Page 98 of Making Choices

Nadia takes her to group therapy three times a week.

Gabriel sends her case files to look over.

Toker is wheeled into the dining room each night to eat dinner with us.

Her brothers keep her laughing with their antics.

Hunter drops over to watch serial killer documentaries with her.

Cub and Isaiah hover close, always trying to pre-empt her needs.

And I spend my waking hours fretting over the plea that she chants over and over for half an hour every evening.

“Please come back to me, Zeke.”

Six words that gut me.

Six words that prove my father is right.

Ezekiel Miles is incapable of fighting fair.

Venom might be in Sydney, but he remains a festering spectre that looms over Cherub. His refusal to tell her the truth about his initial reason for leaving, and the betrayal of her father that keeps him away are eating her alive.

I knew this would happen.

It’s why I begged him to speak to her. To explain. To salvage her self-confidence.

He refused.

Partly out of self-preservation.

Mostly to keep her tied to him.

Now, my job is to work out how to unknot a lifetime worth of adoration and trust that’s turned septic. Venom’s love has become a poisoned chalice. A venomous bridle. A set of cement over-boots that keep trying to drown her, despite my best efforts to keep her head above water.

“Hello, mo ulaidh bheags!” Mumma’s voice rings clear from the stairs. “I need you both downstairs, right now.”

Recognising the tone as the one she gets moments before she begins twisting ears, I bound back to my feet and hold out a hand to Cherub. Her blue eyes flash with mirth. A wry quirk of her lips cements her silent enjoyment of my reaction to my feisty mother. Once I have my woman back on her feet, I squeeze her fingers softly. “She said both.”

That wipes the humour right off her face.

“Bugger.” Cherub shakes her hand free of mine and fusses with her hair. The bald spot on the side of her head that Alex caused is revealed. My gut twists at the sight of yet another reminder of the Shamrocks failure to keep her safe. Lightly tugging on her ear lobe, she says with a giggle. “Do you think she’ll go easy on me if I ask nicely?”

I nudge her with my shoulder then make a dash for the stairs. “Not if I ask first?”

My longer legs take the steps three at a time while Cherub follows at a more sedate pace. I’m on the cusp of apologising for being so thoughtless when something smacks me in the back. A high heel with a red sole. Wheeling around, I wait until she’s reached the landing before I charge. Cherub squeals when I sweep her off her feet.

Slapping at my arms, she demands, “Put me down.”

“Nope.” Careful not to jostle her too hard while I carry her through the lower level of my house in search of my mother, I blow a raspberry against her neck. Cherub gets her revenge by jamming her wet index finger in my ear. I squirm away, capturing her wrists in one hand. “Do that again and I’ll hide all your left shoes, Cinderella.”

“Give me another raspberry and there’ll be Nair in your shampoo, Fabio.”

Our teasing dies when we reach the living room and catch sight of the person accompanying Mumma.

“Holy fuck.”

“Oh, my God, Fret!” My duchess slides down my body to her feet, then strides over to the man sitting in an electric wheelchair. “I can’t believe it.”

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