Page 43 of Wicked Brutal

Mom points at me. “We are allowed to have a little joy while we solve a crisis, Ryan.”

“Fine,” I groan.

Cat gasps. “Did Ryan Harrington just approve a spreadsheet?”

“No.”

“I distinctly heard yes.”

“You heard wrong.”

Mom turns the phone back around. “We’re going to need a private Pinterest board.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Ally laughs, and the room keeps moving around her, and that’s when I finally understand what this actually is. Not a war room. Not yet. A family — a fucked-up, overqualified, occasionally criminal, deeply codependent family — with Ally sitting in the middle of it, one hand over our baby, while eight women quietly decide she belongs to them now.

Roman has no idea what’s coming for him.

By nine, Ally’s done. I know it before she says a word — her answers get shorter, and her head drops onto Cat’s shoulder for a second before she catches herself and pulls it back up. Mom catches it. So does Darla. So does Saoirse. Apparently having this many mothers in one room means exhaustion gets detected like smoke through a vent.

“Enough,” Mom says.

Arthur looks up from the table. “We’re almost—“

“No,” Darla says.

“She’s exhausted,” Saoirse says.

“I’m fine,” Ally says, and every mother in the room turns to look at her at once. She blinks under the weight of it, then turns to me. “Help.”

I shake my head. “Absolutely not. I’m not getting between you and that.”

“Traitor.”

“I enjoy being alive.”

Louise comes over with a container. “For tomorrow.”

Ally takes it. “What’s in it?”

“Crackers, fruit, little sandwiches. Bland things. If anything makes you sick, you text me, and I’ll make something else.”

Ally’s face softens. “Okay.”

“I make soup,” Katya announces immediately. “Soup is good. I'll bring tomorrow.”

I stand, and Ally looks at the clock. “I have to go home.” The room changes — there it is, the part none of us can fix tonight. “Yeah,” I say.

She stands, and Becca gets to her first. “Text us.”

Ally smiles. “Us?”

Cat holds up her phone. “You’ve been added to a group chat.”

“When?”

“Sixteen minutes ago.”