“Maybe,” I admitted. “But I didn’t want to spend twenty years fighting wars for politicians who’d never know my name.”
Wind rustled softly through the pines surrounding the clearing.
“So we argued,” I continued. “A lot. And well, life happened. He got married.”
“And?”
“Andhis wife hated me.”
Sloane blinked.
“She hated you?”
“Pretty much from day one. Honestly, she hated our whole family. Called us Irish trash.”
“Irish trash,” Sloane repeated flatly.
“My dad was a captain in the navy. My mom was a lawyer. Not exactly the trash profile. But she had her mind made up.” I paused. “She really couldn’t stand me, though. I think she saw me as some kind of threat—like I’d pull Lock back into the family and away from her.”
Sloane snorted.
I shot her a look.
She grinned.
“Continue.”
I sighed.
“They had a kid a few years after they married.”
Her expression shifted immediately—softened.
“A boy?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s his name?”
The question hung in the air—present tense, innocent—the way people ask when they don’t know yet.
“His namewas,” I said quietly, “James.”
I stared out at the barn for a moment.
“I didn’t get to know him very well. Lock and I weren’t talking much by then. His wife made sure of that. But the few times I saw him—holidays, a birthday here and there—he seemed like a good kid. Quiet. Smart. Had Lock’s stubbornness but none of his edge.”
Sloane’s expression grew serious.
“What happened?”
My throat tightened.
“Cancer.”
She winced.
“How old?”