Page 82 of Gabriel
Mom: Call us. Dad and I want to hear your voice.
I stared at the message for a moment, jaw tight. The last thing I wanted was to hear their voices—warm, probing, and well-meaning, but inevitably dangerous in the state I was in.
I was still reeling from what happened with Gabriel. Lying to them now would be like trying to thread a needle in the middle of a storm.
But ignoring the message?
That would only be worse. Silence was suspicious. Silence made them worry. And worried parents in my family didn’t just ask questions. They started pulling strings.
I drew a slow breath and fished my phone from my jeans. The office was supposed to be soundproof, though the open windows undermined that illusion. Still, with the yacht floating in the middle of a calm, empty sea, the risk of anyone overhearing was more paranoia than reality.
I flicked through my contacts until I landed on Dad. Calling him first was more of a strategic move on my part. He could be distracted.
Dad was, after all, the reigning Kingpin in place of my mom, and the de facto head of the Irish Mafia for his family. That meant his calls were often interrupted and that was an advantage I could exploit if I played it right.
Still, even that plan felt thin. I hesitated, thumb hovering over the call icon for a second or two before my finger pressed it.
It took only two rings for my father to answer.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
My chest instantly warmed. My father wasn’t like most. He was warm, but also not overbearing. He worried about me, butalso trusted me to take care of myself. Until my recent actions, I’d earned that trust.
“Hey, Dad,” I greeted him, ignoring my guilty conscience. “Good time?”
“For you? Always.”
I smiled at his response.
People always assumed I was like my mom, or even compared me to Mother Liana, but I liked to think I was more like my father. The two of us were two peas in a pod, our tempers always ruled by reason.
“Mom texted, so I’m calling you.”
“I hope that’s not the only reason.”
“Of course not. I love talking to you and hearing your voice.”
“How is backpacking going?” he asked. “Is it all you dreamt it would be as a little girl?”
I’ve been talking about doing this for years, and my father had always been supportive despite my mom’s worries. It was the reason I agreed to delay backpacking until I was a bit older.
“It is even better, Dad,” I answered. “Everyone should do it at least once in their lifetime.”
He chuckled. “I can’t imagine your mama backpacking Europe.”
The image made me laugh too. “Yeah, me neither, but she might enjoy it. I know you definitely would.”
“Ahhh, speak of the devil,” Dad said. “Álainn, our daughter is on the phone.”
For as long as I remembered, my dad called Mom beautiful in Gaelic, and treated her like he really believed that. Their love story might be unconventional, but it was a love story nonetheless.
“Your mom’s about to snatch the phone from me,” he said with humor lacing his voice. “I love you, and hurry back home. We miss you, sweetie.”
“I will,” I said, although I wasn’t sure if I had any business making that promise.
“Amara, sweetie,” Mom’s voice filled the line. “Liana’s worried about you, and now I am too. Is everything okay?”
I should have known it would somehow lead back to Mother Liana.
