I almost smile, but a knock at my front door sets my teeth on edge. What now? I stalk, intent on murder if it’s the beige fucker again.
My face must say murder, because when I open the door, my brother takes two steps back.
“Whoa.” He holds up both hands in surrender. “I come in peace.”
I back up, giving him ample room to pass me, finally understanding the third coffee. My sister, the wannabe fixer.
That’s my job, and we all know it.
“How’s fatherhood, Ci?”
“I’ve been a dad for a year already.” He’s referring to his adopted daughter of his heart. “But the high of having Wills home has just met the exhaustion of what that all entails.”
“Hear, hear,” my sister echoes, lifting her iced coffee and nodding sagely.
“I still wouldn’t trade it for the world,” he adds quietly, so at home in his happy little world, that I’m almost envious. That said, I wouldn’t want to go through what he did to get to where he is.
He plops down on the sofa, sliding his niece from her carrier and piling her on his warm chest. Fucker.
“Love the invite,” he starts. “But usually, these conversations are because we have trouble.”
We.
“We do.” Ayla takes a sip of her coffee. “Li, tell us what’s going on.” She leans back in her chair, folding her feet underneath her and watches our oldest brother as he cradles Sophia. Her soft smile is enough to make me wish I didn’t have to say what I must.
I pace as I give them the rundown. “My neighbor had trouble with her movers. The two of them tried to attack her. They were holding a knife to her throat when I… dispatched them.” I emphasize the word. “Both left via ambulance. The individuals are suing me for their injuries and for pain and suffering. The paperwork says there is no castle doctrine outside of your own home, that I had a duty to retreat, and instead became the aggressor.”
My siblings are stunned silent. Ayla’s mouth hangs open while Cian’s jaw is clenched.
“Will her homeowner’s policy cover the suit?” Cian’s mind is working. He’s methodical.
I shrug. “They sued her too.”
“For what?”
I shrug again. “How would I know?’
“Well, you know she was sued, so.” My sister puts in, as if it’s obvious, and takes another sip of her coffee.
Fair point. I stalk to the front door and through it, making my way to Lorien’s, and knock.
She pulls the door open and is visibly shaken. Her eyes are puffy and red, and she vibrates with anger.
I should do something, I guess. We’re in this together, but not really. “May I see your papers?”
She looks shocked. “You got me into this. I’m being sued”—she jabs her thumb into her chest—“for your behavior, that I never requested.”
I drop my voice to a seethe. “He had a knife to your throat. Would you rather I had—” I don’t finish the thought. What could I say? Let him finish? Use it to perpetrate something heinous?
Does she have any fucking clue what someone could’ve done with that knife aside from use it to slice her and leave her dead?
“Why do you care?” she spits.
“I don’t know.” My words are lethally quiet and too real. I don’t know why I did what I did. Or why I continue to try.
Fuck this.
I turn and stomp back into my house but refrain from slamming my door because Sophia deserves my best, not my worst.
