44. Keaton （Skee）
Keaton (Skee)
I stare at Wheels through the passenger window. For one dangerously appealing second, I consider putting the SUV in reverse, backing over his motorcycle, and driving away before he can climb back on it.
It would solve several problems. Primarily the one currently waving at me through the window.
Unfortunately, running over a teammate's motorcycle tends to be frowned upon. Matt would probably call it an "abuse of company resources," and Wheels would never let me forget it.
More importantly...Maeve needs this. She needs her parents. She needs answers. She deserves to know whether the people she's spent months believing abandoned her actually did. Turning around now would only delay the inevitable. It wouldn't protect her.
It would protect me from watching whatever comes next. I don't get that luxury. With a quiet sigh, I kill the engine.
Beside me, Maeve's fingers tighten around the cuffs of her sweatshirt again as she stares toward the front door.
She's scared. I know because she's stopped moving. I reach for the handle.
"So," I mutter. "Family field trip."
Her laugh is softer this time. "I liked you better when you didn't make jokes."
"I wasn't joking."
She smiles. Good. I'll take every one I can get.
I climb out of the SUV and circle around the front just as another engine echoes up the driveway. Then another. I stop.
"...You've got to be kidding me."
Two SUVs turn through the gates one after the other. The first belongs to Bullet. The second—Of course. Matt and Rachel.
I close my eyes for exactly one second.
"They brought supervision," Wheels announces proudly as he strolls toward me. "Probably because you have a history of poor decision-making."
"I have one documented incident."
"You kidnapped an Irish mafia princess yesterday."
"Technically, I extracted—"
"Kidnapped."
Maeve opens her door before I can get to her. Rachel is already moving. She doesn't hesitate. She walks straight across the driveway with her arms open, and for half a heartbeat I watch Maeve freeze, uncertainty flickering across her face.
Then Rachel wraps her in a hug. Maeve melts. Not dramatically. Not all at once. Just enough that her shoulders finally drop for what feels like the first time since I met her. Something in my chest loosens with them.
Rachel murmurs something too quiet for me to hear before pulling back and brushing a strand of hair away from Maeve's face. "You doing okay?"
Maeve nods. "I think so."
Rachel smiles. "You don't have to be."
I feel Maeve instinctively take half a step toward me when the conversation ends.
Without thinking, I close the distance too, my hand settling lightly against the small of her back as she comes to stand beside me.
Not holding her. Just...There. Bullet notices. Of course he does. His gaze flicks from my hand to my face. One eyebrow lifts. He doesn't say a word.
Matt, unfortunately, has no such restraint. "What," he says flatly, "are you doing?"
"Standing."
"I wasn't talking about your feet."
"I assumed."
Rachel sighs. "Boys."
Wheels points between Matt and me. "See? This is why I came."
"No," Matt says. "You came because nobody invited you."
"I came because family doesn't wait for invitations."
Matt opens his mouth. Closes it again. "...Fair."
Matt mutters something under his breath. Then he looks back at me. His expression sobers.
He holds up a thick manila file. "I think we found what you were looking for."
Every muscle in my body stills.
Maeve looks between us. "What is it?"
Matt's eyes stay on mine. "The truth."
Before any of us can move toward the house, the front door swings open.
Conversation dies instantly.
Callum steps onto the porch first, his broad shoulders filling one side of the doorway. Beside him stands Cormac O'Donnell, his expression carved from stone as his gaze immediately lands on the collection of unfamiliar vehicles crowding his driveway.
Then movement inside the house catches my attention. A woman appears at the top of the staircase. She doesn't hesitate.
She's already moving before she reaches the first step, one hand sliding along the banister as she descends faster than anyone her age probably should. She never looks toward Callum. Never looks toward Cormac. Never even acknowledges the half-dozen people standing in her front yard.
Her eyes lock on Maeve. Pure relief floods her face. She pushes past both men the second she reaches the front door.
"Maeve." Her voice carries across the driveway. Not panicked. Not frantic. Just...a mother who finally sees her daughter.
Beside me, Maeve goes completely still. I don't think she's breathing. Her fingers slip from mine before I even realize she'd been holding onto my hand.
She takes one hesitant step. Then another. Then she's moving. Not running. Almost like she's afraid if she moves too quickly, the moment will disappear.
Her mother closes the remaining distance. Neither of them says another word.
She wraps Maeve in her arms with a relieved laugh that immediately breaks into something shakier, one hand cradling the back of her daughter's head as she holds her close.
"Oh, thank God."
Maeve folds into her. Not because she needs to be held. Because she's finally allowed to. The sound that leaves her is so quiet I almost miss it.
A broken little breath. The kind someone makes when they've spent too long holding themselves together.
Her mother's hands move over her hair, her shoulders, her face, checking her the way only mothers do.
"I was so worried," she whispers. "When Ronan called... sweetheart, I was so worried."
The words hit me like a punch. She doesn't know. None of them do.
Maeve squeezes her eyes shut.
"Inside." Cormac's voice cuts cleanly through the silence. It's calm. Controlled. The kind of voice that expects to be obeyed without ever needing to be raised.
I watch Maeve's shoulders tense. Just enough that I almost miss it.
Her mother's arm is still wrapped around her, but Maeve's head turns, her gaze finding mine over her shoulder.
She doesn't say anything. She doesn't have to. I've spent weeks learning her. I know what fear looks like on her. I know what uncertainty looks like. This is neither.
She's looking for me. For one impossible second, every instinct I have screams at me to go to her. To close the distance. To remind her she's not walking into that house alone.
But before I can move, her mother gently guides her toward the front steps. "Come on, sweetheart."
Maeve goes. Not because she wants to leave me. Because she doesn't know how to tell the woman holding her together that she needs someone else too.
I wait until they're halfway to the porch before falling into step behind them. Not beside Maeve. That would only make her mother wonder why her daughter suddenly needed another man at her side.
Not too far back either. Just close enough. Three steps. Close enough that if Maeve looks over her shoulder, she'll find me exactly where she expects me to be.
She looks and for one heartbeat our eyes meet. I give her a single nod quietly saying, I'm here.
The tension in her shoulders eases just enough for me to notice. Then she turns back toward the house.
I follow.