Page 129 of Broken Blood Ties
Eyeing the two guards in the front seats, I step back, sliding my phone down from my sweater sleeve and type out a quick message to send.
A simmering coil, something hot and twisted rages in my gut. Watching Kieran send his daughter away, seeing him genuinely concerned about standing up to Riku—no, he definitely isn’t doing this alone.
We stand there, in the driveway, long after the car disappears down the street. Both of us stare after it in silence. I glance at my phone, at the time—8:30 p.m. I’ve gathered over time most of the fights start late in the evenings, especially since Kieran rarely shows back up to the house until after midnight. Sometimes after two in the morning.
“I’m going to unpack. Then I’ll get ready,” I say, uncrossing my arms and allowing the summer night to soothe the sweaty nerves under my cardigan.
Kieran doesn’t seem to hear me as he keeps his expression neutral and focused on the road.
The front door is still wide open, and I slip back through, grabbing for my suitcase and hauling it upstairs. It’s so quiet. The music Aoife was playing in the living room earlier has been turned off. Her bedroom door is open, but her room is picked up, bed made. There isn’t the sound of her giggles or pattering of feet running down the hall. The bustle of Allie flocking from one room or another cleaning or tackling laundry that normally produces a steady hum of productivity in the house is nonexistent.
Sighing, I drag my luggage to my room and open the door. The lights are off, and the window curtains are drawn closed. Allie must’ve been in here. I prefer the windows open for natural light and watching for Kieran to come home.
With a not so lady-like grunt, the suitcase flops on the bed and I open it, seeing the plastic bag of cookies Luna made me to take home.
Goodness, my visit was good.
It’d been so long since I’d seen her, and the last time I did, she was coming to my rescue. Through a few cryptic postcards and the monthly check-ins, I apologized often, but there’s something about finally seeing her in person. I broke down in tears when I pulled into her and Nik’s driveway. They flowed harder when my older sister tucked me into her arms and cried with me.
My soul feels lighter. Free.
Of course, I told her all about Kieran and Aoife. Well, as much as I could. Including the story of how I fell for my student’s father only to be part of the very life I’d escaped.
“Feels like fate,” she’d said. That of all places I’d run away to, it’d be Boston. That of all private schools and all the teachers in the city, I’d have the opportunity to teach his daughter. That we’d hit it off, even though we annoyed each other. That after learning the truth about who I was, he still helped me. Or after learning his true identity, I still felt I could trust him. And finally, after all that—that he was the one who stepped in to help save my sister all those years ago.
It’s like he righted my wrong. All before knowing me.
It does feel like fate.
I set the cookies aside on the bed, pulling out my folded clothes. When I move to the dresser to open the drawer. It’s empty.
I frown. What?
The second drawer squeaks as I open the next one.
Then the next.
All empty.
What’s going on?
Closing each drawer from the bottom up, I toss the clothes back in my suitcase and wander out of my room. I’m on my way to the steps, looking down and unaware, when Kieran’s voice startles me.
“In here.”
I jump, throwing a hand over my chest. Oh jeez.
He’s leaning against the doorframe of his room, ankles crossed with amusement dancing on his face. With the stairs just off to my left, I glance down. He sure got up here fast.
“What?”
“Yer stuff. I had Allie move it in here.” He pushes off the doorway, unblocking the way in, and I move toward him and into his room.
Sure enough, after a quick walk-through, my clothes are hanging in his closet, all my bathroom items are with his, and my books and new phone charger are tucked on one of his nightstands. The gesture sends a thrill skirting through my body.
I turn around to smirk at him, but he’s not smiling. In fact, he looks pissed. Internally wincing, I wonder if he’s having second thoughts about this. I mean, it hasn’t been that long. But then I remember his words downstairs, and even now, with the scowl on his handsome face, his features gradually soften, the harshness easing into tenderness.
“I want ye with me.”
