Before I can understand what he said and get the reply, Keenan takes the phone away from my grasps.

“Did you do this, Dad?” he asks through gritted teeth and I feel he’s angry even though his expression shows anything but that.

“Calm down, son and come open the door for me, I’m outside.” the man on the other side of the phone says with a calm voice. Not bothered to answer his son’s question.

Keenan tosses the phone and hastily walks to the door and when he opens it Patrick who is around his early mid-sixties with ginger and grey colour of hair walks in. His blue eyes, which are a striking resemblance to Keenan’s, meet mine and he gives me a warm-hearted smile. It is a genuine smile, but I do not smile back because a part of me feels like he’s the reason we are in this mess, to begin with. He must have read my thoughts because the smile on his face disappears and he walks further into the room.

He’s wearing a three pieces black s

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