friends had perished in the war. It got so bad that Athair sent him away to Ireland, hoping that fresh air and countryside living would bring back the good-natured son he loved so much.”
“But… the fire,” Rosa gasps, her eyes wide in alarm.
“Aye. The fire,” I repeat sullenly, thankful Colin gave her the details of how his family died that night and spared me going into them now.
Guilt twists my heart and gives it an infernal tug at the memory of picking up Colin and Patrick at the airport. My cousin was eager to stand at my side and burn all our enemies to the ground for what they took from him. But my brother? He was more lost to us than he had been when he left on his trip.
“I was the one they’d wanted. It was because of me and my fucking pride in wanting to rise up the ranks of my father’s kingdom and let the world know not to fuck with us Kellys that Colin’s family paid the price for my ambition. Though my cousin never once put the blame on my doorstep, Patrick wasn’t as forgiving.”
When Rosa places a comforting hand over my heart, I cover it with mine, locking our fingers together, hoping her silent strength will give me the courage to continue.
“After that, I couldn’t get through to him. He didn’t want anything to do with me or our family. And in doing so, he felt more alone than he had ever been before. Too afraid to reach out to anyone for help, fearing that sooner or later the war would take them away from him, too. So he searched for an escape, any relief that could ease his suffering, and the one he found sealed his fate.”
As if reading my thoughts and what I’m about to say next, Rosa tries to pull her hand away from mine, but I keep my hold on her, not wanting to let her go. Not again. Not ever.
“I have no idea who sold him his first eight-ball or how Patrick even knew where to get it. If I did, then I would have taken my time in killing them. I would make sure to inflict the same pain on them as we suffered watching my beloved brother become a soulless zombie right in front of our eyes. Athair sent him to every rehab in the state, but those never worked. Patrick would stay clean for a month or two there, but all it took was him coming home for him to start using again.”
“It was my family’s poison that killed him in the end, wasn’t it?” she whispers in anguish.
“My brother’s veins had been polluted with my hate and cold venom long before your family’s drugs played a role in his life. At the time I didn’t see that, but now I know we are as much to blame for what happened to him as the heroin that he used to ease his misery. The worst part in all of this, was that he was right. Patrick saw the writing on the wall before any of us did. Even as a child, he knew that peace was the only way to prevent our extinction. Maybe if one of us had taken the time to hear him out, we would have come to the same conclusion and saved us all a mountain of regret.”
I turn to my love and see her eyes water, suffering the same pain I went through all those years ago. Like Patrick, Rosa feels everything. Every nasty word. Every horrible cut. But where I failed my brother, I refuse to fail my wife.
Ironic how life brought the means of a ceasefire to us and handed me a second chance to do right by the person I loved. Maybe there is a God out there after all. It’s the only explanation I can come up with for the treaty to have been fulfilled after years of struggle and hardship. It’s also the only way I can explain Rosa coming into my life. It’s almost as if the universe knew the aching need inside me to make right the mistakes of the past. What isn’t surprising is how long it took me to realize the gift I’d been given.
Better late than never, I suppose.
I just hope my love is of the same mindset.
I wouldn’t hold it against her if she isn’t.
“There was a moment that I did dare to hope, though. When Athair told me that the families were willing to unite and discuss our chances for peace, I was certain that was the thing that would bring my brother back to us. That somehow the treaty would erase years of his suffering, and Patrick would snap out of his depression once and for all. Unfortunately, I miscalculated how deep his scars ran. Even after Athair and I came back from the negotiation table with the other bosses and dons, the news never mended Patrick’s heart as I thought it would. In fact, he reprimanded us for the plan put in place. Chastising us that in our attempts to stop the war, we couldn’t find a better way but to sacrifice innocent lives once again. Iris being one of them. Then five years ago, the pain must have been too much for him to withstand. He just couldn’t go on in a world where death and grief were all around him. So, he took his life.”
I wipe away the silent tears my wife sheds for a man she never met, but somehow found it in her heart to care for in the space of time it took me to tell his story.
“After his death, my father stepped down as boss. He couldn’t function. Couldn’t see past his pain, much less ensure that the other families’ demands were set in place before the ten-year deadline arrived. I stepped up, took the burden onto my shoulders, and became the cold, heartless man you’re married to today. I had to become this lie you see, acushla . Because if anyone saw how raw and broken I was on the inside, they would have taken everything my family had worked so hard to keep. All those lives lost, including my brother’s, would have been in vain.”
“But that’s not why I’m telling you this. I want you to know why I lied to you last night. Why I said all those awful things to push you away. When Patrick died, it almost killed my parents. It almost killed all of us. But the sorrow and heartache I went through paled in comparison to my parents’ despair. I was scared, acushla . I am scared. Losing a brother that I loved was painful enough, but after witnessing my parents’ strife, I don’t think I would ever survive the kind of loss they went through. I know I wouldn’t.”
“What are you saying?” She blinks her tears away.
“I’m saying that even with the treaty in place, I will always have enemies. Enemies that will do everything in their power to break me and steal what I have. If I had a son… a daughter… there would be no greater weapon they could use to destroy me.”
She closes her eyelids as if I just eviscerated all her hopes and dreams.
“Look at me, love.” Hesitantly she lifts her gaze to me. I turn on my side, grip both of her hands in mine, and place a chaste kiss on them. “My fear is real and debilitating, but so is the thought of losing you. You will be a mother, acushla . If that is your desire, then you will be a mother. Either by my blood or not, you shall have children. I give you my word, wife. From here on out, I will make you happy and give you all your heart’s desires.”
“Are you saying you would love any child I gave you?”
“I’m saying I already do. Whether it’d be mine or not, love. I will protect and love it with all my heart, just as much as I love its mother.”
There is a small smile that tugs at her lower lip, making my eyes land on her gorgeous mouth. As if reading my inner thoughts and turmoil, she softly presses her lips to mine, ending my agony with one simple kiss.
And for the first time in a long time, I dare myself to hope.