“But…” She held up a hand. “I struggled with a lot of things, severe depression among them. I stayed in bed for weeks at a time. Sometimes your father would drag me out, and we’d have violent fights. I tore out his hair one time. Another, I broke his rib. I wasn’t fit to be a mother, so sending you away before you saw all that seemed like the only option.”

“And bring Aisling into the world,” I reminded her. “That was important, too. Fuck up one more kid.”

“Aisling was my apology for Filip.”

“Damn, that sounds bad.” I sucked my teeth.

She jumped from her seat, running to me. Every bone in my body turned to ice. Even when she stopped a few inches away. Even when she began to lower herself to her knees.

“Dammit, Hunter, I cannot tolerate this anymore. You have to forgive me.”

“Or else?” I asked, shoving my hands into my pockets. I forgot, momentarily, that I had my asshole family to save. I was so immersed in my mother’s attempt to patch things up.

She looked up, on her knees in front of me. “Or I’m not giving you the Gulfstreamer.”

“Your husband and son will die,” I said slowly, examining her.

She really was insane. She smiled at me, her eyes full of tears. It was a sad, broken smile, that of a person who has nothing left to lose.

“You’re killing me every day you don’t take my calls. Please.” She lowered her face to my sneakers. Jesus Christ. Was she going to…oh, fuck. She was. She was going to kiss my feet. I couldn’t take it. Couldn’t see the person who’d purged me out into the world losing the remainder of her pride.

“Get up,” I roared, yanking her by the shoulder. “I forgive you.”

“Really?” She was bawling now.

“Yes, really. The apology was a fucking mess, but it is obvious it’s important to you. Now, please, for the love of God, Mom, send the Gulfstreamer.”

“It’s already warmed up and waiting for you in the gang hanger. Oh, I love you, Hunt.”

I couldn’t help but wrap my arms around her, patting her head awkwardly. “Yeah, Mom. Love you, too.”

My last stop before boarding the plane to Maine was the Brennan residence. Sailor lived in a high-rise with her parents, so honking for her to come down wasn’t in the cards. I had to drag my ass to her door.

She opened, looking alert, like it wasn’t two in the morning. She’d been waiting for me.

“Well?” Her eyes widened in anticipation.

“You told your dad. You’ve never asked him for this kind of favor.”

“I had to help you in some way,” she said quietly.

I knew how much it had cost her, how much it wounded her sense of who she was, and vowed to make it up to her.

“Can I go Christian Grey on your ass and invite you for a trip in my private plane?” I flashed her my pearly whites.

“I guess. But no BDSM.”

“Boo. You’re no fun.”

“Invite someone else, then.” She laughed.

I pulled her out, barely resisting the urge to kiss her.

“Fun is overrated. Let’s go.”

The private plane was plush and yacht-styled, all mahogany and crème accents and brass fittings. I didn’t want to think about the amount of Cillian and Gerald jizz these custom seats had seen, and I was so mad at them when I thought about the amount of pussy they had access to on this ride. In fact, I almost decided not to save their ungrateful asses for not sharing their toy with me.

Almost.

Then I remembered pussy didn’t matter anymore, unless it was attached to a certain redheaded banshee.

I was on pins and needles all the way to Maine. Whether Syllie got what he deserved or not, I still needed to tell my brother and father the refinery was about to explode. I didn’t know when, exactly, Syllie wanted to put the plan in motion. Logically, I had at least until the morning to get to them, and the flight was a short one. But what if Da wanted to see the refinery as soon as he landed? That was a golden opportunity for the fuckers to blow his ass up.

My old man was exactly the kind of person to go check on his property at four in the morning, as soon as his feet touched the ground.

Sailor talked about everything and nothing to lighten the mood. She gave me the ins and outs of her face-off with Lana and Junsu, said she was checking out other places to practice, but that she was hanging the bow, so to speak.

“So what will you do now?” I tapped my foot on the floor.

A stewardess with a black uniform leaned down to offer us refreshments and food with a plastic smile. She was young-ish. Young enough to wink at me after Sailor was busy unscrewing her bottle of apple juice while I cracked open my root beer. The stewardess brushed my shoulder with her hand when she left, telling me she was there if I needed anything.

Sailor saw it, but said nothing.

I shook my head. “I don’t want her,” I said.

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” she replied, peeling off the label on the cold, dripping bottle of juice. “The deal is off. You can do whatever you like.”

“I’d like to do you, then,” I deadpanned.

“Hunter.” She sighed. “Friends, remember?”

She was exasperating.