Page 103 of Myla: The Hawthornes

“I know, right?” she laughed. “I’m still not sure how I ended up managing a bunch of properties, but I can’t say I hate it. The work is easy, my schedule’s pretty flexible, and I’m the boss, so the people I work with are always nice to me.”

“Can’t beat that.”

“You like what you do, too,” she pointed out.

“I do,” I nodded. “I like fixin’ shit.”

“Too bad about all the garage politics,” she said mockingly, shaking her head. “The people you work with are assholes.”

“You should meet the boss,” I joked. “Total psycho.”

Myla laughed. Her grandpa ran the garage.

“You took the wind outta my sails,” I said, trading boxes with her. “I was gonna take you to Chinese tonight.”

“You were not,” she argued, pausing with food halfway to her mouth.

“I was,” I confirmed.

“Well,” she said, looking down at her food. “Great minds think alike.”

She smiled cheerfully as she chewed, and all of a sudden I wanted to drag her across the center console.

“Jesus,” I whispered, reaching up to rub the ache in my chest.

“We should do pizza tonight,” she said, putting her hand in front of her mouth as she swallowed. “In bed.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Naked.”

It was my turn to grin.

“Can you get Bas to ask the girls over for dinner or something? Then we can have the house to ourselves.”

“You should run that by Noel,” I replied, remembering Bas’s face when I’d made the dig about Lou. “She’d invite ’em.”

“Good call,” she agreed.

“Aoife called this morning,” I said after a few moments.

“Everything okay?”

I realized too late that Myla only knew half the story. She had no idea that Richie wasn’t dead. Only my siblings and club members had any idea what he was actually doing.

“Just missin’ Richie, I think,” I replied, kicking myself for even bringing it up.

“I bet,” Myla said softly. “I’m sure you all are.”

I nodded, not sure what to say. Did I miss Richie? Yeah, I guessed I did. But missing him was tied up in so much other shit that it was impossible to untangle that feeling from all the rest of it.

“Ronan’s droppin’ out of school.”

“No fucking way,” Myla breathed, her eyes wide. “Why?”

“He wants to be out here. He said he can’t transfer, and they’re not willin’ to work with him—I don’t know. I scraped by in high school, all the university shit is beyond me.”

“Well, that sucks for him,” Myla said, pulling out a spring roll. “But good for you guys, having everyone close.”

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