Michael Connelly The Crossing Novels & Stories

"Ah I doubt it. Though I guess you could say I'm something of a celebrity in Ireland. My name is Michael McDermott. Collen's Uncle." "A celebrity? Like an actor?" "No not quite an actor." Michael chuckled to himself. Ogden ran through a list in her mind. 'I know I've heard that name somewhere before.' He had a few contacts in Ireland, and had even done some business there a few times both legal and illegal. "Well shall we?" Collen suggested. "Ah yes, pardon my manners please follow us." "Grand father why are you even listening to this bastard. He was the one in the video with Kendra! He needs to fucking die!"

It's not the last time we'll see each other — we'd still meet on the day of graduation. Melissa, Flora and Claire went to the get together. It was held in a garden called Love Garden. I don't know why it's called that, but Love Garden has the most beautiful flowers. I go there sometimes, but not with a crowd. I went to the rooftop, alone. The air here was refreshing, and perfect for some alone time. I glanced at the school view — the scenery was great, and soon, I'll have a change of scenery. I sat down and took a deep breath. I don't know how long I had been here, until Flora came running to me.

“You’re going to make everyone cry.” “Maybe,” I said, feeling a warm flutter in my chest. Then I heard his voice. Across the parking lot, Connor leaned against his car, backpack slung over one shoulder, smiling like the world belonged to him — or maybe like I belonged to him . “Hey, Sparrow!” he called. Chelsea and Laila stopped in mid-step, eyebrows raised. “Sparrow?” Chelsea whispered. “It’s… a thing,” I muttered, cheeks heating. Connor waved, grinning. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”

A tiny figure shot out from the shadows in the hallway, crashing into my arms. "Daddy!" Naomi cried, clutching my shirt as she buried her tiny face against it. "I missed you so much, Daddy… Please don't leave again…" I froze where I stood, my hand resting on her soft hair. My fingers brushed the curls—her natural waves, just like mine—and something in my stomach fluttered ever so slightly. When I looked up, Willow was standing near the stairwell, holding a bulging canvas bag. Stray hairs fell across her forehead, tousled by the wind.

The nerves in my body quietly tensed. Soon, a sleek black car pulled up at the building. Thomas's eyes lit up, and he eagerly waved his hand. "Babe!" Imogen stepped out, impeccably dressed in a cream suit, cradling an enormous bouquet of roses.