Page 37

reverse midas touch

Christian

I have no idea how long I’ve been outside. Long enough that the cold has seeped in even with my thick coat. When the back door opens with a snick and a shadow moves out onto the stone patio, I stand.

“How is she?”

“No.” Cian’s voice is forceful. “No, we don’t start it like this.”

“I only care that she’s okay, so there’s no other way I’ll start it.

” I don’t want to go toe to toe with either of Ayla’s brothers.

Liam is a bulldozer. Cian is the kind I suspect does martial arts but tells no one.

He’s solid, carries himself in a manner that shows no fear, and that’s not because he’s overly cocky. It’s because he knows his body so well.

His feet are planted wide, and his hands rest on his hips. With the light streaming in behind him from the living room lamps, he could be imposing. If I gave a single shit about that.

“Try again,” he says with lethal quiet in his voice.

“Is Ayla okay?”

The sigh that leaves him might as well say I’m an idiot and he’s over dealing with me.

“Is Ayla okay? Of course, she’s not. She found out today that she’s legally incompetent—which you and I both know she most certainly is not—and that she has no agency in her own life.

Can you imagine if you woke up to discover you didn’t have the authority or right to spend your own money or make your own choices? ”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I can.”

The snarl on his face would make a lesser man quake in his boots. And for the first time, I can see the anger Seamus always has simmering under the surface coiling like a snake ready to strike in his son.

“May we?” I gesture to the chairs to sit.

“No. We may not.” The bite in his words is evident.

I begin. I tell him what happened and when. I tell him why and how the decision came to be. And when I’m through, he scrubs a hand down his face before taking that seat he so quickly refused, his legs deciding that holding his weight isn’t in the cards after all.

He extends a hand to a chair next to him as he wordlessly stares out into the trees and beyond.

I wait.

And wait.

When the quiet of the Colorado night is broken by the rumbling growl of Harley pipes, he looks up before grabbing his phone and typing out a quick message.

The night goes silent once again.

Within moments, Liam Murphy stalks around the house and onto the terrace, body tight and eyes fierce, moving for me in act-first think-later aggression.

“What the fuck?” The steel in his voice slices through the quiet of the night.

“Have a seat, Li,” Cian says quietly.

“No.”

Hell. Here we go again.

“Trust me.” Cian extends a hand and looks toward his younger brother.

Liam sets his helmet down with a thud and stares holes through me as he takes the seat opposite me. He breathes as if he had to pedal that bike here.

“I’ll go get us something to drink.” Cian looks between us but speaks to me. “If you’ll tell him what you told me.” Turning to his brother, he adds, “And if you’ll listen and not kill him while I’m gone.”

“No promises,” Liam mumbles, not quite low enough to be under his breath. He strips his armored motorcycle gloves off revealing scarred, tatted hands.

I nod to Cian as he stands and winds his way back into the house, watching him give Eleanor a rub before leading her away from the back door.

By the time he’s returned, bottle and glasses in hand, the dog is nowhere to be seen and I have literally watched Liam morph in front of me. He knows I’ve told him the truth.

“Ayla’s sound asleep. She didn’t even stir when Eleanor jumped onto the bed with her.”

“Almost a win after today.” I reach for the bourbon and a glass.

“You need to know she has a black eye.”

Excuse me. “Explain.”

“Dad was”—he pauses as if tumbling the word around on his tongue—“rough when he got home today. Handprint bruise on her upper arm and a knot on her cheek, more so than a black eye.”

I see red but force my breathing to slow. Seamus Murphy will pay for today.

“I’m staying here tonight, by the way.” It’s not a question.

The eldest Murphy nods once.

“What in the ever-loving fuck?” Liam offers out of nowhere, extending a glass to me as I pour.

“Exactly.” I lift the bottle and Cian pushes the last tumbler across the table.

We all toss back a slug.

“He bruised her twice today,” I whisper into the darkness. “That will never. Happen. Again.”

“Never,” Liam offers.

“Ever,” Cian echoes.

We knock back a couple more shots each before Cian mentions dinner for Liam. “Have you had anything, Christian? Want some dinner?”

“I just want my wife. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll head to bed.”

He nods and extends a hand. “Glad she has you.”

Liam extends a hand. “Same.”

I nod to each of them and then leave them to find my wife.

Ayla

I wake to a thick band of steel wrapped around my middle and snuggle back into the warmth at my back, then freeze. Last night crashes down on me as yesterday washes over me.

My mom.

My dad.

Ward.

Christian.

Declared incompetent.

I know that arm. I know the body behind me. And I know I’m not all right with what’s happening.

I slide toward the mattress and poke my leg out of the covers, aiming for the floor to slip away unnoticed. The arm around me goes taut and a voice whispers in my ear, “You ran away from me yesterday. You didn’t come home. You didn’t call.”

“I assumed when you took ownership you chipped me like a dog, so how was I to know you couldn’t find me?”

“You know better than that.”

“I most certainly do not.” If steam could come from my ears, it couldn’t be more apt.

“Well, you should.” He pulls back enough to push me flat on my back while pinned to my side.

“Oh, do tell me what I should or should not think and feel. Since you’re so good at dictating everything else.”

He leans into me a hair’s breadth away and grits, “You know better—” He taps my head which annoys the fuck out of me. “Here.” And then between my breasts covered only in a thin tank. “And here.”

“Why would I trust you?” I seethe.

“I am asking you to trust yourself.”

It’s like freaking checkmate. I can’t argue against my own mind. If I do, I play right into his hands with the whole incapacitated crap.

“I know my mind and I know my heart. Neither of them trusts you. Both want you well the fuck away from me.”

“I believe your first and your third points, but your second?” He shakes his head. “I don’t believe that. I know you trust me. Deep down inside.”

“You are infuriating. Keep believing your own bullshit.”

“I know you, Ayla. I know you inside and out. I know your mind and your heart and even your temper.” His eyes bore through me. “And I know, without a single sliver of doubt, that you know I will do everything—absolutely everything—to protect you at all times. You can take that to the bank.”

“Like you’ve taken my money?”

“Want to test that theory?”

Fuck yes, I do. “I dare you.”

His laughter is not what I expected. “Get dressed then.” He rolls to his back and exits the bed on the side near the door.

Wait. What? “Happy to call your bluff, Honey.” The last word drips off my lips with disdain. I roll off and jump into yesterday’s ridiculous outfit—the one I was just running for coffee in… mismatched and not for public viewing before remaking my brother’s bed.

“Only you”—Christian offers, as he leans in and redo his side—“could be this angry, throwing down dares, and stop to make the damn bed.” A small smile plays on his mouth.

“It would be rude not to.”

“Right, Princess. Hate to be a bad guest after a shit day.” He stares at my cheek.

“Don’t make fun of me. And it was a shit day. ”

“I’m looking at the evidence of that.” His eyes drop from my cheek to the place where my upper arm is discolored under my rumpled sweatshirt.

“Disowned… or as good as anyway. Marked—twice. And still not the worst part of yesterday.”

He holds my eyes but says nothing, his jaw clenching and unclenching as his fists do the same, before turning his back on me and, if I’m not mistaken, mumbling something under his breath.

“Did you say something?” My voice is a taunt.

“I said, we can agree on that.”

My anger spikes again. Why does he act put out when I’m the one who was victimized?

I slide past him out the bedroom door while finger combing my hair and twisting it up into a knot atop my head.

I make my way into the hall bathroom without another word.

I find an unused toothbrush in the drawer and set to work on my teeth.

When I’m done, I brace my hands on the counter, lean toward the mirror, and study the split at my cheekbone and the bruising around my eyes socket it caused.

“ Get the fuck out, Ayla. And don’t come back.” My dad’s voice, the anger and finality in his tone, come rushing back.

I’m glad I can’t count what’s gone wrong in the last several months. I don’t have enough fingers. And I sure as hell don’t have enough patience. Pretty much everything I’m associated with, except for my bestie that is, has turned from gold to liquid shit. Is reverse Midas touch a thing?

And, worse, I can’t see an escape from it, no way to undo or out run it. No means or opportunity to recoup what I’ve lost… or more accurately, what I am continuously losing.

Fuck it. This can’t get worse. It can’t be any worse.

I pull open the door, slinking past the broody man leaning against the wall, only to find the house empty. No Cian. No Eleanor. Speaking of, I’d be surprised if she didn’t sleep with me last night. I want to ask but I truly don’t have the energy to deal with more.

Christian moves past me to the front door, pulling it open and standing aside waiting for me. Without a word, he moves to the passenger side of his G Wagon to open the door. I climb in and settle, surprised when he hands me my purse. He rounds the hood and gets in, starting the car.

We’re on the road before I ask, “Where are we going? Home?”

Home. How can I even call it that?