Page 72 of Myla: The Hawthornes

“Richie fucked it up. Not you.”

“She’s spent her whole life taking care of us,” Aisling said, not bothering to look at me. “Finally,she’s at a place where she’s living the lifeshechose, you know? Just her and Richie and Sean in the house. Good job. Comfortable life.” She shook her head. “I wasn’t going to be the one to fuck that. No way.”

“So, you would’ve just…what? Never said anything if Richie died? Just acted like his shit didn’t get you like this?”

“What does it matter?” she asked thoughtfully, turning to face me. “This happened either way. Why would I add on to it?‘Oh, Aoife, you know your husband that just died? Well, funny story. He pissed off the wrong people, and they decided they’d take it out on me.’What’s the point of making it even harder for her?”

“Ash—”

“No, you know I’m right. This was never my fault, and everyone knows it. He kept me for an entire day after he shot Richie, it wasn’t even aboutRichiethen. He was just…into it. He liked the fact that I couldn’t stop him. So, why would I tell them it was Richie’s fault? Especially if he was dead or a vegetable or something? How would that help anyone?”

I kept my mouth shut, because while I hated that she would’ve just kept it a secret, I understood why she’d done it. It made absolute sense in the most fucked-up way.

“You were there when he was shot?” I asked slowly.

“Oh, yeah.” She let out a little huff of breath. “I was there. He showed up at this house J—Julian brought me to. Hopped out of his truck as we were coming out the front door. He didn’t make it onto the sidewalk before Julian shot him.” She shook her head. “He was holding one of those big wrenches, you know, the one he kept in his toolbox? Like that was going to do any good. Jesus.” Her voice broke on the last word, and a single sob burst out of her mouth before she stiffened and turned away.

“Sister,” I murmured. I was afraid I’d hurt her—I didn’t know where the bruises were under her clothes—but I wrapped my arms around her anyway.

“He was scared shitless, Cian,” she rasped, leaning against me. “But he came for me anyway.”

“Yeah.”

“That should count for something, right?”

“Counts for a lot,” I murmured, kissing the crown of her head.

“He was saying my name when he was laying there,” she said. “He was still trying to get to me. Don’t tell Aoife, okay? I don’t want her to imagine it.”

“I won’t.”

A few minutes later, Will, Mack, and Leo came outside with Aoife. Saoirse followed them, a mutinous look on her face.

An hour after that, we had a plan in place.

Three hours later, Aoife got a phone call from the “hospital” that Richie was gone.

“But I wasn’t ready,” Aoife said, staring at me in horror. “I wasn’t ready yet.”

Saoirse looked shell-shocked. Aunt Ashley stared blankly at the floor. Ronan stormed out of the room. Aisling cursed under her breath and followed him.

We’d thought we’d have time to say goodbye to Richie. The suits had insinuated that they’d take him without warning but that it might take a few days to work everything out.

They’d lied. I shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Dammit,” Frankie muttered, rushing into the bathroom.

Myla came out of the kitchen and wrapped her arms around me, laying her head on my chest.

“It’ll be okay,” she murmured, tipping her head back to look at me.

“Yeah.”

“You should follow Ronan.”

“Yeah.”

“You want me to let you go?”

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