Page 31 of Where Broken Wings Fly

“She’s a good kid,” Killian speaks up from his brooding.

I take a moment to wipe my face again. “We’ve travelled thousands of miles to get here. She’s exhausted, that’s all.”

“Where did you come from?” Lola asks.

“Mexico.”

“Willow, I’m sorry but I need you to answer me something right now. Is someone looking for you? We couldn’t help but notice your fingerprints.”

“Ah… it was an accident, that’s all.”

“An accident?” Killian repeats in disbelief. “Bullshit.”

Panic wraps around my throat. I had no intention of letting anyone see the mess I made of our prints. None of this was supposed to happen.

“A car accident, uh, last week. There was a fire.”

His eyes bore into me. I know he can sense my lying, even from across the room. I drop his intense gaze, playing with my wedding ring again. I wanted so badly to leave it behind or toss it to the bottom of the ocean, but this is our safety net if it all goes wrong.

“We had to leave our home in Mexico,” I add with a sigh.

“Why?” Killian questions.

“I’m getting divorced. We wanted a fresh start.”

“Does this divorce have something to do with the state you arrived in?”

“Of course not. How is this any of your business?”

“When you trespass on our land, it becomes our business,” Killian retorts. “Tell us the truth, Willow.”

“There’s nothing else to tell!”

Before he can launch another attack, Lola silences him with a raised palm.

“Willow isn’t here to be interrogated by you. She’s our guest.”

“I’m concerned for the town’s safety,” Killian argues. “That’s my job.”

“And I’m telling you, that’s enough! Out.”

“Grams—”

“Get out! Everyone.”

Killian’s mouth snaps shut. Eyes burning with anger, he stalks out of the room, leaving Ryder to trail after him with an apologetic smile. Lola motions for Albie to go too.

“I need to speak to Willow alone.”

He vanishes after the others without complaint. Once we’re alone, Lola takes the empty spot on the sofa next to me. She pulls my hands in hers, squeezing them so tightly, my bones creak together.

“I know you have no reason to trust me. I sent you that letter for a reason when I heard of your father’s death.”

“Why?” I can’t help but ask.

“Because we’re family,” she explains simply. “Please let me help you. It’s the least I can do. I didn’t even know that you were still alive.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it living.”

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