Page 48 of Their Broken Legend

Because I was blackmailed by Lorna Jackson to light it, because she had dirt on my father, because the fire got her a promotion and a front-page article.

“Didn’t your brother tell you?”

“I want to hear it from you.”

I bite the inside of my lip, the sting a tangible companion to the hatred seeping through my veins as I blatantly lie to him—again. “I was bored.”

He shakes his head—my bullshit response is the nail in our not-a-relationship-relationship coffin—and I want to die for uttering it. Holding my breath, so I don’t leap to stop him from leaving, I watch as he forces his feet through the door, once again shutting me inside.

And it’s Groundhog Day with a stubborn-arse-Butcher on one side of the door, and a stubborn-arse-woman on the other. Andyearning.

Absently, I gaze down at the phone in my lap. A Cabi notification is pinned to the top of the display with the word,accepted, beside Mac’s profile along with a message.

Mac:

No pickets this time.

A smile tugs at the corner of my lips, so when the sound of Xander’s drill and Natalie’s giggles starts again, I hold my phone tightly, because I’ve more pressing things to monopolise my mind. Getting my dad out on bail is the priority, not at all how Xander Butcher is outside securing my sisters’ rooms.

CHAPTERFIFTEEN

kaya

As I rushto Mac’s Mazda, my mother’s voice soars across the parking lot. I pretend I can’t hear her, opening the front passenger door and dipping just as a hand grips my arm.

I stop.

“Kaya, where are you going? There was a young man here before adding chains to the doors. I, for one, am very pleased the motel considered our safety.”

Because we are so very fragile, Mother.

My shoulders sag, and I spin to face her.

Rolling my impatient gaze over her, I should be impressed by her self-preservation, but I find myself infuriated by it. She is flawless, even standing outside a cheap motel she shares with fifty strangers and her four daughters. In black Gucci pleats and a white cardigan that would cost more than Mac’s car, she hasn’t adapted in the slightest.

She looks just like me, too.

‘Spitting image,’ everyone says.

My temper sits just below my skin, thinking about Dad in remand, waiting for his vinyl records while she fusses over our décor and hangs photos.

I lean on one hip. “Have you taken Dad his records yet? They are all he wants in there.”

Her hand is still on my arm, so we both look at it, and she retracts her touch under my gaze. She knows I’m not a fan of the touchy-feely mother-dearest moments, and she at least doesn’t make me pretend to be.

“I took them yesterday. You didn’t tell me you were going out.” She has her breathy, polite voice on today. She smiles charmingly, eyeing Mac through the window, her uncertainty turning her nose up further than her Botox did. “I can call someone to help you get around, Kaya.”

I throw my arms up. “I like Cabi.”

“Why? Aunty Jul—”

“I don’t want to rely on everyone around me, Mum,” I say, lifting one foot into the car. “That’s not me. That’s you.”

“I rely on people?” She sighs hard like I’m missing some huge elephant or point or whatever. Abruptly she chuckles just once. A short, defeated sound that I will myself to ignore. “Well, I wish that were true, Kaya.Christ,how I would love to rely on you once in a while, but you’ve already made your mind up, so at least tell me where you are going so that I don’t have to worry all night that you might be in a ditch.”

Resentment snarls along my tongue. “Welivein a ditch.”

Her eyes soften. “I know you’re upset—"

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