Page 117 of Lucky Strike

“I see the way you two look at each other.”

“If you see that, then why ask me to come home with you?”

“Because I don’t know if a man like that’s available the way you want him to be, Bri.”

“Lucky’s a good guy.”

“He’s a great guy, honey.” Anne sighed. “But it doesn’t mean he’s great for you.”

“How come you never dated anybody when I was growing up?”

“Because I was married to your father. What kind of question is that?”

“But you were alone forever,” Bria said in a tone I’d never heard from her before. It was obstinate, a girl having the same argument with her mom she’d had a thousand times. “You could’ve had anyone else?—"

“There was no one else.” Anne was firm.

“Good.” Bria’s voice had returned to its usual, calm timbre, her point made. “Then you understand me.”

Truth be told, I’d considered asking Bria if she wanted to leave. I’d tell her that I understood if things had gotten too crazy, too out of control. She’d almost lost her life, and she was still recovering. But hearing her that day, the way she’d explained herself without faltering, I realized she was committed. She said there was no one else for her, just as there was no one else for me.

She’d seen the very worst and she chose me anyway.

I wave now from Bria’s doorway, depositing Liam back onto the ground. “Hey. I’m home.”

“Hola,” says Maeve, muting the TV.

“You mind if I take a quick shower before we eat?” I ask.

Bria shakes her head, her eyes soft for me. Giving into the pull that only seems to get stronger with time, I walk over and kiss her. Liam pulls gently at me, still finding our affection gross, but he knows better than to be rough around Bria. She touches my cheek. “How was your last day at the office?”

“Anticlimactic.” I straighten, glancing at the TV where they’re watching some kind of baking competition. “I mostly just packed my stuff and finished reaching out to my clients.”

Maeve climbs off the bed, extending her hand to Bria. “Let’s get dinner on the table. I’m starving.”

It’s in the shower, where I’m alone with my thoughts and no distractions, that everything always comes rushing back. The horror of that night. The helplessness I felt. I keep seeing Bria on that kitchen floor, not moving, and Tristan, bleeding profusely. Pulling off that mask and realizing that Steven Murphy had been behind it. Behindeverything.

I don’t know where I would be had Bria or my brother succumbed to their injuries. I might have killed Heath, too. But they did pull through. Their wellbeing—and Liam’s—gives me the strength I need to get through every day.

I let the water run down my face, my pounding head, washing the pain and the guilt and the anxiety down the drain.

When I come downstairsin the morning, Bria’s at the kitchen table with Nola, having coffee. Liam pads quietly behind me, rubbing his eyes. He always gets up with me nowadays. “Morning,” I say.

“Morning,” Liam echoes, yawning.

“Morning,” Nola says, rising from the table. “Sit, I’ll get your coffee.”

“No more sleeping in for this guy, huh,” Bria muses as Liam wandersover to her. He tries to get onto her lap, but I pull him back and scoop him onto mine instead.

“Bria’s still getting better,” I remind him, kissing his head. His sleepy scent still tugs at my stomach, same as it did when he was a baby. I look up at Bria, who gives me a small smile. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m all right.” She shrugs. “You?”

“Sleepy.” I yawn, tousling Liam’s hair. “This guy likes to hog the bed.”

“No, I don’t,” he says through a giggle, squirming off my lap. “You hog the bed!” He gives Bria a careful hug, which she returns with a kiss on the cheek that he wipes off, and then leaves again, Shelby trotting dutifully behind him.

“Well, it is my bed,” I mutter, thanking Nola for the giant, steaming mug of coffee she places in front of me.