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Thirty-Nine
Aoife
“She didWHAT?”
I grimaced at Aela’s screech, but I had to admit, how my sisters-in-law gathered around me made me feel better.
A hell of a lot better.
I’d been isolated since the miscarriage, with most of that being self-imposed.
I hadn’t meant to put up barriers between my family and friends and myself, but right now, everything was much too much, and I needed to shut down. Go into turtle mode to lick my wounds.
But seeing Inessa’s round eyes, Camille’s furrowed brow, Savannah’s clenched jaw, and the way Aela was practically vibrating, hands fisted at her sides as she loomed over me in the large conservatory, I felt embraced by their horror. Warmed by their outrage.
I mattered to them.
I knew that, but seeing was believing.
“She killed my mom,” I repeated after a couple seconds of basking in their care.
“This is fucking nuts,” Aela hissed, dropping to the seat next to me then quickly leaping up again. “Why isn’t she in jail—?” She snapped, “Goddamn Senior. You shouldn’t be here, Aoife. Why are you here? You’re not going to eat at the same table—”
“Finn told Aidan I wasn’t coming, and I wanted to spite him,” I admitted sheepishly.
“He can’t have known,” Inessa whispered, her pallor pinched.
“He did.” I stared down at Jake’s hands as he tugged on her bright blonde hair.
“He’s lucky you didn’t kill him.”
Savannah was new to this little circle, but her cool words drew my attention.
I wasn’t sure if she meant it. Wasn’t sure if she was joking. But she sipped on what appeared to be a mimosa, one arm slung along the back of the sofa like she was ready to be photographed for a magazine.
Picture perfect.
How I wished that I were like that.
We’d had a couple fallings out because of Jen, our mutual best friend, and how Savannah had treated her, but her words made me realize that she was on my side too.
“It’s the men who kill. Not us,” Camille rasped. “That’s not our job.”
“Our job?” Aela mocked. “What’s she supposed to do when the guy with that job is the one who needs killing?”
Her staunch defense soothed me, but it made me feel bad for admitting, “I love him.”
Inessa’s soft eyes landed on mine. “Oh, Aoife.”
“Doesn’t mean you have to forgive him,” Aela grumbled, but my admission seemed to take the wind from her sails.
She sat down heavily, her arm rubbing up against mine in comfort, not happenstance.
“I don’t,” was my prompt reply. “I really don’t, but I don’t want to kill him. I don’t—” I sighed. “I thought we were solid.”
“You are,” Camille whispered.
“How can we be when he’s kept this from me?” I cried. “When he let me love Lena? I know you’re not a fan of her, Aela, but Inessa gets it, don’t you?”
