Thy Kingdom Come

“Yer ma was fucking a Catholic!” He spits on the ground, expressing his repulsion at the fact. “Ya could be anyone’s son for all I know.”

His words just fuel this out of control anger, and I strike out, belting him in the stomach. He bends in half, but I don’t show any mercy because he’s never done so to me. I kick him in the face, setting him off balance as he tumbles onto his back.

I dive on top of him, pi

He laughs in response, bloody and beaten. “Ye may not be my son, but ye fight like a Kelly.”

“Ya fucker!” I scream, and just as I raise my fist, prepared to knock him out for good, strong hands scoop under my arms and drag me off him.

I fight wildly, but my uncle Sean hushes me, pi

But not this time. He can’t calm this over.

I shove him away, and he staggers back, shook, as it’s the first time I’ve been forceful with him.

“What’s going on here?” he asks, looking between me and my da.

But he doesn’t get to play peacemaker. He is as much to blame as my da.

“How could you lie to me? I expected it from him, but not from you,” I say, shaking my head, ragin’ but also, hurt.

Uncle Sean sighs, interlacing his hands atop his head.

“So it’s true then? My ma was…fucking Brody Doyle?”

This is it; the truth I sought so hard for.

“Aye, lad. I’m sorry ya found out. I wished for ya to never know the truth,” he says regretfully.

“Ya lied to me!” I shout, unable to accept this because the only person who showed me an ounce of decency was in on this ruse.

“Only ’cause I wanted to protect ya from the truth.”

“And what is the truth, Uncle?” I question, peering down at my hands coated in Kelly blood. “Am I a Kelly? Or am I a…Doyle?”

There it is—the truth which has been staring me in the face.

My da or, rather, Co

Uncle Sean looks at Co

“Lad, we don’t know, but we think so. We think Brody Doyle is yer father. When yer ma fell pregnant, yer da and she were separated. The time don’t match up for Co

I shake my head, shook.

“We never avenged yer ma ’cause she was goin’ to sell yer da out. The secret she kept was that she would ruin the Kellys by revealin’ to everyone that she was havin’ an affair with yer da’s archnemesis.

“Can ya imagine how that’d look? We’d be the laughin’ stock of Northern Ireland. Co

“How were the enemies supposed to be afraid? This would ruin us. Ya know that. But it was leverage yer ma had. She thought she had the upper hand. She was cocky and careless and demanded things in a world she didn’t understand.

“Yer da tolerated yer ma’s rebellion because he loved her. But Brody didn’t; this is why he had yer ma killed. She was becomin’ a liability to him, as at the end of the day, she was always a Protestant and he a Catholic. I’m sorry, Punky, but it’s the truth.”

I need a minute to digest this because it feels like a bad dream.

I wonder if my ma only slept with Brody to get back at my da. Did Brody do the same thing? I can only imagine what an accomplishment it would be to sleep with yer sworn enemy’s wife. And what about me? Does he know that I could be his son?

It’s too much. I can’t breathe.

“How do I know you didn’t do her in?” I ask Co

“Ack, yer right. But I only found this out by the note she left when she kidnapped ya. The note which cruelly stated you were not my wee chile. The note which implied you were a Doyle.

“Brody bought that bungalow for her, so he knew where she was. I didn’t even know it existed. That’s why it took me three days to find ya, Puck. Yer ma and I always had problems, but I didn’t know any of this until she left for Moville. The Doyles knew where she was. They always did.”

I want to fight him, but the tattoo on my wrist burns me with the truth. The tattoo, the same one I saw when I was five years old, the one I saw the other night on the Doyles’ wrists, proves to me he’s telling the truth.

I always knew the Doyles were responsible for her death. However, I never really knew why—until now.

My entire life has been a lie.

“Why didn’t ya give me away?” I ask Co

He shifts, flinching as he tries to stand. “’Cause I reared ya like my own.”

“Yer a Kelly, no matter what,” Uncle Sean says with love, offering a hand to his brother.

I suddenly feel sick to my stomach. I don’t even know who I am anymore. The man I’ve hated my entire life, the man I believed was responsible for all of this is actually the hero in this story?

It can’t be.

I need space. I need time to think.

Leaving behind the family who I now look at in a different light, I leave the barn, and the moment I walk outside, I tip my face to the skies and scream. I scream so loud, I’m certain my hollowed cries can be heard in Dublin.

Angry doesn’t describe what I’m feeling right now because this extends past that. I’ve never felt this sort of fury before. Once I’m done cursing the world, I walk toward my house, intent on only one thing.

When inside, I call both Rory and Cian. They don’t speak as they sense something huge just went down from the tone of my voice.

“I understand if youse say no, but I’m going to Dublin. Tonight. I can’t wait for Liam to call. I need to go to him.”

“And then what?” Rory asks.

“Then I’m goin’ to find out once and for all what that tattoo means. And when I do, then I’m goin’ for Brody Doyle.”

I can hear Cian choke on his beer. “What?” he wheezes.

Brody Doyle was always in my sights, but now, he’s my number one target.

“What happened?”

“What happened is that I found out Co

Both boys sound shook, but they haven’t heard anything yet.

“And that Brody Doyle may be.”

I wonder what they’ll say.

“I’ll see ya in twenty minutes,” Cian says.

“Aye, I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Ending the call, I realize no matter what surname I bear, they’ll always be my friends.

We’re quiet, but I compare it to the calm before the storm.

The streets of Dublin are busy, with many laughing and having a pint with friends. But I’m here for another reason, and that’s to speed up the inevitable.

I can’t wait for Liam to maybe call me. I need to show initiative, which is the reason we casually walk into The Craic’s 90. To onlookers, we’re just three friends out for a drink. But when I see Erin Doyle behind the bar, the truth to why I’m here surfaces.

If I believe Co

We stand in line, waiting for our turn to be served. The place is packed, which allows us to blend in. Erin showed interest in me when I was here last, but I can’t work that angle anymore. No matter how desperate I am, I won’t cross that line.