Page 74 of Steadfast

The accent barely came out anymore, even when he was emotional, but it was clear as day then.

I did a little twirl. “Yeah?”

“Richie’s gonna shit himself.”

“Jesus, I hope not,” I replied, my laughter a little watery. “Was the drive okay?”

“It was fine, stop worrying,” he replied, coming further into the room.

He was wearing a black leather vest that had become as familiar as the sound of his motorcycle engine. It had far fewer patches than the ones I remembered on the bikers from all those years ago, but he assured me he’d fill it up, once he’d earned it. Whatever that meant.

“Who’d you bring with you?” I asked as he leaned in for a hug.

“Shit, I don’t want to touch you and mess up this dress,” he muttered, gingerly wrapping his arms around me.

“Screw the dress.”

He laughed. “Brought Bas and Brody,” he said as he let me go. “That cool?”

“Sure.” I’d also gotten used to Cian bringing friends home. They were all sweet and respectful and a little rough around the edges. They fit right in.

“Dang, Sersh,” Cian said, finally noticing our sister on the opposite side of the room. “Lookin’ good.”

“Less effusive than what you gave Mam,” she said, striking a pose in her bridesmaid dress. “But I’ll allow it.”

It had started with Cian. A month later, Aisling and Ronan started calling me Mam, too. Saoirse started the day the guardianship was finalized. I hadn’t made a big deal out of it, but each time they used the name, something inside me tightened and released at the same time. The acknowledgment of who I was to them was never unwelcome.

Richie wasn’t everDad, but most of the time the younger ones called him Pop. He wasn’t as good at hiding how much it meant to him. Cian teased him about it only once before realizing that it was important. He’d dropped it since then. He’d even used it a few times. I only knew because after we climbed into bed at night, when the house was quiet around us, Richie would quietly tell me about it, his voice rough.

“You better go get dressed,” I ordered Cian. “We’ve only got an hour.”

“Oh, yeah, did Richie’s parents shit a brick when you drove into their fancy driveway on your motorcycle?”

“They were extremely polite,” Cian replied, his smile mischievous. “I left Bas and Brody downstairs making small talk.”

I groaned. Poor Bas had pierced his face in so many places, he looked like a pin cushion. Of course, I’d never tell him that…but it was excessive.

“Go,” I said, shooing him toward the door. “Save your friends and send Ash back up here. Her hair isn’t finished.”

“I’m going,” he said defensively. “See you down there.”

He passed Aunt Ashley on his way out.

“Hello, handsome,” she said cheerfully.

“I’ve been ordered downstairs,” he said, walking backward.

“As it should be. Aisling’s practicing her flirting, go save your friends.”

Cian laughed as he disappeared.

“All ready?” Aunt Ashley asked, closing the door behind her.

She’d been a constant presence in our lives. I saw her more often than I saw Cian anymore, even though they lived fifteen minutes from each other. Her motorhome had been parked in our driveway for the past week while she helped us get ready for the wedding, and she was staying for another full week with the kids so that they didn’t burn the house down while Richie and I went on our honeymoon.

“I’m ready,” I said, carefully sitting down on the edge of Richie’s childhood bed. “Saoirse still needs to do her makeup and Aisling’s hair.”

“I’m working on it,” Saoirse chimed in, leaning close to the mirror as she drew on eyeliner.

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