Page 18 of Myla: The Hawthornes

They’d had quite a bit to say about what an asshole I was. It was a little surprising when they’d let me leave the house with my balls intact.

Making a quick decision, I picked the phone back up and turned it off completely. If Frankie and Lou wanted to continue ripping me a new asshole, I could deal with it later. Myla deserved better than a phone call—I’d head back over there in the morning to fucking grovel.

I stripped down and climbed in bed, only to stare at the ceiling for hours. It was embarrassing how badly I’d reacted to Myla making the move that both of us had avoided for so long. My gut clenched when I remembered the look of horror on her face when I told her Icaredabout her. What a fucking asshole.

At some point I must’ve fallen asleep, because I woke up the next morning just as the sun came up. It was early as hell, but I got out of bed anyway. I’d left it all night because I didn’t want to go back over to Myla’s and wake her, but I wasn’t going to wait any longer to clear shit up. If she felt half as bad as I’d felt all night, she wouldn’t care if I showed up early.

After a quick shower, I brushed my teeth—and my hair, for once—and headed downstairs. Noel was in the kitchen in a big fluffy bathrobe, her elbows resting on the counter as she stared at the brewing coffee pot.

“Hey,” she croaked.

“Hey,” I greeted distractedly as I strode toward my boots.

“You’re leaving this early on a Saturday?” she asked in surprise.

“Got somethin’ to do.”

“Tell Myla I said hi,” she called in amusement as I hurried out the door.

It wasn’t until I’d climbed on my bike that I remembered that I’d turned off my phone the night before. Stupid. So fucking stupid. As soon as I turned it back on notification after notification came through.

When it finally stopped chiming, there were eleven missed calls from my siblings. Seven voicemails. Forty-seven text messages.

All thoughts of Myla disappeared in an instant, and the entire world stopped spinning as I stared. I didn’t know what to look at first.

The decision was made for me when the phone started to ring, my sister Saoirse’s face popping up on the screen.

“Sersh,” I answered, staring at the garage door. The paint was peeling in the corner. I should fix it.

“Cian,” she whispered, her voice ragged.

“What’s going on?” Not Sean. Not Aoife. Not Aisling. Not Ronan. Not Aunt Ashley. Not Rich—

“It’s Richie. He’s in the hospital. They’re not sure—” Her voice broke. “They’re not sure if he’s going to make it.”

“What the fuck happened?” I barked, my own voice sounding strange in my ears.

“He was shot.”

“Shot? What do you mean, shot? Where the fuck would Richie get shot? He’s a fuckin’plumber.”

“It’s all a mess,” Saoirse murmured, it sounded like she was moving. “He went to pick up Aisling because she’d called drunk and was freaked out, and I don’t know what happened. No one knows what happened. No one can find her, Cian.”

“Aisling’smissing?” My ears began to ring. What thefuckwas going on?

“She might not even know what happened,” Saoirse said, her voice almost soothing as she tried and failed to reassure me. “We don’t know where Richie was picking her up, so we have no idea if that’s where it happened or not. We don’t even know if he found her before it happened. We don’t know anything.”

“Where are you?”

“Me and Aunt Ashley drove out on Thursday, thank God. So, I’m at the hospital with Aoife and Ronan. Richie’s entire family is on some cruise in Europe. It’s a freaking mess, we haven’t even been able to get a hold of them.”

“Where’s Sean?”

“He’s back at the house with Aunt Ashley. Thank God we were here, Cian. Aoife lost her shit when Richie didn’t come right back.” She lowered her voice. “She was standing on the porch waiting for them when the police showed up. It was like sheknew.”

“I’m on my way,” I said, pulling my keys out of my pocket. “Tell Mam I’m on my way.”

“Good.” Saoirse sniffled. “He’s in surgery, Cian. They said it’s really bad. Drive careful…but hurry, okay?”

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