Page 101 of Lucky Strike

Bria’s silent for a moment, likely absorbing this. “If this was intentional, then the blame is on who did this. Not you.Them.”

But it’s hard not to blame myself.

Late afternoon sunlightglimmers over Boston Harbor, fragments of gold caught in the small, choppy waves. I watch the progress of a ferry making its way across the water, and farther out, a cargo ship. Unlike the summer, when the harbor is full of sailing regattas and water sports, it’s quiet. Peaceful. Things start to calm down this late in the year.

Sipping the whiskey that I brought back from Savannah last summer, I turn from the floor-to-ceiling windows. I spent most of the day with Tristan and Dad, who flew back to Boston with Mom the day after the accident. Bria and Liam stayed here at the condo with Terry and Mitch, resting. I’d rather Liam stayed here with her, period, but Bria’s determined that he go back to preschool as soon as possible.

“It’s safe there,” she said this morning, when I came by to check on them. “And Liam needs normalcy. Routines. You don’t want him paralyzed by fear.”

Loath as I am to admit it, she’s probably right. She says he hasn’tbeen sleeping well, so she often ends up bringing him to her bed. He clings to me whenever I leave, too, crying. It’s hard to comfort him physically when we’re in so much pain, ourselves. My injuries aren’t as bad as Bria’s, but my sternum is tender enough that it hurts to breathe sometimes. Not being able to give Liam what he needs tears my heart out of my already battered chest.

I’ve been going nonstop since the accident, looking for the dogs, staying on top of work, running Saoirse. Trying to figure out what the fuck happened the night of the crash. Who’s been watching us? And how did they get into my townhouse when I have eyes on it almost all the time? Granted they chose a good time to hit, when the streets were filled with people, but still.

When I do sleep, it’s at Tristan’s. I check on Bria and Liam all the time, but she’s given up asking me to stay the night.

If I’m the target, they’re safer without me.

Liam walks into the living room, running over to the window where I was just standing. “Look, Dad. A ship!”

“Yeah, I saw that. Where do you think it’s going?”

He runs his fingers absently over his cast, concentrating as he watches the ship. “Africa, probably.”

“You think?” I smile, mindful of his arm as I pull him to my side. “They have a long way to go, then.”

“Yeah.” He presses his nose to the cold glass. “Maybe they’re going to Madagascar.”

There’s been a lot of movie-binging since they got to the condo, andMadagascaris a favorite. Bria walks over slowly, trying to towel water from her hair with her left hand. My chest tightens, seeing her like that. I close my eyes, tossing back the rest of my whiskey.

“When are we gonna get Shelby and Bacon back?” Liam asks suddenly, his lip pushed out. He asks about them all the time.

“Soon, buddy.” I told him they were on a vacation. I hate lying to him, but he’s freaked out about the accident and not being home as it is. Hearing that the dogs he’s known for most of his life might not be coming back would gut him.

“When is soon?” he pushes.

Bria’s pained eyes meet mine for a split second. “Hey, do you want to get pizza tonight?” she asks in an effort to redirect him.

Heshrugs, running into the living room and flopping facedown onto the couch.

“Have you heard anything yet?” she asks in a low voice.

I shake my head. “We have guys asking around, seeing if anybody’s heard anything. I’ve been reaching out to local vets, animal shelters. Nothing.” Taking her towel, I pick up where she left off, carefully squeezing her curls until they’re not dripping anymore. “All I can do is wait, at this point.”

“I hope they’re okay,” she whispers, looking away.

“I’ve been meaning to get them trackable collars.” Despair hollows out my chest, and for a moment, it’s hard to breathe for reasons other than the contusion on my sternum. I hand Bria back her towel. “Really fucked up on that one.”

“Aren’t you on pain meds?” She follows me to the bar cart, watching as I pour myself more whiskey.

I swirl my glass, admiring how the sunlight shines through it. “Haven’t taken any since early this morning.”

She tucks a damp curl behind her ear. Even with the scabs and fading bruises, she’s still the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. “Ma called today. We hadn’t talked in a while.”

“How’s she doing?”

“Fine.” She sighs, leaning against the counter. “I feel so far away from her.” We haven’t told her mom or sister what happened because the situation is too fluid. Volatile. We don’t know if, or when, the people that hit us will strike again. “What about you? How’d your meeting go?”

“Frustrating, like we were going in circles. The only people we have beef with right now are the Bratva.” I rub my temples in an attempt to alleviate my lingering headache. “But why would they attack like this? Unprovoked?”

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