Page 116 of Mangled Memory
“You’d defend her. She’d defend you. I’m practically her spare human when you’re around.”
“Never.” I pat his chest and make my way into the house and right into Liam’s broad chest.
He wraps me up in a rare hug. “Ayla-girl.” His words are low and gravelly, as if he only uses his voice when required. “Good to see you.”
“You could’ve stuck around for breakfast two mornings ago and seen me then.”
He does a shake-nod, neither committing or negating the comment, and says nothing further.
We pile into the kitchen. Liam and I take stools at the wide cream island as Cian paces the other side, wearing a pattern in the wide square tile.
“Well, Li, you called us here. What’s going on?” My oldest brother starts.
Liam takes a deep breath, his rust-colored beard dancing in the wake of his exhale, and lifts his Scally cap, rubbing a hand over his shaved head. “I’ve been researching. The attempt on Ayla’s life for one. Dad’s business for another.” He pauses. “Among other things.”
I suck in breath the exact moment Cian stops his pacing as if pierced by the betrayal at his words. His mouth opens but nothing comes out before Liam continues.
“Ma’s sick. PLS—Primary Lateral Sclerosis. She was diagnosed two and a half years ago.”
Um. What the fuck? Nearly three years ago?
“What does that mean?” My ask is quiet. The three of us could hear a pin drop anyway so there’s no need to shout, even if I could get past the tightening of my throat.
“Best I can understand, it’s neuro-muscular and degenerative, but not to the scale of MS or ALS. Not that I understand those either.”
“Is it—” Cian begins but swallows hard and coughs over whatever is lodged there. “Hereditary?”
I feel selfish for wondering the same thing. I’m glad he voiced my worry.
Liam whips out his phone and taps at the keys, before exhaling so hard, hisbody slumps. “No.”
Not that that makes it any better for her.
We all stare at each other.
“What now?” Cian asks. “Are there treatments? Two and a half years—” Eleanor comes to sit at his side, gazing up at him as if he may need her eyes for moral support. “What’s she done for it in that time?
“Were they going to tell us?” I add.
Liam shrugs.
Our questions can’t be answered by the people in this room.
“At the risk of throwing gas on kindling, I should tell you I just came from lunch with Mom.” I pause, thinking about the shaking in her hand, the one I wrote off as anger. Come to think of it, it did that with her coffee earlier this week too. “I’d hoped to clear the air after this.” I swirl my finger around my eye. “I don’t think that was accomplished.”
Cian reaches into the fridge and grabs a beer, extending one to Liam who accepts and another to me. I decline. Cian cracks it open and downs half the bottle before asking, “Why not?”
“Because Dad is Dad.” I tell them about the incident at their house, but focus on the dynamics between Mom and Dad, not the ones around me and him. I tell them what Mom said about Cian and business and about Liam and Dad. I mention that she said I didn’t know a key piece and she wouldn’t disclose it. “You think she was talking about the PMS?”
Liam’s lips twitch. “PLS. And maybe.”
Cian cuts in, “She thinks I’ll just stand by as he tears you apart—” He waves a finger from me to Liam. “…writes off Liam entirely, controls Ma, and runs this business into the ground? Does she think I’m stupid or naïve?”
“What about corruptible?” Liam offers.
I face Liam in shock. He knows better than to think Cian is underhanded.
Cian bows up to his full height. “What did you say?” His voice is lethally quiet.
