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“Fuck. Whiskey.” You can’t sip tequila. I may as well pace myself. “What does this exactly mean?”

“We’ll see how you fair at the end of this,” Liliana says, dropping into a chair in the living room. “I’ll take some tequila, Mr. Emil! I love my kids, but damn. They have some insane energy during their ‘yes’ days.”

“A ‘yes’ day?” I ask, sitting next to Isla and pulling her legs over my lap.

“It’s when you tell your kids they can do anything and have anything they want as long as it doesn’t hurt a person or thing, and Daddy doesn’t have to bail them out,” Jared sighs.

“This is oddly specific.”

“If you’re lucky enough to be part of the family, you’ll find that’s just the tip of the goddamned iceberg,” Elijah says, finding a seat and taking a long drink of his whiskey. “Blissful, sweet quiet.”

That’s the sound of a man who is overstimulated. With three kids around him who were very excited, I’m not surprised.

Here’s to being accepted by the family and shit. I raise my glass once the alcohol is handed out and then take a sip.

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

SEPTEMBER

ALASTAIR

We didn’t continue much longer in the season after the San Diego game. We played hard, but got knocked out of the playoffs and our team all headed our separate ways to reset.

It’s just as well, because Emil really fucked with our heads at The Rocks. I can’t believe he really thought Ci was going to eat a stranger's pussy. I’m also still shocked he came out to the old man. He’s been the one who hasn’t wanted to label what we have.

The only woman we want is Noor.

We immediately put in a call to Dr. Storm once we got to the hotel for an emergency session, stating we didn’t care what he needed to charge us. Once he heard what happened, he said it was on the house.

Sometimes, I think we’re growing on him, others not so much. At the very least, our lives are entertaining. As old as Emil Reyes is, it wouldn’t be smart for us to ever forget he’s a mobster. I don’t know what kind, but he clearly taught his son and Liliana everything they know, and that would fill an endless bucket of nightmares.

Draven, Ci, and I are on “vacation”, which is really a two month long session with Dr. Storm. We agreed to allow him to do whatever he deemed appropriate to redirect our behavior and brains when it comes to Noor.

For Ciaran, it means more antipsychotic medication and electroconvulsive therapy. I need to handle my anger and control issues, while Draven has problems with abandonment and the memory of how his dad was with his mom. His mom is a saint, but he worries his dad’s abuse could be a factor in how he manages relationships. This trip to bum fuck nowhere in Arizona is a way to dig into our deepest fears and problems to get ahead of them.

If there was a case study for mental health, we’d make a pretty good one. Thankfully, Dr. Storm is a hard ass who doesn’t believe in failure.

He doesn’t forget threads of conversation, no matter how small. He recalls things we’ve told him or had side conversations about on camera with him at the perfect time, making connections we haven’t. We’ve reframed, transformed, and screamed at each other.

It’s been a stressful few months. We’re bunking in a mental hospital together. The “retreat” is underground where no one can find us, and trackers can’t be reached. I think it’s the only way I’d be able to handle a place as warm as Arizona, and we can keep Noor’s family from looking for us.

Ultimately, Dr. Storm doesn’t want anyone snooping, but the knowledge of there being so much soil over us is unsettling. There’s no fresh air, no sun, and it’s easy to slowly lose your shit.

That day came a month and a half in when we were laying in bed, wide awake, unable to sleep.

“You all should hate me,” Ciaran mumbles.

“Shut the fuck up,” I sigh. The truth is, I do hate him in a way. He shouldn’t have kept so many secrets, moving forward without telling us when he exposed Noor’s innermost thoughts from therapy.

No one needed to read those. Not even us. I know he still listens to her past therapy sessions, even while he’s in here. We’re allowed an mp3 player of music, but he turned her sessions into his running playlists. It’s sick, but he needs to hear her voice.

I can’t fault it, because I’m jealous he can hear her voice every day. The medication is keeping his hallucinations at bay, but sometimes I’m jealous of their connection. God, it’s all so fucked.

“I should have told you,” he continues, pushing his head up onto his fist as he props it up. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what was happening at home all those years ago.”

“Your dad could have killed you. Fuck, you could have decided one day to kill yourself,” Draven snarls, glaring at him as he rolls his neck toward him.