He was back

Kian

Dad got out last week. Sure, he's been in and out of prison my whole life, but he told me this time it was different.

Of course I knew what he was in for, everyone in this shitty town knew.

My dad, Shane Holland, was a drug dealer. Put alot of people into hospital, has my da. There's a reason I don't talk about him much.

The thing is, most lads grow up thinking their da is some kind of hero. Not me. I knew exactly what he was. Knew exactly what he did. And I told myself I'd never be like him.

But here I was, following in his footsteps whether I liked it or not.

I wasn't stupid—I knew what I was doing when I started selling. Knew the risks, knew how it could go. But it wasn't like I had many other choices. School was a joke, jobs were scarce, and money doesn't just appear out of thin air. It was either this or be stuck like the rest of them, working dead-end jobs and barely scraping by.

Dad had always said I had the brains for it. The smarts to not get caught. And, for the most part, he was right. I kept my head down, made sure I never sold to anyone who'd rat me out, and I never took more than I could handle.

But lately... lately, I'd been slipping.

I knew it. Felt it. I was getting careless, selling to the wrong people.

But I didn't care, because money is money.

Now, though, with Dad back, things were gonna change. He'd want me working under him, making proper money, playing in the big leagues instead of just dealing to school kids and wasters.

And that terrified me more than anything.

Because I knew one thing for sure—there was no getting out once you were in. Not when it came to Shane Holland.

Dad wasn't the type to waste time.

The second he was out, he was back in business. New burner phones, new suppliers, new rules. And I was expected to follow every single one of them.

"You've been sloppy," he told me last night, sitting at the kitchen table like he owned the place. Because, in a way, he did. "Selling to school kids? Fucking eejits with no real cash? You're thinking too small, Kian."

I didn't answer. I knew better than to argue.

He leaned back, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. "you still selling to Tommen kids?"

My stomach twisted. I forced myself to keep my expression blank. "Why?"

Dad smirked. "Because they're liabilities. I've seen people like them before. They get hooked, they get desperate, and then they get stupid." He flicked ash into a tray. "And stupid brings heat."

I clenched my jaw. "They pay."

"Not for long." He tilted his head, watching me. "That Rice kid goes there. His da's the superintendent, yeah?"

I nodded, stomach churning.

"Then you best hope they keep their mouths shut," Dad said. "Or you'll be dealing with more than just me."

I didn't sleep that night.

Because he was right.

Tommen kids were getting reckless, and I knew it was only a matter of time before everything came crashing down.

When da moved back in after getting out, Mam didn't fight it. Not really. She put up a front, acted like she had a choice, but we all knew how this would end. She always let him back in. She was too scared not to.

And I hated her for it.

Hated him more.

The second he walked through the door, it was like the air in the house changed. Tighter, heavier. Like we were both just waiting for him to explode. He hadn't, not yet, but it was only a matter of time.

He walked around like he owned the place, like he hadn't spent half my life locked up. The fridge was suddenly full of his shite—cheap beer, leftover takeaway boxes that weren't for me or Mam. His muddy boots sat by the door, his cigarettes stank up the whole house, his voice filled every room.

Like he'd never left.

Like he hadn't abandoned us over and over again.

I barely stayed home anymore. School, out with the lads, anywhere but there. Mam didn't say much about it. She never said much of anything these days.

But Dad noticed.

"Where you been, Kian?" he asked one night when I came in late, his voice too casual, too knowing. He was sat at the kitchen table, nursing a beer. The second I walked in, his eyes locked onto me, sharp and unreadable.

I shrugged. "Out."

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Out where?"

"Nowhere important."

He leaned back in his chair, taking a slow sip of his drink. "You think you're better than me, kid?"

I stiffened. "What?"

"You act like you do." His smirk was lazy, but his eyes weren't. "Like you got the moral high ground or some shite. But I know what you've been up to. You're just like me."

My stomach twisted. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He snorted. "Sure you don't."

I clenched my jaw and turned for the stairs. "I'm going to bed."

"Yeah, you do that," he muttered as I walked away. "But don't think I don't see you, boy."

I didn't sleep that night either.

Didn't sleep most nights now.

Not with him back.

Sure, I dealt like him, but I wasn't him. I was nothing like that prick.

He did it for power, for control, for the rush of having people owe him, fear him. I did it because I had to. Because in a town like this, you either sink or you swim, and I refused to fucking drown.

But that didn't mean he saw it that way.

He watched me like he was waiting for something—waiting for me to fuck up, waiting for me to turn into him. Maybe he even wanted it.

I wasn't gonna give him the satisfaction.

So I kept my head down, kept moving, and kept my stash far away from the house. I wasn't stupid. If he found it, he'd take it. Either to sell or to use, I didn't know which, but neither would end well for me.

That was the thing about Shane Holland—he ruined everything he touched.

And I wasn't about to let him ruin me.

Ma barely said a word nowadays. She just kept her head down, did what she always did—kept the house running, kept food on the table, kept pretending like none of this was happening.

Like Shane Holland hadn't walked back into our lives like he never left.

Like he hadn't already ruined everything once before.

He sat in his old chair, cigarette in one hand, beer in the other, looking at me like I was something he owned. "How much did you make today?"

I kicked off my shoes, jaw tight. "Enough."

"Enough," he repeated, mocking me with a snort. "That's not a number, boy."

I didn't answer.

He sighed, shaking his head like I was some kind of disappointment. "You're moving slow. Not pushing as much as you should be."

I clenched my fists. "I'm doing fine."

"No, you're getting fucking lazy." He leaned forward, eyes sharp. "You need to start shifting bigger weight. You got the buyers for it, don't ya?"

I stayed silent.

"Don't ya?"

I swallowed, nodding stiffly.

He smirked. "That's my boy."

I hated him.

Hated the way he said that like it was a bad compliment.

Like I wanted to be anything like him.