“Are you sure?”
“Positive. I picked up Mom’s phone yesterday, thinking it was mine. When I went to set it back down, a text came through from Dad asking if she’d found his ‘spare donor yet.’”
“Jesus, Sloane. That’s fecked up.”
“It gets worse.”
I hated how dejected she sounded. Our father was a self-absorbed arse, always had been. It was one of the many reasons why I started Lachlan Industries. I couldn’t work for a man who thought the world revolved around him.Sloane knew it too; she just chose to love him through it, for the most part.
“I should’ve put the phone down, but stupidly, I scrolled through their text thread.” She flipped the position of our hands, squeezing the hell out of mine. I’d take the pain any day over the tears that free-flowed down her face. “In one of the messages, Mom told him she’d do whatever it took to cure him, even if it meant having the twins tested. He agreed.”
It took a second for my brain to process her words, then I saw red. Pushing up from the table, I grabbed the tumbler, sucked down the spicy liquid in one go, then launched the empty glass at the nearest wall. It exploded on impact, sending shards flying through the air.
“Feckin’ feck!”
I raked my hands through my hair, pulling at the ends. Rogan and Reagan were my heart, mo chroí. Over my dead body would they ever touch them. I’d ruin them both before they even tried. Dad’s reputation in the business world had slipped several notches over the past few years anyway. If he so much as breathed wrong in their direction, I’d use every resource at my disposal to rip his company apart piece by motherfeckin’ piece. He’d be less than nothing by the time I was finished. And Maeve…well, I’d figure out a way for her to feel my wrath as well.
Somewhere during my internal rant, my sister grabbed a broom and dustpan to clean up my mess. Her knuckles were white from how firmly she held it. Gently, I eased it from her grasp, set it aside, and pulled her into my arms. I’d sweep later.
“I feel like such a fool.” Her voice shook as she spoke.
“What did she say when you confronted her?”
“I didn’t.” She pulled away. “You know I hate conflict. I packed up the kids and we left before she got back from visiting her friend. There are fifteen unanswered text messages and two voicemails on my phone.”
“Sloane, you can’t leave it like this.”
“What am I supposed to say?”
“Start by telling her how you feel.”
“Ifeelhurt. Ifeelbetrayed. Ifeellike I could wrap my hands around her neck and choke the life out of her.”
“Okay, so maybe leave out your murderous intentions.” I chuckled.
“I’m being serious, Finn.”
“Sloanie.” I used her childhood nickname. “You wouldn’t hurt a fly if you could help it.”
“Mama. Mama. Mama.” Reagan chanted, skipping into the room. I hadn’t even heard her come back into the house. She was like a seven-year-old ninja.
“What is it, love?” Sloane crouched down.
“Is it time for da dress show yet?”
“Almost. Where’s your brother and Aunt Way?”
“In da back yard,” my niece said matter-of-factly.
Of the two, Reagan was more timid, especially around new people. Even though she’d technically met Waverly, it was over video call where she could run off if she got uncomfortable. Rogan, on the other hand, would chat up anyone. The kid would talk your ear off about everything, yet nothing at all.
A door slammed, followed by the slap of tennis shoes mixed with the familiar click of heels against the wooden floor. Rogan sped through the house, on a collision course with his mother. She braced for impact, clearly used to his shenanigans, while I cut him off, snagging him around the waistand flipping him upside down over my arm. Waverly strolled in behind him, not looking any worse for wear.
“Hey, no fair, Uncle Finn,” the pint-sized terror pouted.
I righted him, setting him back on his feet. “You almost ran your mother over, Bubs.”
“Nah. Mama’s strong.” He flexed his tiny muscles. “She catches me all the time. Can I hab a drink?”
