Page 46

breathing peanut butter

Christian

My wife is as striking today as the day I met her, though I’m even more attracted to her. It could be her strength. It could be her passion. It could be the red hair, green eyes, and fair skin that are the antithesis of my dark on dark on dark.

In so many ways, we are opposites; more so, we’re foils.

She is the light to my dark, the bold to my reserved, the flame to my ashes.

She’s the art to my science. The color in my black and white world.

How she could bloom in the orbit of Seamus Murphy is a testament to her tenacity.

She’s the flower that grows in the crag of the rock, bringing beauty to barrenness.

I lie in bed, one hand behind my head, staring at the ceiling, unseeing. She’s rolled to spoon into my side, one long leg thrown over mine, pinning me in place. That happened about ten seconds after I got out of the shower and slid under the covers.

Her presence calms me. Hell, it’s always calmed me. Even on days like today… especially on days like today when the hits just keep on coming.

Ren Gallo is my brother and has known for more than a decade. He’s worked for me for two years. He came to me, all the while knowing. The whole thing was a farce to what—get to know me, be privy to my business, or was it for money?

My stunning wife has spent months assuming—or at least contemplating—I tried to kill her. Me—the buffer between her and the outside world. I’m the guardrail along the ledge she ventures. And she didn’t know it. And I didn’t recognize she had questions.

Liam texted tonight that Seamus is involved in some weird shit.

He needs more time to investigate, but Ayla’s dad has business dealings, questionable ones for sure, with a ghost corporation called C-Bar Holdings.

The name is not lost on me. It’s a subsidiary of a hedge fund group it turns out is backed by some über-wealthy Laotian businessmen.

I had to look up Laos on a map because that’s how far out of my depth I am with this.

It pinged due to foreign trade documents.

No matter how deep Liam or his contacts dig, they can’t find anyone local.

And since real estate is always local, it matters.

Why would Seamus buy, retrofit, or rent properties when there’s no one to use or lease them?

The name of the game in business is profit.

None of us trade our time for anything other than that.

Murphy doesn’t have the capital to buy and hold at these levels for an indefinite time period.

So why would they? And how are they managing it?

And how does this impact Cian? He’s shrewd in business and zero bullshit when it comes to dealings.

How much does he know about the Laotian interests?

While we once were competitors, he’s made a point since I’ve been with Ayla of keeping business strictly that.

Where we both want a property, we let the chips fall where they may with the bids and then walk away.

Family is supreme. No deal is worth risking what matters most. Besides, Cian’s ego isn’t tied to the size of his portfolio.

I’d bet Seamus probably hates that about him.

Exactly one day of digging and my world wants to crater with what’s being exposed. I slide my hand around Ayla’s hip and tug her deeper into my body.

So long as this doesn’t impact her, I’m fine.

So long as she’s safe, I’ll be okay.

Money is money. I can make more.

But Ayla? I can’t live without her. She’s my priority.

I wake to an empty bed.

Chalk this up to one of my top five least favorite things.

Since our early days, I’ve hated this, but it’s an area I’ve had to “compromise on”—Ayla’s words—because she’s not going to miss the shot “because I’m a controlling ass,” also her words.

She rises way too damn early. It’s an occupational hazard.

The list of things we’ve compromised about skews heavily on the side of my wife getting her way and me feeling the stress to avoid being the aforementioned controlling ass I absolutely can be.

This isn’t like last time. Or the time before that or the time before that.

Grabbing my phone, there’s no message from Fitz detailing her movements. He lives on the grounds and deals with her ridiculous wake-up times too. He doesn’t like it, but the military drilled it into him, and he was the best of the best, so, I compromise.

I navigate to the cameras and find my wife at her desk in her studio, clicking across the screen. Workaholics, the both of us. I sigh and throw back the covers, yank on some sleep pants, and make my way to the kitchen. Two coffees made, I head upstairs and slip into the open studio door.

Ayla has one foot on the floor, the other on the seat of the chair, chin propped on her knee. Her eyes roam the screen as if scanning pixel by pixel for any imperfection in the image. She swivels to the door and a soft smile breaks across her features.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Your absence did.” I set the cup down on her desk before settling on the sofa with my own.

She stares at me for a long moment, making no attempt to hide her appreciation of my body. Her eyes drift shut as she sips her coffee, and she makes a little hum of contentment before returning her gaze to me. “Thank you for my coffee. I didn’t mean to wake you. What time did you come to bed?”

“A little after one. What snagged your attention on that shot?” I use my mug to gesture to her screen.

She looks at the screen before turning it to face me. “His eye. It’s the same amber as the moose’s. I swear they’re trying to tell me something. I know that sounds hokey, but there’s something in the eyes.”

“The eye of the storm.” I take another pull of coffee as she freezes.

“That’s it. That’s the name. With the slate gray background and the snowstorm fuzzing out the edges, it’s perfect.”

“Fuzzing out? Is that a photography term I’ve never heard?”

Her smile is breathtaking.

“Come here, Princess.”

She saves her work and slides out of her chair, nabbing her coffee, before leaning deeply into my side, feet curled in below her.

My exhale is the settling of my soul. All is right in the world when she’s where she belongs.

Ayla

“I need to go see Mom today. Or at least attempt it.” I’ve been burrowed into him for forty-five minutes or so, simply enjoying the closeness and the faint pine scent of his soap. My coffee is gone and his is too, yet neither of us has moved.

His breath leaves him as a sigh.

Using a hand on his abs to press myself up, I look him in the eyes. “What?”

“Will you invite her here? Or meet somewhere more…” He pauses as if deciding on the correct word choice. “Neutral? ”

“I can, but if she doesn’t agree…” I leave the sentence dangling.

“Love, your cheek is still bruised, and you have fingerprints on your arm. You can see, and I mean physically, not metaphorically, why I wouldn’t want you to be near him, right?”

Him. My father. Get the fuck out and don’t come back. I never repeated what he said to Cian or Liam. I never told Christian, either.The black and blue marks spoke to them of his brutality, while his words screamed betrayal to my soul.

“You’re not wrong,” I hedge. “I’ll see where she’s comfortable aside from there. But he’s still my dad. Birthdays… Holidays… He’ll be around.” What I don’t say is that time to cool off can’t be bad.

“I need to go into the office today. At the risk of being overbearing and overprotective—” His eyes trail to my bruised cheek. “Would you please keep me posted on you today? I know it’s not your thing, but me not being able to help you isn’t mine. So I’m asking for a little help.”

I study his face before making my decision and leaning up to kiss the underside of his jaw. “Sure, Honey.”

He jolts a little in surprise. His answering smile, though… that’s worth everything I gave to put it there.

“So,” I ask mom across the table three hours later. “How bad was the fallout?” We’re at the same restaurant we met at all those months ago in Cherry Creek North.

Our conversation was tentative to start and very surface level. We started with the weather. Not that spring weather isn’t always a topic of conversation in Colorado, but it’s my mom, and three days ago was that day.

Purple stains rest beneath her eyes. It could be bruising from my elbow to her nose when I wrenched free from Dad. It could be exhaustion. I stare at the shadows until she breaks my gaze, looking over the lunch crowd.

“I feel terrible, sweetie. I hate that we left on those terms.”

That wasn’t what I was asking at all .

“Mom, we’re fine. I promise. I couldn’t not go, not after his insistence, but I hated leaving you to his anger. Well, I hated it after I woke up, after the EMTs checked me out, and after the Uber came since I couldn’t drive due to another blow to the head, you know…”

She swats at the air as if swiping away my silly thoughts, and I see red.

“Your father is protective. He always has been. He dotes on me and will go out of his way to make sure I’m okay.

He and Christian are alike in that regard.

He hates that Christian wraps you in a bubble, but only because he’s on the outside looking in. ”

Yeah, that’s not it, but we’ll pretend.

“So long as you and I are okay.” I take another bite of my salad, noting that she doesn’t miss the emphasis I put on the two of us and not the collective we .

“You know, he’s only going to have Ci left if he keeps this up and Cian isn’t doing much to be available for his control.

He may be the oldest, and it may be his livelihood, but he’s not going to stick around if his brother and sister, and potentially his mother, are taking abuse at the hands of the same man. If you think he is, you don’t know Ci.”