Page 44 of The Chief
Molly
Being back here, in this home, was harder than I expected. After my father had died, my mum had spiraled into a deep depression, often leaving me to fend for myself. I didn’t blame her; she was simply one of those people who gave all of themselves to the person they loved. She loved me in her own way, but nothing could compare to the all-consuming love she and my father had shared. It was hard to compete with that sort of obsession.
As Keir rose from his seat, I blinked, and the room came back into focus. My fingers were still wrapped tightly around my mother’s, but I forced myself to release her. Her expression fell a little as she settled back into her seat and crossed her legs.
“I have to make a phone call, baby,” Keir told me, leaning down to kiss me. Fuck, he was taking this fake engagement way too seriously. I tilted my face up to his, expecting a peck on the lips, so I was caught off guard when Keir cupped my face and swept his tongue into my mouth. His lips were soft against mine, but the way his tongue moved was sinful. Thrown mentally off-balance, I dug my fingernails into his hand, where it held my jaw, drawing a soft grunt from his throat.
When he stepped back, he shot me a wink and left the room.
My pulse was still hammering against my ribs when I looked back at my mother, to see she had a dreamy expression on her face.
“What?” I asked, grabbing my teacup to hide the flush that had no doubt worked its way up my neck and cheeks.
“You two are just like me and your da were at the start. We couldn’t get enough of each other.”
I held my free hand up in the universal sign for stop. “Please. I don’t need details.”
That small smile remained on her face as she sipped her tea. “He seems perfect for you.”
I blinked. “Perfect?”
She nodded. “He adores you. I can tell by the way he looks at you.”
Briefly wondering whether we were talking about the same man, I shook my head and asked, “What time does Orla usually get home from school?”
“Around four.” My mam placed the teacup back down, her hand shaking a little as it hit the saucer.
“Are you drinking again?” I asked, my back straightening. I knew that shake—what it meant.
Fussing with the edges of her robe, she peered at me from under her lashes. “I need to put food on the table, Caitria.”
I blinked. “So, get a job?”
“I have a job,” she replied.
Exasperated, I added, “One that doesn’t involve being on your back.”
Agitated, she flicked some non-existent lint from her knee. “I’m not qualified for a lot of jobs. It’s the best I can do.”
“Ma—”
Her head jerked up angrily. “No, Caitria. You left after that horrible incident.”
Guilt slammed into me like a king tide. Not guilt for killing the bastard, but for disappearing after it happened. My mam didn’t even know where I’d gone until six months later. That phone call had been filled with relief and joy, but tainted by sadness when I told her I wasn’t coming back. Not for a long time, at least.
I didn’t know what she told the Garda. Whatever she said—or didn’t say—never led to them tracking me down.
“I sent you money when I could,” I replied.
Heat colored her voice when she replied, “Money is a poor substitute for my daughter.” She paused, rubbed at her temples, and sighed. “I’m sorry. I just—You blind-sided me, Caitria.”
With a sigh, I nodded. “What did the Garda say back then … When they arrived?”
Shifting her hips nervously, she resettled the hem of her dressing gown. “I told them my new boyfriend found my estranged and mentally unstable husband breaking into the house through Orla’s window. There was an altercation and Brian was beaten.”
I winced. What I had done was more than beat Brian.
With a fury I’d never felt before then and hadn’t since, I had wiped him from the face of the planet. I had snapped at the thought of him doing the things he used to do to me, tohis own daughter. As that was exactly why he’d been in Orla’s room.
