Turning on the light always chases the mirage away, but it’s not enough.
Strangers came painfully close to killing me, and the only reason I’m alive, the only reason I’m in one piece, is because of Falco and his friend Pidge.
How two people like that became friends is beyond me.
They’re like chalk and cheese.
Pidge was all smiles and happy stories while we waited on the all clear, while Falco was forever frowns and grumbling one-word remarks.
Except when he helped me in the bathroom.
Those tender moments remain nestled in my mind, drawing a soft smile to my lips every time I recall the hours he stood there helping me wash away blood only I could see.
Ever since, he’s been keeping a closer eye on me, but I’ve regained the right to privacy.
He lets me close doors and shower alone.
A tiny, selfish part of me is disappointed.
“Aerin?” Mom’s voice draws me out of replaying that moment in my mind and back into the present.
We sit together in the conservatory, basking in the strong sun that warms the glass enough to make the edges of the pane look fuzzy.
Untouched tea sits before me and my crochet rests limp in my hands.
“Look at that.” Momtsksunder her breath and she nudges my elbow. “You’ve lost your loops again.”
“Oh. Sorry. I’m not really concentrating.” Ever since I returned to her frantic arms, she’s been throwing me into activities, likely hoping they’ll distract me from how close I came to death.
My father’s been the same, in his own way.
He called Falco into his office one night and they spoke for hours. I feared he’d never come out.
“Is there something on your mind?” There’s a slight edge to Mom’s voice, as if she cares enough to ask but not enough to listen.
Not that I blame her.
She heard a few details about what happened at the warehouse and went so pale she was practically translucent.
For a mafia wife, she doesn’t have much stomach for the darkness of the world.
Or at least not where her children are involved. It’s the most love I’ve ever felt from her.
“No,” I lie softly. “I’m just…not into crocheting. I’m sorry.”
“That’s fine,” she replies with a sigh that clearly says it’snotfine. “I have to collect your father’s prescription anyway.”
“Collect? Don’t they usually deliver that?”
“They do, but I’m meeting a chef who will be catering the party so I offered to collect it. Your father has a lot on his mind right now. Plus, it’s good to get out of the house at times, Aerin.”
I bite my tongue hard, preventing me from immediately calling my mother out on the restricted freedom she creates that prevents me from doing exactly that.
Setting my poorly knitted scarf down next to my tea, I’m half rising when her hand suddenly reaches out and touches my neck.
“Bruises are almost gone,” she says quietly. “I’m glad.”
“Me too.” Leaning back down, I kiss her powdery cheek. “Have a fun outing.”
