Page 137 of Myla: The Hawthornes

“Youknewhim?”

“Baby,” I said softly, reaching for her hands. “He’s the man that hurt Aisling.”

Myla jerked back in surprise.“What?”

“He’s the one who shot Richie and hurt Aisling.”

“Oh my god,” Myla whispered, her eyes going unfocused. “That’s why he was here.”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“I’m so sorry, baby.”

“What? Why?”

“You got caught up in my family shit—” My words trailed off as she glared.

“Am I not your family?”

“Of course you are.”

“Then shut up.”

“Myla—”

“No, shutthe fuckup.”

“If Richie wouldn’t have fucked up so bad, none of this woulda happened.”

“Richie.Not you. Not Aisling.” Her breath hitched. “Not me.”

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” I murmured, lifting her hands to my mouth. “Jesus Christ, Myla.”

“What do I say to the police?” she asked nervously.

“The truth.”

“He didn’t have a weapon,” she whispered.

I stared at her in disbelief.

“I shot someone that was unarmed.” Her voice wobbled.

I stood and tugged her to her feet, leading her down the hallway to the bathroom. The light in there was stark and bright, and she winced as I situated her in front of the mirror. Reaching up slowly, I pulled down the neck of the hoodie she was wearing.

“He had a weapon, baby.” I kissed the back of her head softly as she stared at the perfect outline of fingers that were starting to purple on her neck. “He almost ripped out your throat with his goddamn hand.”

There were little scratches where his fingernails had dug in.

I shuddered.

“He would’ve killed me,” she whispered.

“Yes.”

She was quiet for a long moment.

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