Page 38 of Seizing Control: Part One

Connection close to severed.

All the while, I fight through the chaos in my head to find a thread of coherent thought to pull so I can magically unfurl the right words. I try a dozen excuses on for size. None of them fit. Over and over, I battle the overly crowded sticky morass in my mind for the best plea. I’m not above begging. I’d drop to my knees, supplicate my pride to Lily’s harsh judgements if I thought it’d work.

But I know my woman.

Her wrath isn’t stoked.

The temper she can hardly control isn’t engaged.

Instead, her quiet dismissal says more than her rage ever could.

Lilianna Mayberry isn’t receptive to anything I might have to say because she’s already decided that I’m not worth her time right now. My recent actions have spoken louder than any words I can say. I’ve shown her total disregard, and now she’s going to return the favour.

When her phone rings, she blinks once. For an instant, I see the old Lily, open and caring, devoid of the second-guessing that is her norm nowadays, then she locks down her emotions. Although her movements are stilted, the expeditious manner with which she accepts the call without acknowledging me says everything I need to know.

It’s going to take more than her father’s defeat to get through the defences she’s built around her psyche. To win back my woman’s heart, I need to prove that she can trust me. To access the sweet and sass that she once shared without hesitation, the disrespect I’ve shown her needs to be atoned. To recapture the pure soul that I shattered, my actions must speak louder than my words.

I can apologise until I’m blue in the face.

I can fix every problem that comes her way.

I can stay by her side without wavering.

None of it will be enough until I’ve rebuilt her faith in me.

So, I allow Lily to ignore me. I accept the friction between us. I take the fiery disdain that emanates from her without offering platitudes or excuses. For more than thirty minutes, I marinate in the disconnect between us. It seeps into my soul. Rusts out my pride. Drains my ego until I’m a hollowed-out shell of myself.

Empty. Broken. Revolted.

I’m fully immersed in her blistering disappointment.

A willing victim to her silent condemnation and need to punish me.

When Brutus finally saunters into the chapel, I turn the full force of my self-immolation on him.

Because it’s abundantly clear that his demise is my first step toward redemption...

6

LILY

“Put your phone in the box.” My father orders Zeke as he struts into the chapel after making us wait for him for nearly three-quarters of an hour past the time he decreed. “Don’t want any leaks after all this time.”

I’d love to tell both men that I already know about their deal. Instead, I keep my mouth shut and press my hand down on the sore spot in my stomach where, this morning, I injected the second monthly dose of the medication Bebe’s doctor friend prescribed for me. It’s a nasty injection, leaving me feeling nauseous and overly emotional afterward, but I figure getting my body healed after the miscarriage is worth being a little uncomfortable.

Not that it truly matters in the scheme of things.

The only man I ever considered having kids with left me six months ago.

I’m not even sure I want to risk another pregnancy, even if my fertility was normal.

Losing one baby was hard enough.

I don’t think I’d survive it a second time.

The smug glint to my dad’s gaze is a warning that I am smart enough to heed. I use the sting of pain to calm myself as I note the harsh reality of this meeting. My father didn’t organise a meeting with Zeke and I to apologise for his betrayal. After months of relative calm, Dad is making a move today. Undiluted arrogance emanates from him as he comes to a stop at the head of the Shamrocks’ table and peers down at us with the satisfaction of a king observing his kingdom.

Like it has for more than fifty years, the expanse of well-maintained oak dominates the chapel. Carved by the hands of the founding six, the table is a monument to brotherhood and loyalty. I once loved it. Cherished what it represented. Now, it’s just another thing my dad has destroyed. Because the table is a reminder. It separates the three of us from each other, forming a lop-sided triangle as we all reside in the same positions we filled the last time we met for a showdown.

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