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oozy filling

Christian

Vibration in my trousers alerts me to a phone message.

By the third one, I excuse myself from the group of investors and slip through the kitchen into the control room of the restaurant and bar.

The monitors here show everything. Watching the players interact without my presence is more telling than being in the room.

The last alert is the motion detectors at home showing Fitz leaving my house, heading back to his residence on the property. The two prior are his movements around the perimeter and accessing the side door.

Glancing back to the monitors, I realize my wife sits off to the side alone, moving her fingers up and down an empty rocks glass, lost in thought. She appears pensive which is unusual.

Ren enters the room and jolts at my presence here. I slide the phone into my pocket and offer, “We’re going to head out. You good here?”

“Yes, sir. Have a good evening.” And for some reason I’m not going to delve into, he starts humming the theme song to Scooby-Doo.

“Goodnight.” I see myself out. To my horror, that damn song gets stuck in my head. That was my dad’s era, not mine. Fuck me. Of all the earworms…

By the time I make it through the throngs of people to my wife, I find her standing off to the side in a conversation with her brother. Sliding my arm around her waist, I lean to press my lips under her ear.

“Gross.” Cian looks away with his grumbling, but his smile belies his words.

“Hush.” Ayla swats at her brother, not even close to making contact. “You know he makes me happy.”

“That I do, sis.” He turns to me and extends a hand.

“Good seeing you, Christian. Thanks for the invite, I think I’m going to head ou—” The word dies on his lips as his eyes catch on a woman sliding into a corner booth.

“Excuse me.” He doesn’t wait for a reply and moves with purpose toward the other side of the room.

Ayla offers in a loud whisper, “Don’t do anything gross .”

Her brother doesn’t respond.

“You ready, Princess?”

“So ready.” She pushes up to kiss the underside of my jaw. “So ready.”

Me too, baby. Me too.

We’ve nearly made it home when I lift our joined hands and bring them to my lips, kissing her knuckles. It may seem old-fashioned, but something about the classic, gentlemanly gesture reminds me of the manners with which my wife deserves to be treated day-in and day-out.

“Honey, do you think we’re safe at home?” Her fingers squeeze mine as if worried that we’re walking into an ambush.

“I can’t image there’s any place we’re safer, honestly. Why?”

“We can’t rule out that whoever attempted to kill me also attempted to kill you.”

I reflexively reach for my shoulder to rub the faded puckered scar left there.

“Or should we consider that it wasn’t an attempt on you at all, but on me? And with you at the hospital, they came back for me since were you out of the way.” Her voice is quiet and somber.

I pull over to the curb on a side street in our neighborhood. She’s never let up on the story of the masked men the night I was shot. “I always assumed they were targeting me. If I—” The words nearly choke me. I refuse to finish the thought. If I brought this down on her .

“We’re safe. I know it. Though I’m going to ask you not to be outside alone until we can get to the bottom of this. I know we’re walled, but the hot tub, the deck, all of that is too open for my comfort right now.” She opens her mouth, but I squeeze her hand in warning. “Please don’t argue.”

Her eyes flare. “I was going to agree. But it goes both ways. You have to be smart when you’re around town.” She mimics my voice as she adds, “Please don’t argue. We should probably get some blankets for the safe room, and something besides powdered milk. Also, maybe a fully-charged kindle and?—”

My laughter has her slicing her eyes to mine.

“What?” That one word snaps from her lips.

“Princess, I don’t plan on making a habit of being in there, but if you need some luxuries, far be it from me to withhold them.”

Before we can make it to our driveway, both of our phones vibrate in unison. The sigh that leaves me is met with a gasp from my wife, whose face glows by the light of her phone.

“It’s a group text from Liam. Mom is in the hospital at Anschutz.”

“Do you want to change or go like this?”

“Change. But fast.”

She’s out the car and through the back door before I can get the garage door down.

I do that now, reflexively, all the while watching my surroundings.

Two attempts… Correction—at least two attempts and being a sitting duck waiting for number three is causing a spiral.

I’ve stopped leaving the house without a pistol.

Not that it would’ve helped the night I was shot.

And was that bullet meant for me? Or was it meant for my wife?

Ayla

Where is he? We need to go.

Christian enters the closet, thumbs flying over his phone. I don’t even know where mine is. Probably still in the car, if I had to guess.

My silk romper is on the floor, stepped on and tossed aside for jeans and a sweater.

“Hurry!” It’s all I can say as I jump into shoes that should’ve been unlaced and don’t want to allow my feet to slide in fast enough.

Finally ripped open, I shove my feet in before I grab a beanie and a scarf on the way out.

“Sixty seconds behind you.”

How is that possible? And why is it always a thing that it takes me so much longer to get ready?

I’m in the passenger seat of the car, tying my second shoe when Christian slides into the driver’s seat, phone to his ear, and begins navigating us out of the garage. Lights sweep the driveway, and an eerie sense of déjà vu rises, but I refuse to think on it as we take off into the night.

“Is that you following us?” Christian pulls the phone from his face, presses a button for Bluetooth, and toggles to another app.

“Yes, sir.” Fitz’s voice reverberates through the SUV.

“We’re heading to Anschutz. I need you to lead.”

“Yes, sir.” The line disconnects as Christian holds the phone out to me. “Find Smithson Dohltree’s number for me please.”

I do and hit the phone icon as ringing fills the void.

“Barone?”

“Smithson. Sorry for the late call. I need some help.”

“What can I do for you?”

“My mother-in-law, Janie Murphy, was admitted this evening. I need security around her room, and I need the best of the best when it comes to Neuro attending to her.”

“Of course. I’ll make the calls now. ”

“Appreciate it, Smithson.”

“Anytime, Barone. Hope she’s okay.”

I turn to my husband. “Who is Smithson Dohltree?” I stare at the name in his contacts to make sure I have it right.

“The Chairman of the board at CU-Anschutz.”

“You know the head of the board?”

He turns and looks at me for longer than I expect. “I sit on the board there, baby. Have for years. We”— he emphasizes the word—“are also donors.” Quietly, he adds, “I wonder if that’s why Janie was brought here instead of some place closer to the house.”

Somehow those words don’t feel like they were meant to be uttered, more as if they were musings that came out without intent.

Then, still focused on me, a smile breaks across his face. “Ayla, what are you wearing?”

I look down and am horrified but allow a laugh to bubble up through the tension in the car.

I have on jeans and a sweater, all right, but it’s one I no doubt bought as a tacky Christmas sweater, complete with pom poms on it.

I’m wearing lace up rubber boots, and my scarf is cashmere.

“Maybe I should’ve spent another minute in the selection process. ”

“Your mom will be pleased we put her first, although if you keep showing up dressed like you are, she’s going to assume you need a personal stylist.”

“Apparently, I do.” I lift my arms out from my sides as the hospital comes into view.

We pull into the garage and circle several times until we come to reserved parking spaces near the side doors. Fitz, who let us lead from the time we entered the garage, slides into a space near us and exits, his hand inside his jacket, clearing the garage as if we are in a training exercise.

The three of us will turn heads, I’m sure of it.

To my right is the former Army Ranger with his bulk and height in head-to-toe black, who must have thighs thicker than tree trunks, with a military buzz cut and an eat-shit look.

On my left is my gorgeous husband, suit coat abandoned and tie gone, with his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His hair is disheveled as if he ran his fingers through it one too many times in his quest to get here.

I’m bringing up the center with my very questionable outfit and evening-out, drama makeup.

My boots squeak on the floor with every step.

I’m the oozy filling in a hot guy sandwich.

I apologize when I snicker. Both men turn to look at me, but I wave them off.

“Janie Murphy?”

The receptionist types something into the computer before looking between us all. “And you are?” How she has the guts to ask is beyond me. She must have a will of steel.

“I’m Ayla Murphy Barone.” My voice carries an authority I will never get used to.

“Mrs. Barone, your mother is in room 3112. Through these double doors, go to the end of the hall and turn right. Go to the end of that hall and there’s an elevator bank that will take you to the third-floor breezeway. Take that to the end and they’ll buzz you in there.”

I repeat it in my head. End of the hall, turn right. End of that hall, elevators, breezeway to the end. Okay.

We move for the double doors and the clack of an electric lock unbolts and we begin the trek.

“Any idea what we should expect?” I ask and reach for my phone that won’t stop buzzing.

The group chat is popping off.

Cian: En route. Any news yet?

Liam: Not that I’ve heard. I just arrived.

Me: We’re downstairs. Where are you?

Liam: Stuck at security. What the fuck.

“Where’s security?” I pause my steps and the men flanking me do the same.

Christian peers over my head and silently communicates with Fitz in a language I don’t speak. He turns and walks back to where we came from, grabbing his phone. “Liam,” he starts as the Army Ranger to my right, grabs my elbow and turns me forward.

“Mrs. Barone.”

We make our way to the elevators after making the right.

“Do you ever sleep, Fitz?”

My phone buzzes, and I pull it out.

Christian: Cian, room 3112. Show ID at security and you’ll be let in.

Cian: Thanks

Me: Stop texting and driving.

We step inside the elevator, and I stare at the bars on my phone. I’ve lost signal.

“I’m assuming that was a rhetorical question.”

“Sort of.”

“You get used to it.”

“That’s not something I want to get used to.”

We exit onto the breezeway and find another set of double doors, my phone beginning its buzzing again. I press the security button and a disembodied voice comes after the squawking of the system. “May I help you?”

“Ayla Murphy Barone here for Janie Murphy.”

The line clicks and there’s a metal clank telling me the magnet has been disengaged. The doors part, one in and one out as we enter the overly circular area bustling with movement.

“Janie Murphy? 3112?” I ask tapping the desk with my fingers.

The nurse nods toward the corner. “She’s in testing but Mr. Murphy is in there.” I hurry that way, Fitz on my heels, his long strides eating up the distance.

I knock and enter without waiting for a reply. Dad sits alone, overflowing the pleather chair, scrolling his phone. He looks up and his face hardens when Fitz steps in behind me. He rises from his chair, extending a meaty finger our way.

“You can wait outside.”

“I’m afraid I can’t, sir. ”

“I wasn’t talking to you, Rambo.”

“Dad!” I whirl to Fitz. “I’m so sorry for my father. That was uncalled for.”

“Don’t apologize for me. I have nothing to be sorry for. Parading your goon in here is uncalled for, especially when your mom is… fragile.”

“PLS creates fragility. That’s not my fault. You can?—”

“You remember?” My dad interjects.

Remember? What the hell? No, I have no memory of any of it, but that doesn’t mean I can’t bluff. “Of course, I remember!”

There’s a whoosh of air just as Dad shouts, “Then why haven’t you been helping me like you were before?”

What.

The.

Fuck.

My barely audible “What?” is echoed by Liam’s much louder one…

… and Christian’s lethal one.