Page 148 of Mangled Memory
“Watch your mouth, you little brat. I’ve done more for you than you could ever imagine.”
“I’m good with not knowing anything about your “sacrifices” for me.” I throw my fingers up in quotes even knowing he can’t miss the sarcasm in my words.
“Now call off your dog and get the fuck out of here.”
“One last question, any other illegal dealings or activities I need to know about?” I hold up my phone and show him the display with the voice memo app ticking down the recording of his confession.
“You fucking bitch.”
“This fucking bitch is no longer your concern. You are dead to me. Whether that’s here in this hospital today or twenty years from now on the side of the highway like roadkill, I won’t care. I won’t mourn. It will be any other day in my calendar.”
“Ayla!”
“If you ever come near me, my husband, my children, or my brothers, their wives, their children, or our children’s children, this recording will surface. It will be spread to every businessman within one hundred miles, every news station, every judge. And then we’ll determine the statute of limitations on felony drug trafficking. I’ll make sure of it.”
Without another word, I turn on my heel and leave the room. I’m halfway down the hall when I see Christian leaning on the wall, thumbs flying over his phone. I run for him and launch myself into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist.
“He confessed to everything. It’s all over.”
“Then it seems I owe you an iced tea.”
“That you do.”
42
antioxidants and shit
Christian
My wife seems almost docile in the two weeks following the incident. Despite her coming to terms with her dad’s betrayal, her mom’s diagnosis, and Fitz being sidelined and unable to shadow her on her hikes, Ayla is mellow and happy. It’s as if her soul settled, and the contentment it brought was a balm to wounds that were deeper than I knew.
She hikes with Eleanor and Cian as often as she can, but they go out after the sun rises. That’s not to say she doesn’t leave the bed before me, but even knowing that the threat is less than before, she chooses safer options each time.
Cian plans to head home this weekend. I think Ayla would have them live with us forever if she could swing it. That moment in Lakewood took a tight relationship and forged a bond that is unbreakable. It’s not like Liam is on the outside looking in. It’s just that her oldest brother’s life was in the balance and resting in her hands in a way that wouldn’t have included Liam if he hadn’t intentionally inserted himself.
Police have slowed their investigation into that day, mostly because the Laotian nationals who survived claimed immunity and the assumption prevails that they did so due to drug trafficking, murder, and attempted murder. No one is looking too hard at ballistics since there’s no evidence of Liam’s involvement.
He left the hospital in an Uber to retrieve his bike,let Eleanor out, and returned with no one the wiser for it. That included us. I happened to ask since he took my vehicle.
The question before me now is how to best support Cian in his new venture. And how to do that without offending him.
Liam was easier. He’s a genius, even if his father refused to recognize it. It’s the reason I gave him start-up capital to get his business off the ground—his skill, the technology, and the void in the market he could quickly fill.
The potential clientele didn’t hurt either, though I lent him my contacts, not the other way around. He is loyal through and through and would’ve been good to me just because he adores his sister and would do anything for her.
He repaid everything within the first year. We never discuss my involvement. It was the right thing to do, and he was the right man to do it for.
Now if I can just do the same for Cian.
Eleanor comes bounding down the stairs, skids to a stop in front of me, and puts her butt on the floor, tail swishing from side to side. She’s taken to doing this a couple times a day working treats from everyone in the house. Cian would have a fit, but I give her one anyway. Little does she know she won’t be the only pup around here for long, even if she is the one who stole my wife’s heart. Or expanded it to make room for another.
“Hey, sweet thing. Do you need a treat?”
“She does not.” Cian’s voice booms from the landing.
“Of course she does,” I say to the dog and toss a biscuit her way.
Cian sighs and swipes a hand down his face. The bruising around his eye is yellow and green, but the swelling has reduced significantly. He looks less like Quasimodo than he did two weeks ago or even last week.
