Page 106 of Myla: The Hawthornes

Aoife glared over her shoulder. “I raised you better than that shit.”

I raised my hands in surrender. “Just mean none of them were goin’ anywhere. They were all good women.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“You doin’ okay?” I asked, glancing to where Sean was playing with his toys in the living room. “Seanie’s good?”

“He’s good,” Aoife relied. “I’m…getting there. Mostly. Sometimes. I guess.”

“The situation is fucked,” I murmured. I watched the tense line of her back as she stirred the pot on the stove. “Do you wish you woulda went with him?”

“No, I don’t.” The words were firm.

“Really?”

My big sister turned to me, her jaw taut. “I’ll leave you guys when my heart stops beating. Not before.”

“All right,” I whispered.

As I drove to Myla’s that night, I thought about Aoife and Richie. There had never been a time when Aoife’s world hadn’t revolved around us, and inevitably, Richie came in second. He’d signed up for it. He’d known that we were her priority before they’d ever gotten married…but I wondered if he’d assumed that once we were adults and out of the house that he would become number one. It must’ve been a hell of a blow to learn that he was still ranked lower on Aoife’s priority list than we did.

If it came down to spending my life with Myla or seeing my siblings, I wasn’t sure what I would choose. Myla and I were building something. Something big and important. I could feel it. But they were my brother and sisters. They knew the history of almost every scar I had. They remembered me when I was a pimply-faced kid. They’d shared beds and food and memories and worries with me for my entire life.

I thought about it while I ran home and showered. I thought about it when I climbed on the back of my bike and rode overto Myla’s to pick her up. I thought about it as I climbed up the porch steps and knocked.

When she opened the door and laughingly turned to shake her ass at me, wearing the jeans I’d teased her about that morning? I realized that I would probably abandon everything and everyone else I’d ever known if it meant I had Myla Hawthorne.

Chapter 16

Myla

“Are you surethis looks okay?” I asked, nervously brushing down the front of my sweater.

“It’s perfect,” Lou said sweetly.

“I told you to wear the green,” Frankie muttered, searching through the kitchen cabinets for God knew what. “No one ever listens to me.”

“Dinner’s at six,” Cian said, leaning against the front door. “You about done?”

“I think maybe I should change into the green sweater,” I said, grimacing at him. “Frankie’s right, I—”

“How many times have you met my family?” Cian asked in exasperation.

“I don’t know.”

“They’ve seen you in the cutoff shorts that show half your ass.”

“Oh, my god.” They had.

“They totally have.” Frankie snickered.

“The white sweater looks great,” Cian said.

“It’s not white, it’s cream,” I corrected.

“Does it matter?”

“It’s not white, it’s cream,” I repeated.

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