Page 70 of Myla: The Hawthornes

“Well—”

“Stop,” Aoife said quietly, her voice hoarse. She turned to look at Richie, and what composure he’d been hanging onto was gone in an instant. “You know I can’t.”

“E—” he pleaded.

“You know I won’t leave them.”

“Aoife—”

“You know I’d have to bedeadto leave them,” she said harshly, slicing her hand through the air. “You’ve always known that.”

“Who are we talking about here?” the suit closest to me asked.

No one answered him.

My gut churned with nausea.

“They’re grown now, baby,” Richie argued. “You did your part.”

“You think it ends when they’re out of the house?” Aoife shot back.

“Think about what you’re saying, Aoife,” Richie replied, grunting as he tried to sit up further in bed.

“You know my answer,” Aoife whispered painfully.

“How can I protect you if I’m stuck in some safe house somewhere and you and Sean are here?” he asked desperately. “You have to come.”

“I don’t,” Aoife replied, straightening her shoulders. She looked like she was about to shatter into a million pieces. “I’m not.”

Richie stared at her for a long time before his gaze moved to me. He didn’t have to say a word.

I nodded.

If the suits hadn’t been in the room, I would’ve told him it was a terrible fucking idea. I would’ve warned him that there was a good chance he wouldn’t even make it to trial, and even if he did—he’d have that monkey on his back for the rest of his life. Once he testified, there wouldn’t be a place on the West Coast that was safe for him, maybe even the entire US. I would’ve urged him to get a lawyer, to play dumb, to keep his mouth fucking shut until we could figure out how to get him and my sister out of this mess safely.

But the damage had been done before I’d even entered the room. Richiewasn’ta criminal mastermind, and to him? The FBI was a godsend. He’d never wanted to fall into the shit with Kitz. He’d been offered an opportunity, and the moment he’d said yes, Kitz had all he needed to keep Richie on a leash. As I watched detachedly, my brother-in-law convinced himself that going into witness protection was the best for all involved and seemed to sink into the bed, as if agreeing to testify against the crazy motherfucker had absolved him of the mess he’d made.

Half an hour later, there was a plain clothes officer sitting at the nurses desk across from Richie’s door as I led my sister gently out of the room.

“What the fuck just happened?” she asked under her breath, her fingers digging into my hand.

“Just keep walking.”

Everyone stood as we came through the ICU doors, but we didn’t stop. I just kept leading her toward the elevator.

“Let’s go,” I said quietly as we passed them.

“All of us?” Saoirse asked.

“Everyone,” I confirmed.

We didn’t speak as they followed us onto the elevator, out through the lobby, across the driveway, and into the garage.

“Myla, can you drive her?” I asked as we reached Aoife’s car.

“I can drive,” my sister argued dully.

“I’ll drive,” Myla said quickly, moving closer.

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