Page 54 of Myla: The Hawthornes

“Can I use your bathroom?” she asked again with a little huff of embarrassed laughter. “I didn’t go at the hospital, and we were on the road before that—”

“Jesus,” I said, cutting her off with a swipe of my hand. “Yeah, yeah, go. What are you, a camel? How the hell did you wait so long?”

“It’s a gift,” she joked as she hurried toward the downstairs toilet. “But I really have to go now.”

“Go,” I ordered when she looked at me over her shoulder.

I stood in the middle of the room for a moment before walking toward Aoife’s room. Whenever all of the kids were home at once, we always left the extra pillows and blankets on the end of her and Richie’s bed for easy access. It had never been a big deal before, but as I stepped inside their room, I paused, a wave of nostalgia hitting me hard.

It smelled like a mixture of Richie’s deodorant—the same shit he’d been using for years—and Aoife’s vanilla lotion. It smelled like home. It smelled like summer days on the river, movie nights with all of us piled on the couch, windstorms when thepower went out, and we all slept in the same room because none of us wanted to sleep alone.

I shuddered and braced my hand on the doorframe.

“Hey,” Myla said softly from behind me. I must’ve been standing there a while. “Everything okay?”

“He can’t fuckin’ die,” I murmured, staring at the crisply made bed, a pile of folded blankets set neatly at the foot.

“He’s not going to die,” Myla replied, wrapping her arms around my waist from behind. “Come on, you’re about to fall asleep on your feet. Are you sleeping in here?”

“Hell no,” I replied instantly. “I’m on the couch.”

“Then let’s go to the couch.”

“Need a blanket.”

Myla was quiet for a moment. “One of those blankets?”

“Yeah.”

“You want me to grab one?”

“No,” I rasped. “I’ll do it.”

She dropped her arms from around my waist, and I hurried toward the bed, pulling outmyblanket from the center of the pile, careful not to disturb the others. I strode quickly back out of the room and closed the door behind me.

“Sorry,” I said, leading her back to the living room.

“For what?”

“Whateverthatwas.” I dropped onto the couch with a groan and immediately reached for my boots. They were the most comfortable ones I owned, but it felt like I’d been wearing them for a month straight. “Where are you goin’?”

Myla paused halfway down, her hands on each side of the recliner across the room.

“Nowhere,” she said cautiously.

“Why are you sittin’ over there?”

“You need to stretch out on the couch if you’re going to sleep,” she said reasonably. “I can curl up over here.”

“You’re gonna sleep over there?”

“Well, yeah?”

“Knock it off,” I replied tiredly, pulling off my cut. I tossed it onto the table. Next came my belt. Then my hoodie.

“Knock what off?”

“Get over here,” I ordered, laying back. My entire body relaxed into the cushions. Damn, that felt good.

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