Page 5 of Mangled Memory
“Seamus.” I don’t miss that Christian doesn’t extend a hand to my dad.
“Barone.” My dad bows up as if his waist circumference will push my husband out of the way by sheer volume.
Neither flinches. If it weren’t my dad, I’d say they could whip them out right now to compare. Instead, I shake my headand turn back to my mom. “Glad you’re here. Liam says Cian is on his way.”
“We talked to him on our way over.” She looks over her shoulder to my dad. “Seamus, enough. Come talk with your daughter. You claimed to be worried for days, and now, when she’s awake, you’re spending entirely too much time on the wrong side of the room.”
Wrong side of the room? Is that commentary or is she just giving him the sharp side of her tongue? I’ll never understand how she gets away with speaking to him that way. I learned early not to talk back or show him any sass. Seamus Murphy did not tolerate his authority being questioned. Or, more accurately, hedoesnot… Which is why he’s still staring down the Italian god-man he’s trying to will out of the room.
I don’t know the man, but it’s apparent my husband has big dick energy.
Mom lets go, pulling back to stare at me from arm’s length. She cups both of my shoulders and looks into my eyes as if she can suss out my thoughts without words.
“Oh, sweetie. You gave us such a scare. I so wish you’d stop your early morning jaunts for this…job.” She emphasizes the word as if it’s the wrong one and she can’t find the one she wants to use.
“Seems the general consensus is that this”—I point at my head—“Was my job’s fault and not my own. It’s an easy scapegoat.”
I love my job. I need my job. Honestly, if it weren’t my job, but a hobby, I’d do it as much as I do now, as often as I can. Same schedule, same risks. Says the girl with the bump on her head and a husband I don’t know. I snort at my own musings,just to see all eyes turn and land on me.
“That’s new.” Cian’s voice joins the fray from the door.
“Ci!” I reach out my arms as my oldest brother easily slides into them.
Where Liam is rough and tumble, barreling through walls in his way, Cian might as well be the law, slipping past barriers with the flash of a badge and some kind of unknown clearance, though he has neither. One is combat boots. The other is loafers. They’re night and day different, and I love them both endlessly.
“Sis, so glad you’re back,” he whispers in my ear. “You gave us a hell of a scare.”
He pulls back to look at me and boops my nose. How that came to be is beyond me. I’m not a dog. But for as long as I can remember, that’s been our thing. He doesn’t do it with anyone else and no one else does it to me. It would be weird.
“I tell you what, we wouldn’t have made it without Christian’s updates. I was able to let work distract me. I don’t know how he didn’t burst out of his skin sitting here willing you to wake up.”
Cian turns and extends a hand to Christian before pulling him into a clapping man-hug. My husband’s eyes never leave mine. They’re black as night and serious as they’re leveled on me.
My dad’s huff of exasperation fills the room. No words accompanying it, but his annoyance is apparent and waiting to be acknowledged.
I drop my gaze from Christian’s probing one. I met him an hour ago and he’s acting like I owe him something or there’s a way I’m supposed to respond. Sorry, Charlie, that’s not how this works.
That’s not how I work.
“So apparently I have memory loss or something,” I announce.
Everyone in the room nods grimly, sad expressions on their understanding faces. Well, except Christian, who doesn’t look sad exactly.
“We’ll do whatever you need and work however the doctors advise to get you back to where you need to be, sweetie.” Mom, ever the optimist, tries to dial back the tension in the room.
Christian comes to my side and sits as my parents and brother surround the other side of the bed. He reaches for my hand and takes hold of it. It might as well be a stranger’s—hell, it is a stranger’s—for how it feels in my palm.
I tug to release it from his only to find it held tighter. Hesqueezes it in his once before returning his grip to its previous hold. Oh, hell no. Who does he think he is?
I know the answer to that…
… and I don’t like it one bit.
“Are you sure you can’t stay?” I ask Liam who’s the last to leave.
“Positive. Not all of us get this kind of spa day.”
“Shut up.” I mime throwing something at him.
