Page 296 of Mangled Memory
His face is mottled and swollen. He looks terrible. He nods once as if it’s all he has left in the tank.
“And I can drive you to your appointments.”
The look he gives me is comical in its panic.
“Don’t even start with me. It’s been years since I hitanything, and as long as I’m caffeinated, you’ll be fine.” I stretch out the I in fine.
His expression doesn’t change.
When he’s home with me, we can talk freely. How he came to save me. How he came because I needed him.
Mom’s sniffling breaks our moment.
“What?” Liam interjects. He has no soft spot, except for me. Not even for Mom.
“My babies love each other and take care of each other. Ayla was hurt. Now Cian is hurt. It’s terrifying as a mom to not be able to protect your kids.”
And, as always, Liam drops the hammer. “We need protection from Dad. Did you miss that part?”
Ouch.
I flinch. Mom flinches. Cian stares straight ahead.
Liam, though, holds Mom’s eyes in a most painful way, like holding a mirror to her so she can’t deny reality. “Ayla’s ‘accident’ was because of Dad. Or we can assume. Cian’s injuries definitely were.”
Mom puts her trembling hands to her face and sobs into them, her body shaking with the force of the motion.
Cian, whose natural tendency would be to protect Mom from this, stands silently staring at her. He finally folds into a chair across from her and pats the seat next to it, a silent request for me to join him.
“Mom?” I call, breaking the tension of Liam’s statement and the fact that he left her to wallow in it with no reprieve. “We didn’t get to talk at Anschutz. Why didn’t you tell us about your diagnosis?”
Her head snaps up, and Cian’s one eye lasers in on me.
She shrugs and stares off.
“Mom.” My voice is more urgent. “We deserve to know. I deserve to know.”
After a long moment, she begins quietly, “At first it was just shock. Everything was going so great for us personally and with the business.” Her eyes dart to my brother at my side. “Everyone was happy.”
A small sound escapes Cian’s lips followed quickly by a low moan.
“I was shocked. Your father was beside himself. He became so protective, too protective. I could barely breathe with how much he tried to protect me from… everything. Eventually, to be quite frank, I decided I’d rather live in denial.” She lifts her chin in an almost defiant gesture. “I didn’t want to live with a condition that’s degenerative. I don’t want to consider a wheelchair. Not when I’m ninety, much less at sixty. I put all my focus into pretending my body wasn’t fighting me just because it could.”
I say nothing, letting her get it all out.
“We knew it wasn’t hereditary. This wouldn’t impact any of you. Except for the three of you watching me deteriorate. But aging does that to some anyway, so maybe we could sweep it under the rug. Maybe the tremors could be muscle weakness, and the stumbling could be inner ear issues. Why must I tell you? Why should I watch you worry or have you helping me like a child?”
Cian exhales from beside me, and I place a hand on his knee to squeeze. I have no clue what he wants to say, how he feels, what’s running through his mind. But fuck if I’m going to make him expend that kind of energy on this conversation.
“When your father learned of the trial—” She stares off, lost in thought or memory. “He recommended me for it. He begged. I was declined and added to the waitlist. Your dad knew Christian from his business dealings. He knew he was single and powerful and had sway with the board at Anschutz. He approached you.” She stops as if that’s the end of the tale.
“And?” My eyes must be bulging from my head.
“Are you going to make me say it?”
“Well, since I don’t know the story, and apparently Dad—with your what… permission or acquiescence or blessing—set me up to bait a man, I fucking deserve to know.” My voice is rising, and I give zero shits who overhears.
“You don’t get it.”
