Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

TRISTAN

Walking into Deartháir, I immediately spot my brothers in our booth at the back. At first glance, Conor and Liam appear to be the most sober of the four—which isn't saying much. My youngest brother, Finn, however, is as animated as ever and appears to have been matching shots, helping Declan to drown his sorrows tonight.

Drinking at our bar is fine, but they all know how I feel about getting bollocksed in here. And it is quite clear, based on the empty bottles spread across the table, that the four of them have been here for a few hours too long.

Storming through the bar to deal with my brothers, the sparkle of a very out-of-place sequined dress grabs my attention. The allure of the dress pales in comparison to the petite brunette filling it or her chestnut eyes, which are currently running over my body. Any other night, and I'd be stopping to buy her a round.

Despite my haste, I can't stop the slight smile tugging at the corner of my lips as I watch a pink blush creep over her cheeks. Raking my fingers through my hair, I let out a disappointed sigh as I forgo stopping to approach her.

Not tonight.

As I reach our table, Conor slides out of the booth to allow me to take his seat next to Declan.

"What the fuck are you assholes doing?" I glare between Conor, Liam, and Finn as I make room for myself beside Declan. "You fucking know we don't get fecked here."

"We didn't—" Finn slurs.

"The fuck you didn't." I cut him off. "Do none of you know what today is?"

Of course they don't.

That day didn't change their lives like it did mine.

Three hundred and sixty-five days ago, I was a pallbearer of the casket carrying Declan's belated wife, Sarah. We buried my carefree life with her.

While I'd always been involved with our family's affairs, my involvement was relatively limited to encouraging the people we worked with to do the right thing… or eliminating them when they didn't.

With Sarah's passing, as the next eldest, I assumed my brother's role as the head of our family, giving him the time he needed to mourn the love of his life and learn how to be the father their baby girl, Fiona, was going to need.

Now responsible for all my brothers—both the blood ones at this table and those working for me—my laid-back, playboy lifestyle fell by the wayside. There isn't time to leisurely fuck your way around the city when you're forging an empire.

Fuck, maybe I should join Declan in that drink…

"Are you going to fucking raise a glass for her, or what?" Declan slurs as he lifts the bottle of whiskey from the table. Sloppily pouring a shot, he shoves the glass before me.

"Of course." I squeeze his shoulder with one hand as I grab the shot glass with the other. Raising it in the air, I toast, "To Sarah."

"To Sarah," my brothers echo my sentiment as they throw back another shot.

"I fucking miss her, Tris," Declan mutters as tears well in his eyes.

"I know." I really don't know…

I grip the back of his neck and pull him into me, giving him the opportunity to release his grief without the eyes of the bar on him.

I can't empathize with his pain. Short of my brothers and my long-deceased parents, I've never cared for anyone enough to mourn them to the lengths that Declan has for Sarah. I can't fathom caring for someone who isn't my family that much.

"I hope you lot never find someone like her." Declan shakes his head as he pushes away from me and wipes his face. "Because having it might be heaven but losing her has been fucking hell."

"I think it's time we get out of here." I nudge Declan's arm and slide myself from the booth .

"Fuck that!" he angrily shouts. "I'm not leaving until I've finished this fucking bottle."

"You're fucking done." I swipe the bottle from his hand and toss it to the floor. The glass shatters, drawing the attention of the nearby tables as the whiskey remaining in it pools beneath my shoes. I grab his arm and hastily pull his heavy ass from the booth. "You can continue to get fecked at home. Or you can fucking sober up a bit so that Fiona doesn't wake up in the morning to find her daddy lying in a pathetic puddle of his own vomit."

"Fuck you," he curses in defeat. That little girl is his kryptonite, and he'll do anything not to soil her image of him.

"Good. Now get the fuck up," I pull at his arm, and he stumbles to his feet. As he falters, I wrap my arm around his waist to keep him from falling back into the booth or slipping on the pool of whiskey on the floor.

Declan wobbles through each sluggish step he takes through the bar. He missteps, pulling us both off-balance, causing us both to bump into the barstool still occupied by the woman in the gold sparkles.

We hit with such force it jostles her barstool and forces her to spill her drink down the front of her beautiful dress.

Shit…

"Quinn," I shout to get the bartender's attention. The moment she looks over, I point to the mess Declan and I have made before dragging him from the bar.