Patrick

Despite how much I wanted to, I didn’t look at Nya again. Didn’t speak either.

She returned the favor, keeping her gaze firmly locked on the window.

Which left me time to consider the question that was plaguing me, namely, what the fuck was wrong with me?

Someone had just tried to kill me. I had no doubt about that. But instead of focusing on that, trying to figure out who had done so, why, and how they would be repaid, I was thinking about her, preoccupied with her reaction. Wondering why I had suspected her in the first place.

She’d done nothing to try to catch my attention. If anything, she’d seemed intent on avoiding me, at least at first. Everything about her demeanor last night, her reactions this morning, led me to conclude she hadn’t been involved. But I didn’t take things, people, at face value.

It was the only reason I’d survived this long.

So despite how she might have seemed at first glance, I couldn’t let that be the end of the topic. So asking that question under those circumstances had been the right thing, the only thing, to do.

Even still, her word shouldn’t have been enough to convince me that she’d had no hand in this but it did. Her word, the look on her face, my gut, all of them told me she was an innocent in this. My relief at knowing that was something I’d have to grapple with at some point.

But for now, I had other, more pressing matters to attend to. Other than her little breakdown, and her very extreme reaction to me stealing the car, she was holding it together. I’d pegged her as a tough one, and with every second that passed, she was proving it more and more. Still, I knew she was on unfamiliar ground. And for some reason, I wanted to comfort her.

I didn’t try, didn’t have any idea how I could. Besides, I’d do a shit job of it. My baby brother was good with words, not me.

But the desire, no, the imperative need to make her feel better still ate at me, an impulse that was ridiculous on its face.

There wasn’t really any making someone feel better after something like this morning. She’d just have to deal with it, get over it. Or not. It wasn’t my problem either way. Nya was just a rare and ill-advised indulgence. Nothing more.

I told myself that, kept telling myself that, but my mind didn’t accept it as true. Nor did my actions.

Common sense would have me drop her off, give her some cash, make it very, very clear to her that it would be in her best interest to pretend she had never seen me, and then get on with figuring out what the hell was going on.

And yet…

I couldn’t make myself do it. Didn’t want to. Truth was, for some reason I couldn’t comprehend and certainly didn’t comprehend, it mattered to me that she was okay. I would accept nothing less than seeing it with my own eyes.

I looked at her from the corner of my eye, saw that she seemed almost serene. I’d bet that was exactly what she wanted me to see, and if I asked, she’d say she was fine.

Probably believed she was fine and might be able to keep up the front for a little while.

It wouldn’t last. The reality of what had happened would hit her sooner or later. I wanted to be there for her when it did, wouldn’t even begin to guess why that was.

There were only four people in this world that mattered to me, and she wasn’t one of them. I needed to remember that, tried to force myself to, but I still couldn’t leave her. Not yet.

Since I couldn’t untangle that puzzle, it was best to get on with more mundane tasks.

I continued on to the industrial park that my family owned, found my brother Declan waiting for me at the gate. His expression gave away nothing, but I knew there would be questions forthcoming.

I got out, hugged him quickly, and then gestured toward the car. “Can you take care of this?”

“I’ll see that it is returned to its owner with a nice fee for the rental,” he replied.

“So I see Michael has been busy,” I said, a hint of amusement in my voice.

That got as much of a smile from Declan as anything would. “Your little brother is on the warpath,” he said.

“As expected. So am I,” I replied.

Declan didn’t say anything else, and neither did I. There was no need. Whoever had taken that shot at me, whoever had ordered it would get theirs. Sooner, later, eventually. The when didn’t matter. All that mattered was that we Murphys didn’t forget and never forgave, and that wouldn’t change.

“Your friend?” Declan said a moment later, though he didn’t look at or gesture toward Nya.

I didn’t either, but mostly because I so desperately wanted to.

“I’ll take care of her,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant, but nonetheless determined to do just that, even if I wasn’t sure how yet.

Declan said nothing, but I knew it wasn’t the end of the subject. I’d hear more about it, but not until my brother was good and ready to discuss it.

“Transportation?” I said, changing the subject.

He tossed me a set of keys and nodded toward the sedan parked next to his own vehicle.

“Leave it at the house, and I’ll see that it’s taken care of,” Declan said.

I didn’t doubt that he would. This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, and I knew I could rely on my brothers. Our business, and thus, our lives, didn’t allow room for mistakes, room for chaos, so as angry as Michael might be, as withdrawn as Declan might be, they would both do their parts for me, just as I would have for them.

I walked toward the car and opened the passenger door.

To my surprise, Nya got out without prodding, looked to Declan, who did nothing to soften the scowl on his face. She kept her gaze on him for an impressively long time, but then looked to me.

Unable to ignore the impulse to do so, I reached for her arm, felt an inexplicable and disturbing relief when I touched her.

“Let’s go,” I said.

Again I was surprised when she followed without comment, looked at her for some sign of what she was thinking. She seemed calm, and though I hoped it was true, in my gut, I knew it wasn’t.

Was again determined to be there for her when she needed me.

I was a mass of conflicting impulses, but for the first time I could remember, the need for answers was second to the need to ensure she was okay.

The others would gather what information they could find, so I would focus on her.

Neither of us spoke as I drove toward my home. Nya didn’t seem to be paying attention, and it was only when I drove through the gates that I noticed a spark of curiosity in her otherwise serene face.

I kept a place in the city like all of my brothers, but in times like this when things were uncertain, we retreated to the estate. I didn’t know how the others felt, but I had mixed feelings about this place.

Hated it for what it represented, how it was a constant reminder of things I’d rather forget. At the same time, I loved it for those memories I didn’t want to forget. Now, I appreciated it because it gave me a safe place to take Nya.

She looked over the grounds with avid interest, but that soon waned, and was gone completely once I’d parked and let her inside the house. She didn’t speak, and her silence was beginning to alarm me.

Nothing about Nya suggested this level of meekness, so I suspected the fallout was on the verge.

She followed me up the stairs, and I led her into my bedroom.

I left, ran down to my study, and came back with a glass that I pushed into her hands.

“Drink,” I said.

She took the glass from my hand, glanced at the dark liquid, and then took a tentative sniff. She looked at me quizzically.

“It’s nine thirty in the morning. A little early for whiskey, don’t you think?” she asked.

“Ordinarily I might agree, but not today. Drink.”

To my surprise she did, swallowing back the amber liquid. She looked at me, her dark eyes intense and unfocused.

“So this is how you handle it?” she asked.

“What?” I replied. I knew very well what she was talking about, but I wanted her to say the words. Maybe that would speed things along.

“When someone tries to…kill you. You just steal a car, have a drink?”

“You don’t care for thieves?” I asked.

“I hate them,” she replied flatly.

I had been attempting levity, something I decided I would definitely leave to Sean. Because Nya didn’t look amused.

In fact, she looked disgusted, looked at me like she hated me.

I braced myself because the breakdown was here.

In the next instant, her face dropped, and she loosened her fingers, the tumbler falling to the ground, seemingly forgotten after it thudded to the carpet.

“Oh God,” she whispered.

Something about that strained sound, the way she whispered it as though she was afraid to speak louder touched me in a way nothing had for as long as I could remember.

I moved toward her and pulled her into my arms, but she held her body stiff.

“Oh God…” she repeated.

I could hear her struggle in her voice, feel it in the tension of her body.

She was fighting it, didn’t want to give in to that emotion.

I understood.

It had been a long time since I had felt anything like it, but I remembered it wasn’t pleasant, and for a person who was as controlled as Nya seemed to be, that overwhelming feeling might be worse than being shot at.

“It sucks, but don’t fight it,” I said.

She stiffened, pushed back as far as she could, though I didn’t loosen my hold on her.

“What?” she whispered, seeming both confused and incredulous.

I stared down at her, searched her gaze. The strength I saw there was admirable, the fear underneath unnerving.

“That feeling, the realization that hits you. The moment you realized how close you were to dying. It sucks. But just don’t fight it, just let it hit you. You’ll feel better after it,” I said.

She shook her head, though to deny my words or to deny her own reaction I wasn’t sure.

“No,” she said.

She shook her head again, seemingly determined to fight. I knew that was futile but admired her determination anyway, became even more resolved to make this okay for her, or as okay as I possibly could.

“No.”

She whispered that word again, and then again. She spoke so low, I almost didn’t hear her, but I heard the denial, and then as the minutes passed, the acceptance.

She had softened in my arms, and then laid her head against my shoulder, whispering the word.

When she went quiet I looked down at her, noticed that she looked serene, almost like she was sleeping.

When I moved, she lifted her lids, tried to jump back, but I again held fast.

“Lie down. You should rest,” I said.

“No, I should go,” she countered.

I didn’t respond but instead pushed her onto the bed and threw the covers over her.

“Rest,” I said.

She looked like she wanted to protest, but a moment later she closed her eyes.