3.When I had the chance to tell Mason, to warn him, I didn’t. The fucking cowardice my father instilled in me all my life was just too deeply rooted. My mother had always done everything he demanded with a smile, desperate to keep the peace. Sam walked me down the aisle to marry a complete stranger, for god’s sake! We’re all weak, too afraid to stand up to him.
4.And: Betraying the trust of people like Arabella and Luna, who’d welcomed me into the family with open arms.
There’s a bunch of other things, but it doesn’t matter. Those four are bad enough.
Talon and Vincent tend to hover, which is oddly endearing. I was sure they’d hate me after what I did, yet they’re always showing up with kind little things, flowering plants appearing on windowsills, an impeccable setup on the beach with a chair, cushions, and a big beach umbrella.
They don’t comment on my working out, watching my kicks and punches with perplexed expressions. I’ve been following my college coach’s practice drill for hours a day, desperately trying to exhaust myself so I can sleep instead of staring up at the ceiling and cataloguing my faults. I kick and punch, sweat stinging my eyes. My knuckles are raw. My back spasms and I keep kicking and punching.
Then, the meals. Talon escorted me into the dining room last night with all the excitement of a kid on Christmas morning.
“Vincent brought back a bucket of chicken today,” he’d said. “It’s Kentucky Fried Chicken. Ye had those in Seattle, aye?”
I’d cried, which terrified him, driving him to anxiously offer me the biscuits and gravy and dumping the little carton of coleslaw on my plate.
I ate my entire meal and spent the rest of the night trying to keep it down. Talon just looked so happy when I picked up that first drumstick.
So, I’m grateful that they don’t seem to hate me.
Mason calls them every morning and night for a “status update.” He never asks to speak to me. I don’t ask to speak to him, either. What am I going to say? “Hey, I’m sorry that my dad screwed you over and took extremely lethal equipment from you that cost an insane amount of money?”
I hate that you exiled me?
***
It’s been a week.
I know this because a car pulls up to the house and in seconds, Talon has me by the arm, hauling me into the kitchen as Vincent races for the door, gun drawn.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! It’s only been a fecking week and ye forgot who I was? Suddenly, it’s DEFCON 1. Or DEFCON 5, whichever is worse?”
Michael MacTavish strolls into the kitchen, followed by an anxious Vincent and Talon lowers his gun. I sag against the counter, putting my hand over my heart, it feels like it’s about to burst out of my chest.
“With all due respect, Mr. MacTavish, it would have been helpful if you’d called ahead.” Talon is clearly not happy about this surprise visit. “Is Mr.… the other… Mr. Mason-”
“For feck’s sake, just call me Michael. Call him Mason. There’s three hundred and six fecking MacTavishes. You’re gonna give yourself an aneurysm if ye keep this up.”
Michael’s gaze lands on me. He’s a huge guy, like Mason with the MacTavish green eyes and dark hair. I’ve appreciated that he’s always been pleasant to me. Of course, that was before I betrayed his family.
“How are ye doing, Afton? Are these two hunks of horsemeat treating ye well?”
Blinking at his casual insouciance, it takes me a minute to reply. “I’m… fine, thank you. Talon and Vincent have been great. Kind. Kind but professional. They’ve-”
“It’s fine, I understand.” He gingerly pats my shoulder. “Ye might be wondering why I'm here. I’m taking ye to Mason.”
“What?”Talon and I say it together.
“Aye,” Michael says. He suddenly seems taller, more stern, not the light-hearted cousin anymore, instead channeling his designation as the next in line as Chieftain of the MacTavish Clan. He’s looking at Talon and Vincent with an impressive level of authority. “I’m taking Afton to see her husband. The two of ye will, of course, accompany us.”
I sway a bit, feeling dizzy and cold and then sweaty. I remember Mason leaving me here. Calling me a “disease to be quarantined.” I couldn’t blame him, though it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
“Does Mason want to see me?”
Michael pauses, looking back at me. He’d been heading toward the front door like everything was settled. “Would ye two wait outside, please?” Talon and Vincent reluctantly retreat, hovering just outside the open front door.
He carefully leans against the doorway to the kitchen, giving me plenty of space. “It’s been a bad few days, aye? I dinnae blame ye for being a wee bit gun shy. Mason needs ye. I think you’ll understand why when ye see him.”
“What? Is he hurt? What happened?” I hurry toward the door. “Let’s go. I don’t have a purse or anything we can go right now.”
