Bootlicking

Kian

I got home late, later than I should've. But I knew what was waiting for me.

The house was quiet when I stepped inside, the kind of silence that felt wrong. Mam should've been in the sitting room, watching telly with a blanket draped over her shoulders. Da should've been at the pub. Instead, I found him right there in the kitchen, a half-empty can in his hand, his eyes already on me like he'd been waiting.

I tensed, shutting the door behind me. "Where's Mam?"

He didn't answer, just took a slow sip of his drink before setting it down on the counter. "You think you're clever, don't ya?" His voice was steady, but I knew better than to trust that.

I sighed, dropping my bag onto the floor. "I don't know what you're on about."

He let out a short, humorless laugh. "You really think I wouldn't hear about it? Joey fucking Lynch giving you a job?"

So that's what this was.

I should've known word would get back to him fast. He had eyes everywhere.

I didn't say anything, just met his gaze, waiting for whatever was coming next.

His expression twisted. "You're workin' for him?"

"I need the money," I said, keeping my voice even. "And a real job. You said it yourself, didn't ya? I can't just sit on my arse all day."

His hand slammed down on the counter, making the can jump. I didn't flinch.

"That's not a real job, Kian. That's you licking the boots of a Lynch." His lip curled like the name itself tasted rotten in his mouth. "You don't get in with people like that. You're not one of them, and you never will be."

I clenched my jaw. "I don't want to be one of them. I just want—"

"What? What do ya want, eh?" He stepped closer, his breath thick with drink. "You think they'll ever see you as anything more than a scumbag? You think Lynch actually gives a shite about you?"

I didn't answer.

I knew the Lynches didn't want me there. Knew they were just waiting for me to mess up. But at least Joey was giving me a shot. At least it was something.

"Quit the job," Da said.

I shook my head. "Not happening."

His hand shot out, grabbing my shirt, yanking me forward. "You don't tell me what's happenin'," he snarled. "You listen to me. I'm your father, and I said quit the fucking job."

My hands curled into fists, but I didn't move. Didn't give him the reaction he wanted.

His grip tightened, but after a long moment, he shoved me back with a scoff.

"Pathetic," he muttered. "You think you're better than this family? Better than me?"

I stared at him. "I think I have a chance to be."

His eyes darkened. "You really wanna be one of them?" He reached for his can again, taking a long swig before pointing a finger at me. "Fine. But don't come crawlin' back when they turn their backs on you. 'Cause they will, Kian. Mark my words, they will."

I didn't say anything.

I just turned and walked out of the kitchen, grabbing my bag as I went.

I heard the can hit the sink behind me, the scrape of a chair as he sat back down.

I went straight to my room, shutting the door behind me.

My whole body was tense, but I forced myself to take a deep breath.

He was wrong.

Even if the Lynches didn't trust me, even if they never really accepted me, at least I was trying to do something different.

And that was better than ending up like him.

I barely got any sleep. Not that it was anything new.

The house was quiet in the morning, but it wasn't peaceful. It was the kind of quiet that came after a storm—where everything was still standing, but you knew the damage was already done.

I moved carefully, not wanting to wake him. If he was still in bed, I'd rather keep it that way. Mam was sitting at the kitchen table, staring into a cup of tea that had probably gone cold. She looked up when I walked in, her eyes flicking over me like she was checking for something.

"You alright?" she asked, her voice rough with sleep.

I nodded. "Yeah."

She didn't believe me. She never did. But she didn't push it.

I grabbed some toast and sat across from her, the silence stretching between us. After a while, she sighed, rubbing at her temple.

"Is this job thing really what you want?" she asked.

I swallowed my mouthful and shrugged. "It's something."

She tapped her fingers against her mug. "Your da's not happy about it."

I let out a short, humorless laugh. "Yeah, I noticed."

She frowned. "You shouldn't be getting on his bad side, Kian."

I looked at her. "When have I ever been on his good side?"

She didn't have an answer for that.

I finished my toast, rinsed my plate, and slung my bag over my shoulder. "I'll be late tonight. I'm heading to the garage after school."

Mam nodded, but her brow was furrowed. "Be careful."

I wasn't sure if she meant at school, at work, or at home. Probably all three.

I left without another word.

BCS was the same as ever—too loud, too crowded, too much.

I kept my head down, moving through the halls without stopping. Most people ignored me, which was fine. It was better than the alternative.

I made it to my locker, twisting in the combination. Just as I pulled the door open, I felt it—that shift in the air, the sense that someone was watching me.

I glanced up, and there she was.

Mallory Lynch.

She was standing a few feet away, talking to Serena, but her eyes were on me.

I sighed, looking back at my locker, shoving my books inside. I wasn't in the mood for whatever this was.

But I wasn't that lucky.

"Didn't know you were the type for honest work, Holland."

I exhaled slowly, shutting my locker before turning to face her. "And I didn't know you cared so much about what I do with my time."

Serena glanced between us, then muttered something about finding Conor Kavanagh and walked off, leaving us alone.

Mallory crossed her arms. "My da seriously hired you?"

I shoved my hands in my pockets. "Yeah. Problem?"

She scoffed. "You seriously have to ask?"

I tilted my head. "You here to warn me off like the rest of your family?"

She frowned. "They warned you?"

I huffed out a short laugh. "Course they did. Can't have someone like me in the garage, can they?"

Mallory didn't say anything, and for a second, I thought she might agree with them.

But then she sighed, shaking her head. "They don't trust you."

"I know."

"And honestly?" She tilted her head. "I don't either."

I let her words settle between us, then smirked. "Then I guess I'll just have to prove you all wrong."

She rolled her eyes. "Good luck with that."

And then she walked away.

I watched her go, then turned back to my locker, my smirk fading.

Yeah.

Good luck.