47. Maeve
Maeve
The house feels different now. Not because anything has changed. Because I have.
My mother sits beside me on the couch, one hand wrapped around mine while Rachel occupies the chair across from us, quietly pretending not to watch me every time I stop talking.
Every few minutes I hear voices drifting from my father's office down the hall.
Low. Serious. Occasionally Wheels says something loud enough that even the closed door can't contain it.
Some things, apparently, transcend walls. My mother smooths a strand of hair behind my ear the same way she used to when I was little.
"I keep thinking about the other night." Her voice is soft. Careful. "When I saw you at the fundraiser."
I look down at our joined hands. "So do I."
"I knew something was wrong." A lump forms in my throat. "I should've pushed harder."
"You did."
She shakes her head. "No."
Her thumb brushes across my knuckles. "I should've asked the questions you didn't want to answer."
I swallow. "I wouldn't have answered them."
She sighs. "Maybe."
Silence settles between us.
Not uncomfortable. Just...heavy. Finally, she asks the question I've been expecting since the moment I walked through the front door.
"Why didn't you come to us?"
I stare at our hands for a long time before answering. Because now that I know the truth... Now that I know they didn't know...The answer feels ridiculous.
Embarrassing. But it's still the truth.
"I thought..." My voice catches. I clear my throat and try again.
"I thought you and Dad would care more about the alliance than...
than my marriage." The words sound smaller out loud.
"I thought you'd tell me to work harder.
" To be quieter. To stop making problems. "I thought you'd tell me this was what wives did. "
My mother's fingers go still around mine. When I finally look up, she looks horrified.
Before she can answer, another voice fills the room.
"Our family business is important."
I turn.
My father stands in the doorway to his office, the rest of Grayline lingering several steps behind him. No one says a word.
He walks toward me slowly. "It is one of the most important responsibilities I've ever been given." His eyes never leave mine. "But it has never..." His voice roughens. "...and it will never be more important than you."
The tears I've been fighting all morning finally spill over.
"I would've moved heaven and earth to get you home if I'd known." His jaw tightens. "Being unhappy in a marriage..." He exhales slowly, choosing each word with care. "Trying to work through disagreements. Learning how to live with another person..." He shakes his head. "That's marriage."
His expression hardens into something I've only ever seen directed at men who crossed my father. "What he did to you..." His voice drops lower. "Putting his hands on my little girl..."
He stops. His nostrils flare once. "I want to—"
The sentence dies before it's finished. His gaze flicks briefly toward the people standing behind him. Toward Callum. Toward Matt. Toward Keaton. Toward my mother.
He closes his eyes for the briefest moment before opening them again. "When this is over..." he says quietly, "...Ronan Gallagher will be dealt with."
The promise settles over the room like stone. Not shouted. Not dramatic. Certain.
My mother squeezes my hand before standing. "Come on, sweetheart."
She offers me a gentle smile. "We'll have your room made up. I'm sure you're exhausted."
I am. I should go upstairs. I should want nothing more than to crawl into my own bed and sleep for a week. Instead...My eyes search the room.
They find him immediately.
Keaton is standing near the back of the group, hands tucked into his pockets, giving everyone else space.
He isn't looking at anyone else. He's looking at me.
The corner of his mouth lifts. Just enough.
A quiet smile to remind me I am not alone. I'm here.
Without moving, without drawing anyone else's attention, he says so quietly I almost convince myself I imagined it. "Whatever you want, Maeve."
Not... Go upstairs. Not...Stay. Just...Whatever you want.
Because that's what he's been giving me from the very beginning. A choice.
I look around the room one last time. My mother. My father. The home I'd spent months believing I'd never see again. This is where I'm supposed to stay. It's where everyone expects me to stay.
It's safe.
So why does it suddenly feel like I can't breathe? My gaze drifts across the room until it lands on Keaton. He hasn't moved. He hasn't tried to persuade me. He hasn't even looked like he expected me to choose him.
He's simply...waiting. Waiting for me to decide. Just like he has since this all started.
The answer settles quietly inside me before I have the chance to second-guess it. "I want to go with Keaton."
The words leave my mouth so softly I'm not entirely sure anyone hears them. Everyone does. Silence settles over the room.
My father turns toward Keaton. "I'll send men with you."
It isn't a request. It's a father trying to make up for months of not knowing his daughter needed protecting in the first place.
Keaton nods once. "I understand." My father waits. "I won't ask you not to." The words surprise me. "So long as they understand one thing."
My father's expression hardens almost imperceptibly. "And what's that?"
Keaton's voice never changes. "If Maeve comes with me, she decides where she goes.
" The room goes quiet again. "I won't have anyone following her.
" His eyes remain locked on my father's.
"I won't have anyone reporting where she is, who she's with, or when she comes home.
" The words aren't disrespectful. They're matter-of-fact.
Almost...operational. "She has spent months being watched. "
His gaze flicks toward me for the briefest second before returning to my father. "I'm not replacing one surveillance system with another."
My father studies him.
A long moment passes before Keaton speaks again. "I understand why you want to protect your daughter." There's no challenge in his voice. Only understanding. "I would expect nothing less." Another pause. "But protection and control aren't the same thing."
The room is perfectly still.
"I'll protect her." He says it with the same certainty he'd used while explaining surveillance logs and phone records. Not as a promise. As a fact. "And I'll make sure Grayline does the same." Then he adds, almost as an afterthought, "But she decides where she goes."
I realize everyone is looking at me again. Waiting for me to choose.
I swallow. "I'm okay with Grayline." I look at my father. "I don't want anyone else following me." The admission feels strangely freeing. "I know you'll worry." His shoulders drop just enough for me to notice.
"But..." I glance toward Keaton. "...I'll be safe."