It was seven in the morning when Jimmy made it back to the safe house.

He spent most of the night crawling into a bottle of Jameson. Somehow, he ended up in the seaside village of Blackrock. Sitting on the concrete wall overlooking the Irish Sea, he contemplated jumping in, ending it once and for all.

What's the point? he wondered. Living with a woman he hated—and who equally hated him—was making life miserable. He hardly knew his son because Catherine didn't want Eamonn to have anything to do with him. And the cherry on top was walking in on Catherine with Dessie in the bathroom. For some time he held out hope that maybe she'd come around again. Finding her on her knees with Dessie was proof the romance in their relationship was over.

For over half his life he wallowed in such intense hate, it infected everyone in his life. He turned Catherine into someone he hardly recognizes anymore. The last thing he wanted was for Eamonn to live with the same animosity and loneliness he felt. If he were gone, he could save his son from such a life.

But, even in the throes of a depressive episode, his narcissism still managed to talk him out of drunkenly diving into the sea.

When he walked through the front door of the house, he shut it with his foot. He found Dessie sleeping on the sofa. One boot planted on the floor, an arm draped across his eyes. His drunken snoring reverberated against the walls.

Leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb into the living room, Jimmy got a good look at him.

Forty-two and divorced with daughters he didn't even know. Covered in tattoos, shaggy unkempt hair. Chubby from a steady diet of takeaway food, and beer. Not to mention, a fashion sense that didn't go any further than jeans, t-shirts, and flannel.

What the fuck did Catherine see in such a low-life?

All Jimmy could do was snicker to himself. He remembered Dessie once tried to convince him his relationship with Catherine was nothing more than fling. If he didn't know any better, Jimmy would say Dessie had been trying to push him out of Catherine's life so he could swoop in.

Fucking prick.

The creak of the stairs tore Jimmy's attention away from the sleeping man on the couch. He looked around the corner and saw Catherine walking down the stairs.

"The boys still sleepin'?"

"Aye," she answered, stopping to yawn. "I didn't get 'em back to sleep until like after three."

"How're ya feelin?"

"Like I was almost blown to hell. Can't wait to get back to Belfast so I can take the hot bubble bath and chug a bottle of wine with a few painkillers."

Catherine chuckled but Jimmy didn't. He didn't find her attempted joke to be funny. If he wasn't so pissed off at her, he would have.

"What time did the fellas get in?"

"Not sure. But I don't think it was too long ago because when I finally crashed about four, they were still at the pub."

He looked at the sutured bullet wound on her left arm. His stomach churned as he recalled how upset Eamonn was after he came downstairs, finding his mother restrained by three men and biting down a leather belt. Instead of going out for a much-needed drink, Catherine stayed at the house to get the boys back to bed after the commotion woke them up.

"Get coffee goin' then wake 'em all up. I'm gonna jump in the shower and then we're gonna have a wee chat about what happened last night."

Catherine gulped and nodded. She knew it was going to be a "shit all over Catherine" discussion.

She stepped off the last two steps and tried to push passed Jimmy to get into the living room.

"Where ya goin? The kitchen's that way," he said, said pointing down the hall.

"I was gonna wake Dessie and see-"

"Go make coffee." Jimmy looked down at Catherine and his harsh stare sent a chill down her spine.

Not wanting to piss Jimmy off any more than he was, Catherine turned and headed straight to the kitchen.

When Jimmy heard the sink turn on, and the cabinets open and close, he crossed the threshold into the living room. Marching right to the couch where Dessie lay sound asleep, Jimmy kicked him in the thigh where he'd been sutured.

"Wake up, asshole."

A tearing hot pain shooting up and down his leg jolted Dessie awake. He shot up, holding his hand against his wound. Blood seeped through the denim making it obvious Jimmy popped a stitch or two.

Oops.

"Fuck! You're a prick, so you are," Dessie hissed through clenched teeth.

"That's for what ya said about Catherine at the pub."

Dessie winced when he remembered the distasteful comment he made after one too many pints.

"Ya wanna smell my fingers, Jimmy? Because that's the closest you'll ever be gettin' to Cate again."

"That's fair."

"Get up and get your men. I want everyone around the table in a half-hour."

Once Jimmy was out of the room, Dessie called him unkind names under his breath. He used the coffee table to help stand up, but the throbbing from the popped stitches made him grimace. Not to mention he was so hungover his head left like it was in a vice.

A little uneasy on his feet, Dessie staggered to the kitchen. He yawned and scratched his chest, then smiled when he saw Catherine puttering about the kitchen. As she stood on her tiptoes to reach the coffee mugs in the cabinet, he tilted his head to get a better look at her tight ass.

"Don't be a pervert, Dennehy."

She didn't even have to turn around to know he was gawking at her. "How'd ya know t'was me?"

Before she answered Catherine filled a glass with cold water and shook a few capsules of paracetamol into her palm. She waved him over.

"I'm just that good, I suppose."

Dessie popped the pain reliever into his mouth and washed them down. Water never tasted so good.

"MI5's got nothin' on ya," he snickered.

"Gotta be sharper than 'em if I don't wanna get caught."

He set the empty glass down on the table behind him then motioned for Catherine to hop up on the counter. Once she was up, she wrapped her arms around his neck and he placed his hands on her hips.

"Did ya have fun with the fellas?"

"Aye. Wish you could'a joined us, though."

"Wish I could've, too." Catherine ran her fingers through his mane of mocha brown hair. "I promise I'll make it up to ya."

Dessie brushed the tip of his nose along hers. "If ya kiss me, I supposed I'll call it even."

"Just a kiss, huh?" she asked, curling her legs around his waist. He pulled her closer and wrapped Catherine in his arms. "Seems like I'm gettin' off easy."

"Baby, I wish I could be gettin' ya off right about now."

Between his warm lips grazing hers, the husky purr of his voice, and being wrapped in his sturdy arms turned Catherine to putty. When his rough fingers tickled her spine, she took a sharp breath which Dessie took advantage of by seizing her mouth with his.

Dessie didn't just kiss her. He took her mouth as if he were claiming it as his.

His tongue slipped between her lips, prying them open so he could deepen the kiss. She swore he explored every corner of her mouth, and his taste was familiar—tobacco and stale beer. A hint of whiskey.

A moan bubbled up her throat and he stole it along with her common sense.

The man was a damn good kisser.

Sliding his fingers into her hair, Dessie held her head where he wanted it. The longer he kissed her, Catherine could feel the dimmed flame of passion once again roar white-hot. She couldn't remember the last time a man excited her as much as he did. But she knew she couldn't let him get too comfortable in her life. At the end of the day, Dessie was an IRA man—she refused to bury another man who burrowed into her heart.

Their tongues entangled; teeth gently nipped lips. Hands wandered and heads swam.

As he felt her delicate fingers twist around the chain he wore around his neck, Dessie wished his life could be like this forever. For so long he wondered what it would be like to have Catherine as his, he couldn't let her get away. This time around, he was ready for the domestic life and there was no one else he wanted it with. Catherine was the epitome of what he wanted in a wife and mother.

"Jesus-fuckin'-Christ!" A bellowing voice the both of them recognized instantly ended the kiss. "I oughta beat your fuckin' ass for the way you're maulin' my daughter there, Dessie."

Catherine licked her swollen and reddened lips as she turned her attention to Patrick standing in the doorway. He was wearing the same jeans and shirt as yesterday, but his boots were untied. She felt like she was seventeen again. The embarrassment of getting caught making out gripped her soul. By the look on Patrick's face, she was pleased to see he was more repulsed than angry. She couldn't blame him. What man would want to see his daughter molested before the sun rose?

Dessie had seen the kind of a beatings Patrick was capable of doling out and the thought of being on the receiving end of one sacred him half to death. He wanted to take off running, but he didn't dare to move. He wondered if he stayed completely still, then Patrick wouldn't see him.

Pulling the cigarette out from behind his ear, Patrick clamped it between his lips. He pointed at Catherine and Dessie as he opened the back door. "Youse knock that shite off right now. The last thing any of us need is Jimmy seein' youse goin' at it like horned teenagers."

With that said, he took off outside for a nicotine buzz.

Catherine started laughing because if she didn't she'd cry. Dessie looked wildly concerned.

"He's not gonna beat my ass, is he?"

"Depends. I mean he really doesn't take too kindly to blokes sniffin' around me. He did a number on poor Darragh after he found out we were together."

All the color drained from Dessie's face and pure terror glossed his usual cold eyes. "Hell did he do to him?"

"Well, all I'm gonna say is that my Da was part of the Nuttin' Squad, so use your imagination."

"Mother'a Christ."

Catherine couldn't keep her laughter in anymore. "I'm fuckin' with ya. He never hurt Darragh and I don't think he was ever on the Nuttin' Squad."

Dessie peered out the window above the sink, watching Patrick smoke in the freezing rain wearing only a t-shirt. The old-timer carried himself with an aura that screamed: "not to be fucked with." So much of his past was unknown to volunteers, many were convinced he'd been part of the Unknowns during his time with the Provisionals. His lengthy absences from home, as well as his heavily guarded past, it wouldn't surprise Dessie if Patrick had been part of the IRA's most dangerous units at one point.

Catherine always wanted to ask her father if the rumors were true, but she knew the rules:

You say nothing to any person. Not your family, friends, or workmates. Loose lips cost lives.

"How sure are ya he never was?" he wondered.

"Absolutely sure," she declared, giving it some thought for the first time in her life. "Okay, fairly sure. On second thought, maybe he was."

"Not helpin', Cate."

She smiled hearing him call her Cate. He was the only one who ever did.


Only about a dozen men of the south Armagh crew decided to spend the night in Dundalk. Nevertheless, it was still a tight fit having them all in the kitchen.

Catherine sat at the table beside Dessie, stirring milk and sugar into coffee mugs for them when Jimmy finally came downstairs. He looked as tired and hungover as the rest of them, but he had to hide his physical discomfort more than they did. All conversations suddenly came to an end, and Dessie grabbed Catherine's hand under the table. Even he knew Jimmy wouldn't hold back his shots on her, especially after what he walked in on last night.

Jimmy didn't sit down. He stood in front of them and crossed his arms over his chest. He wanted to keep it short, his mind was only on getting back to Belfast.

"Never have I been so disappointed or felt such disrespect by the lot. The blatant disregard for orders will never fuckin' happen under my command again."

The room was so quiet, a pin dropping could be heard. The shame they felt was immense, but they refused to lower their heads knowing Jimmy would only rip into them more if they did.

He continued, "You're lucky I've decided not to have youse court-martialed. That doesn't mean those responsible for leadin' the campaign won't face consequences." Jimmy looked right to the guilty parties. "Dessie, you're suspended from the Dublin shipments; the Belfast lads'll take over until after the new year. As for you, Catherine Mary, I don't even know what to do about you. Until I can figure that out, you're demoted indefinitely, and you'll act as the courier between Belfast and south Armagh."

While being demoted to courier stung, it was still an important job and not degrading in the slightest. Only, no one else in the room beside her knew why Jimmy chose that specific position. It was a test of her loyalty. If any operations were foiled or an arms cache was intercepted by the PSNI, all fingers would point to her.

Catherine glanced up at Patrick hoping he'd jump in and defend her against such a punishment. But he didn't. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and threw daggers in her direction. She basked too much in the feeling of Patrick being proud of her for leading the operation, she conveniently forgot to mention she broke orders. While Patrick had a record of insubordination, he was infuriated. Her impulsivity almost killed two south Armagh units, along with Dessie, Donny, and Jimmy.

By the lack of friction between Jimmy and the rest of the guys, it was loud and clear they all agreed with his decision. Even Dessie dropped her hand when he found out his job was being outsourced to Belfast.

She swallowed her pride when she realized Jimmy had been right all along. She was far from ready to lead.

All it took was one terrible decision, and she lost the faith of the entire True Army.


When Jimmy finished ripping them to shreds, he left for Belfast without Catherine and the boys.

She was upstairs and in the middle of packing when Dessie jaunted into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. He rested his hands on his thighs, watching her fold clothes. She was only focused on the "stay free" tattoo inked across eight of his fingers. A faded red rose was on his thumb, a black script 'J' in the webbing of the other.

Catherine wrongfully assumed they were tributes to past relationships he never bothered to cover up. Unbeknownst to her, they were a testament to the daughters he hadn't seen nor spoken to in a decade.

"If you're here to lecture me, save your breath. I already heard it from my Da."

Dessie ignored the snarky comment. He'd be in a foul mood too if he'd been ripped two assholes in less than an hour. Unfortunately, he was there to deliver more crushing news.

"Your da asked me to drive you and the boys up to Belfast."

"Well isn't that fuckin' grand."

Pushing the duffle bags off the bed and onto the floor, Catherine sat behind him. Patrick was so upset with her, he didn't even want to spend an hour's car ride with her. She covered her face with her hands, losing the battle not to cry. She was far too humiliated to keep those emotions in anymore. In less than twenty-four hours she managed to lose more than she'll ever get back.

Dessie couldn't stand the sound of her crying. It broke his heart to see one of the strongest women he knew completely breakdown. He didn't feel bad she was forced to face the consequences of her actions, but he did empathize with her demotion. Eventually, Catherine would bounce back, but once faith was questioned it was difficult to earn.

In an attempt to offer fleeting comfort, he pulled her into a hug. She tightly wrapped her arms around him and rested her face in the curve of his neck.

"Ya know, in '97 I was OC of the sniper team in Cross and my IO showed me a ton of proof that one of the lads was toutin' to the RUC. I refused to believe my childhood mate was sellin' us out the Saxons so I ignored everythin' he said. Couple'a months later, we were out on an operation where we were ambushed by the SAS and arrested."

Catherine lifted her head off Dessie's shoulder and wiped the tears off her cheeks. "Why are ya tellin' me this?"

"When I was released from Maghaberry, Callaghan was chief of staff at the time and he demoted me. None of the fellas trusted my judgment so I spent a good two years doin' bitch jobs until I proved I could be OC again. Even the best of us fuck up and like ya said last night when it does happen all we can do is regroup and figure out where to go from there. It's a shite feelin' to know none of the fellas trust ya, but in time they'll come around if ya put your nose to the ground and grind."

"Do you still trust me?"

Dessie stared into her bloodshot glassy eyes. He couldn't believe how worn out she looked. Maybe taking a break from the responsibilities that came along with being an officer was a good thing. She was burning out and needed time to rest, recharge.

"Aye. Never would'a followed ya off that loadin' dock if I didn't. What happened falls on both of us. The only reason Jimmy came down on ya harder, is because he's cross you're my girl. He's gonna try to make life as miserable as possible for you."

Catherine bit her bottom lip as her heart fluttered. "I'm your girl, huh?"

The way she gazed at him made Dessie feel like a teenager again. "Aye…I mean only if ya wanna be."

She clutched the emerald heart pendant resting on her chest. For the first time, she didn't feel guilty about moving on with her life. Four lonely years had passed; it was time to start living again.

"I've wee skeletons in my closet," she admitted.

"As do I. But if we're serious about givin' this a shot, we can work passed anythin' that rears its ugly face. I'm not gonna lie, I've been crushin' on ya since the day I bloody met ya and I wanna give you and the boys a half-decent life. For that to happen, I need ya to promise me you're done with Jimmy."

"You've nothin' to worry about. What happened the other night was a one-off. He's my superior officer, nothin' more."

Dessie had no other choice but to trust her. She closed that door of her past with Darragh so he was inclined to believe she'd do the same for him.


After dropping Catherine and boys at home, Dessie made a pit-stop before heading back to Crossmaglen. He parked his Volkswagen Jetta on Divis Drive, then crossed the Falls Road to walk through the gates of Milltown Cemetery. Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket, he braced the wind and headed to the republican plot.

It was the first time since the funeral Dessie was visiting Darragh. Not because he never wanted to. Dessie tried many times to walk through those gates, but he was lucky if he made it to Belfast without completely falling apart. His heart floundered as he looked down on the chunk of black granite nestled in the pebbles, reading the names chiseled into the stone.

Volunteers

John McKenna

Seamus McCartney

Darragh Ryan

Beside the slab—surrounded by flowers—sat a black placard Catherine had custom made. The Irish tri-color, an Easter Lily, and a Celtic cross were engraved. It read:

In Loving Memory Of

Vol. Darragh Ryan

Óglaigh na hÉireann

Died 28 August 2004

Forever loved and proudly remembered

A chill went through his bones as tears prickled his eyes. Darragh didn't deserve to be in the ground. It wasn't fair he had to leave his son and the woman he loved more than life behind.

Dessie could never forget the expression on Catherine's face when Darragh's casket was lowered into the ground. She looked wholly broken. Tears silently rolling down her blotchy cheeks as she clutched his flag and beret against her chest.

Looking back on that day, he couldn't blame his ex-wife for taking the girls and running to Scotland. He'd been a terrible father and an even worse husband.

"Miss ya, Darragh," he spoke over the knot in his throat, "not a day goes by where I don't think of you, brotha'. Catherine loves and misses ya like hell…not sure why a gorgeous and smart lass would, but I digress," he chuckled. "The wean looks just like ya; acts just like ya, too. I've been keepin' an eye on 'em like ya wanted."

Dessie had no idea if there even was an afterlife where Darragh was, but he liked to believe such a place existed. He also wanted to believe Darragh could hear what he was saying. It helped make his conscience feel a little less guilty.

"You became one of my best mates after Cate brought ya down to Cross, and I'll always be thankful she did. I hope you know I'd never intentionally do anythin' to disrespect ya, but I can see why ya loved her as much as you did. She's a good girl. We've been spendin' a lot of time together and I can't help the way I feel about her. I haven't been this crazy about a bird since I met my crazy ex-wife. I just…I wanted to tell you myself that Cate and I…Cate and I are gonna give a relationship a shot. Who knows what'll come of it, but I promise I'll treat her as good as you did, and your boys as if they were my own."

There wasn't an ounce of bullshit in his words. He'd treat her with the respect and devotion she deserved, and would always be there for Eamonn and Sean.

"If ya don't want me with her, feel free to smite me with lightnin' or somethin'. I want ya to be okay with her and I bein' together." Instead of getting struck down by lightning, the wind died down for the first time all day. A serene peacefulness filled Dessie. He took that as his sign. "I hope I can make her half as happy as you did. Keep an eye on our girl until I can get back up here, yeah?"

With that finally off his chest, Dessie pulled ten pounds from his pocket and slipped it under the placard. "For the smokes ya bought me the last time I saw ya. Told ya I was good for it, ya wanker."