Page 17 of Desecrated Reign

There’s an old saying, a watched pot never boils, and that’s exactly how I’m feeling sitting on the decking steps, waiting for my mother to arrive. I’ve been out here for what seems like hours, but in reality, it’s only been a few minutes, max. Nonetheless, my leg bounces up and down, highlighting my fading patience.

Behind me, the cabin door creaks open, but I don’t glance around to see who it is because I don’t need to. Saoirse’s pomegranate soap carries in the evening breeze as her footsteps pad along the creaking boards beneath her feet. Her presence eases my tetchiness instantly, like a soothing balm to my soul. Within a few breaths, she lowers herself onto the step next to me, then tips her shoulder off mine. “Whatcha doing out here? You okay?”

A gruff chuckle huffs from my chest. “Before I came out here, Éanna asked me a similar question.”

“Are you going to give me the same answer?”

“No.” Shifting slightly, I twist my torso towards her and take her hand in mine. “Would it be weird to say I’m a little apprehensive, somewhat excited, and a whole fuckload of pissed?”

“No. Honestly”—her eyes stretch wide—“I’d be a little worried if you weren’t all those things.”

My tongue slides across my front teeth as I tip my chin to the sky. “Suppose you’re right.”

A few seconds pass by, and then suddenly, the telltale crunch of tyres over gravel fills the soothing silence, accelerating the pounding in my chest. With Saoirse’s hand still in mine, I push to a stand. She follows my lead, straightening her spine as she flanks my side in support.

Finally, an all-black Mercedes G-Wagon comes into view, drawing closer, and I suck a rapid intake of air into my lungs. Pulling to a stop at the foot of the decking, the passenger door swings open, and a pint-sized blur comes rushing toward me. Before I can stop her, Aoibheann lunges for me, almost knocking me off my feet as she bounces into my arms.

Her arms wrap around me in a tight hug. “Simba!”

Next to me, Saoirse cracks up, wheezing at the fucking awful nickname Aoibheann has called me since I was too young to know what I was setting myself up for. Squeezing Avie tighter, I lower my mouth to her ear. “I’m going to smother you in your sleep.”

A deep laugh rumbles up her chest. “I missed you, too.”

With Aoibheann still wrapped around me like a koala bear, my eyes fall towards the woman waiting patiently beside the car bonnet. Her arms are curled around her stomach, and uncertainty lingers in her eyes.

Saoirse is the first to break the now-noticeable silence. “Hi, you must be Elouise.” She steps forward as I lower my sister to the ground, keeping my eyes trained on my mother. “I’m Saoirse Ryan.”

“God, you look just like your mother did when she was your age.” She holds her hand out for Saoirse to shake. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“You too.”

Unease filters through me, and I shove my hands into my suit trousers to keep myself calm. “Mam,” I acknowledge with the tip of my chin. “Glad you decided to show up… eventually.”

Hostility cuts through the air with the finesse of a blunt chainsaw, making Avie slap my arm, warning me to play nice. Not my forte, sis. My head turns with a snap of my neck, and for the first time since she exited the car, I get a good look at my baby sister.

My eyes widen as I take her in, from the tip of her head right down to the biker boots adorning her feet. Gone is the innocent girl I remember. Instead, I only see a barely five-foot pixie in cutoff shorts covered in mismatched tattoos. “Jesus Christ!” I grip the tip of my nose with my thumb and pointer finger before glaring daggers at my mother. “Please explain why the fuck my sister looks like a punk version of Snow White.”

“I’m right here, arsehole. Ask me yourself.”

“She’s barely seventeen. Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, parenting her? I’ve heard one is easier to raise than two, right?”

My mother’s eyes fill with remorse, and then suddenly, she’s peering down at the ground like there’s something interesting on her shoes. Good. You should feel guilty.

Finally, her gaze lifts, settling on my less-than-impressed face. “Rohan, please. Just hear me out.”

“Bit late for that, wouldn’t you say?” I pivot, turning towards the cabin, but not before I toss a few final words over my shoulder. “You wanna talk, fine. But not before you prove you’re worthy of my time.” Leaving it at that, I stride off, leaving her to mull over my command.

My eyes shift towards Saoirse as I walk away, silently apologising for my outburst. As always, she sees the hurt I allow her to see before I quickly shut back down. Then, easing some of the tension, she links her arm through my sister’s and changes the subject. “Please tell me why you call him Simba.”

My head swivels around so fast it almost disconnects from my neck. “Don’t you dare, Avie!”

A mischievous look, one I am all too familiar with, dances across her features. “Why, certainly,” she smirks. “It all started when we were about five and six and first watched The Lion King.”

“I mean it, Avie.”

Humour bounces behind Saoirse's eyes. “Ignore him.”

Flashing me a devious smile, Aoibheann rivals my stare before diverting her attention to my fiancée. “For weeks after, Rohan would run around the house singing at the top of his lungs.”

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