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give me iced tea

Ayla

I wake long before the sun. That’s not true.

I barely sleep. I’m exhausted, well and truly drained, but when I close my eyes, I see my trembling hands holding the heavy black gun to Dad’s head.

It wasn’t like the one in the safe room.

This one had a long thin pointy end that was rubbing back and forth in his hairline with each rise and fall of my panicked breaths. My terror was palpable.

My hands shook like Mom’s surely will as she ages. My hair kept falling into my eyes and sticking to my face. And Dad’s hateful eyes stared as if I offended him with my tears.

It’s the hate there that I can’t reconcile with the man I know. That’s not true. The man I know is exactly that. The man I thought I knew was fierce, even if he was domineering. He was the disciplinarian with unrealistic expectations. But he wasn’t cruel. At least to me.

When the sun rises, I’ll be done with him. I’ll give myself the rest of the pre-dawn morning to grieve losing the man who should’ve been my protector, who could’ve been my champion. The man who wanted fearful minions more than respect and love from his children.

I grieve my mother’s health, knowing she will lose even more autonomy because of her dependence on him.

Knowing, too, that she’ll lose a depth of relationship with her grandchildren because of her choice and her need for my dad.

I told her, not knowing how true it was, that I wouldn’t allow my kids around a man like him.

That’s cemented for me now. My children will never be in their home. They’ll never have him at a birthday party or have their grandfather at their school for donuts or whatever shit they cook up now.

We’re going to be the family that celebrates with uncles and, God-willing, aunts and cousins.

We’ll have big to-dos and surround our children with all the love they can handle.

At the same time, we’ll find a way to encourage them, uplift them.

They can be astronauts or artists, scientists or sculptors.

They can be real estate moguls or mogul skiers.

I have no clue how to parent, but I know how not to. Today reiterated that.

Christian groans in his sleep from my side, and I roll into him, carefully avoiding being near his wound. There’s a bruise on his face that looks more egregious than yesterday.

His dive in front of me wasn’t graceful, but it was effective. It also bought him this bruise and some others at his ribs and on his elbow.

His moans stop and he mumbles one word before falling back into deep rhythmical breathing. “Ayla.”

I’m here, Honey . I’m here.

I don’t move from his side. I want to check on Fitz. I want to check on my brothers. But I need to be here, wrapped in the cocoon of my husband’s arms, safe at his side, giving him what he’s given me.

I weep for my family. I cry over so much that’s been lost. But when the sun rises, I dry my eyes and start listing every single thing that’s good in my life. I have no clue how far I get in the list, because fatigue overwhelms me, and I drift off to sleep.

It’s the scent of coffee that wakes me. Coffee and voices in the kitchen. I’m usually the first to rise, not to mention we rarely have guests.

It all comes flooding back. Cian is here.

I leap out of bed and grab a tee and sleep pants from the closet before I double back for a bra. No need in letting it all hang out.

Grabbing the coffee from my nightstand, I take a deep swig, loving the warm vanilla latte, and head for the kitchen.

It’s not just Cian, Liam is here too. Ren is off to the side, quietly standing sentinel. “Hey, Ren.” I wave but head for my brother.

I give Liam my first hug, shoving his coffee mug out of the way, and holding him much longer than usual. “Morning, Li.”

“Ayla-girl,” he whispers into my hair.

Cian is next. Our eyes hold. Well, mine and his one good eye, since the other is hugely distended and purply black, as is the whole left side of his face. “Morning, Ci. I’m glad you’re here.” I mean it in both senses of the word. He says nothing, but I don’t expect anything either.

Yesterday forever changed my relationship with my brothers. Liam saved me. Cian was willing to die for me. It’s hard not to have that leave a permanent mark on my soul.

I head for my husband, whose arms are open wide to me, and burrow into him. “Morning, Honey.”

“Morning, Princess.” He turns me in his arms so we’re side by side. “We need to talk,” he says to the room, apropos of nothing.

If I could lose all my morning mojo with four words, it would be those.

Christian

The Murphy siblings pile around the island, and I hand Cian a fresh glass of ice water. He lifts his chin to me in thanks.

Liam is on his own. He’d probably be offended if I serve him anyway.

“Liam and Ren have been digging into my business holdings and Seamus’s, into me personally, and Ayla as well.

We found some clues that paint a picture I don’t like.

We need more minds teasing this out. I normally play shit closer to the vest, but this isn’t about strategy, and I have no reason to think I’d be vulnerable with the two of you.

” I look between Ayla’s two brothers. “Yesterday was… appalling and eye-opening.”

“Terrifying,” Liam adds.

Cian nods.

“And I don’t want a repeat.” I turn to my security chief in the sitting room. “Ren, can you come be a part?” It’s an olive branch. I’m not there yet, but I’ll try. “Please tell them everything you’ve discovered.”

He takes a seat at the island and meticulously divulges everything he’s learned in the last several weeks.

“Liam, the floor is yours.”

Ayla’s brother provides background on everything he knows, then says, “To add, four of the six men from yesterday survived and were arrested. The one holding Cian, may he rest in hell, and one who was hit by a “stray bullet” who was taken away in a body bag did not.” His air quotes don’t go unnoticed.

“According to the coroner’s office, one was roughly two hundred and fifteen pounds and the other was one ninety-five.

Buck ninety-five guy had a crescent moon scar near his eye.

No way to know, but guessing those are your thugs from the night you were shot. ”

“One stray bullet, you said. Was the other intentional?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” Liam says matter-of-factly. “I took that shot.”

Cian’s head whips to Liam as all eyes land on him. Cian’s good eye wells, but no tear spills. He dips his head to his brother and is met with the same in return.

Ayla sniffles, and I tighten my hold on her.

When the moment has gone on long enough and is entering awkward territory, Ren interjects.

“So let’s assume those are the two men in black, there are four more behind them ready to complete the job.

Are they grunts taking orders or are they decision makers who got tired and decided to do their own dirty work?

And can we find out if Seamus was held with them overnight? ”

Liam’s thumbs fly over his phone as Ren continues.

“If they weren’t the men, we have at least two sets of players to contend with.

If they are, then who funds them? Who’s making the decisions?

Grunts are replaceable. Take out one pawn, another pops up on the board.

Take out the king, another head rarely rears up unless it is organized crime.

If this is organized, they’re bad at it. ”

“Dad was held in the same cell as the surviving men.” Liam looks up from his phone. “He was taken to the hospital late last night under guard after being severely beaten.”

“Which hospital?” my wife asks, before shaking her head. “Never mind. Not my problem anymore.”

All eyes turn to her. “You sure, Princess? He’s still your dad.”

“He’s nothing to me.” She looks from me to Cian. “He deserves none of my focus. Please go on, Li.”

Liam licks his lips and continues, “The four men were separated and interrogated. None spoke a word. All were found to have falsified visas.”

“So what does that mean?”

Liam’s eyes scan as he huffs and grunts. “It means dick. Each asked for their one call to be to the Laos Embassy in DC and requested diplomatic immunity.”

“Diplomatic immunity is for government officials,” Ren offers. “How the hell would foreign diplomats end up in Seamus’s business?”

All eyes turn to Cian who looks away before staring from person to person to person around the room. He holds up his index finger before rubbing his thumb against his index and middle fingers in the unmistakable gesture for money.

“How long?” That’s Liam.

I pull my phone from my pocket, open the notes app, slide the device across the island counter to Cian who intercepts it. He types, spins it around to Liam who announces, “Two and a half to three years ago.”

“All roads lead back to Mom’s diagnosis.” Ayla offers. “So he’s shit to us, but doing everything, legal or illegal, ethical or unethical, to help her.”

Cian lifts one shoulder at the same time Liam says, “Fuck if I care.”

“Which also means that Ren’s and Liam’s audits are best focused on that window of time,” she continues.

“Later stuff is plausible, but that level of desperation would show up in decisions made, financial or otherwise during that window. Ci, can you get us into those records before the police get to them?”

The oldest Murphy offers a quick thumbs-up before dropping his head.

Liam slaps him on the shoulder. “Same options on the table—take over, start fresh, or sink in.”

Cian’s good eye slices to a slit. He grabs the phone, types, and slides the phone to Liam with force. He exits the room and closes the powder room door with a thud.

“I’m going to fix breakfast,” Ayla offers.

“Anything else we need to discuss?” I add.

“Just to say,” Ren starts. “Asking for diplomatic immunity is end game. That’s not for beating someone up and getting away with it, that’s for getting home when you want out. What if getting Seamus was the point?”

“Then why involve Ayla?” I ask.

“Because if they saw me with him before, they’d assume we had a good relationship. Perhaps they thought they could draw him out using me as bait.”

“It’s a good a theory as any right now,” I say. “And unless the Laotians tell the local authorities?—”

Liam scoffs.

“Or Seamus confesses?—”

Another scoff, this one in unison with Ren’s.

“Then we may never know. Ayla?” She looks up at me. “I’m going to grab the blender and the protein in the butler’s pantry. Let’s make sure Cian has some nutrition in him that doesn’t require chewing.”

“I’ve got it.” She pushes up, kisses the underside of my jaw, and moves out. Old Ayla never did that; new Ayla has never stopped.

When she’s left the room, Liam says, “There’s still the matter of who tried to murder my sister.”

“Yeah. I haven’t forgotten that either. Trust me.” I grab my phone when a new text comes in. Before I check it, I discover what Cian wrote to his brother— As if I could sink in. Besides, who would want what’s left anyway?

Breakfast done and eaten, Cian retires to the guest room for some peace and quiet. Liam takes off with a wave, and Ren heads to Fitz’s place on the grounds to put some things together for us to take to the hospital.

“Princess?”

Ayla turns from where she’s cleaning the kitchen. Again. “Yeah?”

“You need to check on your mom. You may even need to head to the hospital to be with her.”

“I need to see Fitz.”

“We’ll do that too. But think about it, okay?”

“I really want to get out of here. I want to get into the mountains. I want to find those May flowers that brave the oncoming snow to bloom a bit early. I need the hike and the fresh air. I really want to go to the bungalow in Aspen and sit on the front porch and drink iced tea.”

I laugh. “You don’t drink iced tea.”

“Don’t ruin my fantasy! I want to be safe enough to do all that. I want Ci not to need what could amount to months of surgery. I want you not to have two bullet wounds. Give me iced tea.”

“All right, love. You should have iced tea in Aspen. We’ll find a way in the next couple of weeks, even if it’s just for a day. That work?”

“Yes.” It’s as if all the air whooshed out with that word. “Thank you.”

“And, if we can be positive that we’re not sitting in the crosshairs of the Laotian government, or anyone else your dad has pissed off, all the more reason to take those hikes. With Fitz or me, of course. You might find Cian is a good hiking partner too.”

“Ellie,” she practically screams. “We need to go get Ellie. Come on.” She grabs my hand and tosses my keys to me.

When we’re on the road and almost to Cian’s, she whispers, “I have an idea.” Her eyes light up and she tells me her plan.

My wife is diabolical.

And I love it.