Page 9 of Heated Rivals
She felt his worried gaze on her all the way out of the library and into the hallway. It was only when she shut the door behind her that she breathed a temporary sigh of relief.
Now, to deal with her father.
She found him in the formal living room, looking bored as her mother pored over some kind of photo album—something to do with the upcoming wedding, no doubt. It would be held in just under two weeks, so most of the details had already been taken care of. It stood to reason, though, that little last-minute things were bound to pop up.
She stood in the doorway, waiting for them to acknowledge her. Her father looked up first, almost comically pleased for the distraction. “Carrigan.”
It was far too tempting to make small talk—about anything other than the real reason she was here. That was the coward’s way out, though. “I’m going to meet the men you have on this list.”
Her mother finally looked up, green eyes narrowing. “What list? I haven’t seen any list, Seamus.”
“It’s none of your concern.” He spared one of his rare smiles for Carrigan. “I’m glad you’ve decided to be reasonable.”
“Anything for the family, Father.”
Besides, if the man she married turned out to be a monster, she could always take a page from Callie’s book and shoot thebastard dead.
* * *
Sloan floated through the hallways of her childhood, feeling more like a ghost than a woman. The feeling had been there in their giant home in Connecticut, and she’d wandered the house at all hours of the night, driven from her bed by the treacherous thoughts of what could have been. If she’d made different choices the night Carrigan was taken. If her brothers hadn’t drunk themselves stupid and walked home. If her father hadn’t been so willing to risk all of them in a grab for power.
She didn’t like the answers she came up with.
They didn’t really matter. The past was dead and gone, just like Devlin. She pressed a hand to her chest, stopping at the top of the stairs, feeling like she’d just run ten miles.Devlin. One of her brothers was dead, and everyone was going on as if nothing had changed—as if their world hadn’t turned to dust around them.
It wasn’t fair, and she knew it. Life went on, whether they wanted it to or not.
She took a deep breath and kept walking, her bare feet padding over the cool wood floors. She wasn’t a child. Sheknewlife had to go on. It couldn’t come to a full stop just because her heart was so broken she didn’t think it’d ever recover. Devlin had been only twenty, three years younger than her, and growing up they’d always been close. Of all her brothers, he hadn’t expected her to change. He’d been perfectly content to share the comfortable silences she was so fond of, broken only to bring up something interesting that one of them was currently reading. And he’d managed to accept the weight of the burden their family placed on them, while still striving for more.
And now his dreams were ashes in the wind, whisking hersaway with them.
Their father liked to say that great privilege brought great responsibility with it. He was a liar. He hadn’t been the one forced to make compromise after compromise. He was completely content to move his children around like pieces of furniture, aligning them to his satisfaction to keep the O’Malley clan strong. What did their individual happiness matter in the grand scale of the family’s safety?
Not even a tiny bit.
Her stomach lurched, leaving her lightheaded, and Sloan paused to lean against the wall. She might have gotten away with her midnight wanderings in the old redone farmhouse, but there were too many people here. It was only a matter of time before one of her well-meaning siblings guided her back to her bedroom. Or the guards reported her to her father.
Imagining how pleasantthatconversation would be had her picking up her pace. She passed Keira’s door, hearing strains of some hard rock song on the other side of the door. It was selfish to think Sloan was the only one suffering. Her youngest sister had taken Devlin’s death just as hard—if not harder. She’d started drinking. A lot. Sloan knew that Carrigan chalked it up to her age, but she wasn’t so sure. Keira drank like she was trying to escape the thoughts in her head. That kind of thing didn’t simply disappear over time.
It got worse.
She touched the door, hesitating. Should she say something? Try to get Keira to talk to her? Sloan had always been good at listening, but broaching this subject was going to reopen wounds that hadn’t even had a chance to close,much less heal.
So she kept walking.
Carrigan’s door opened as she approached, and her older sister stepped into the hall, wearing a sheath dress that left little to the imagination. She froze when she saw Sloan. “You’re up late.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
For a second she thought—hoped—Carrigan would let it go. She obviously had plans to sneak out, and her skin nearly twitched with impatience. But then she stepped back into her room. “Let’s talk.”
More talking. Sloan let loose a silent sigh and obeyed. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner she could retreat into her room and lose herself in a book. It was the only escape that worked these days, the only thing that took away the harsh edge of reality.
Carrigan perched on the edge of her bed and gave her a long look. “Father’s decided that he’s tired of waiting for me.”
She’d known this was coming. They all had. Her sister’s ability to hold him off for this long was something to be commended, but it couldn’t last forever. “How long?” It felt curiously like she was asking how long Carrigan had left to live.
“My birthday.”
