Chapter 46
a lot of secondary
Sariah
I hear the scream all the way from the terrace and run, stubbing my toe on a brick in the process. I hop, skip, run down the hall that lines the courtyard to find Cian over a terrified Renée for one second before she throws her arms around him and folds in on herself.
She sobs, and he rocks her, rubbing her back and whispering into her hair. Her knuckles are white as they grip his shirt, and the pain in her voice takes me to my knees.
Eleanor, whose gaze has bounced between the two of them, this whole time, leaps off the bed and comes to me, leaning in. She’s not standoffish with me, but she’s never comforted me before either.
She’s giving me strength when her owner cannot. He’s offering something to my daughter that I couldn’t—strength and security, a masculine presence where she’s had none.
“You’re safe. You’re whole. You’re safe, Renée.”
She sniffles, but says nothing.
“Your mom’s having them too. Did you know that?”
Well, shit.
She pulls back to look at him. “She is?” She turns to face me. “You are?”
Finding the strength to rise, I slide my fingers through Eleanor’s fur before moving to slide onto the bed. “Of course I am, love. I was terrified.”
“Ayla knows somebody. She thinks she can help you if you want to talk to her. She helped Ayla—actually she’s still helping Ayla—after she went through something scary last fall,” Cian says.
“Can she come over for breakfast?” Renée asks.
“The therapist?” he replies.
“No.” And the first hint of a smile hits my daughter’s face. “Ayla.”
“Given a good bribe of coffee, Ayla will do anything.”
“I’m sorry,” Renée says to Cian, looking at the tear stains on his shirt.
“For what?”
She waves a hand as if that’s explanation enough.
“Never be sorry for needing family. Never be sorry for letting me be strong when you need it, okay?”
“Okay.” Her voice is quiet, but her face, despite the red splotches and swollen nose and puffy eyes, seems downright calm.
Randomly, Cian boops Renée’s nose, as if she were a pup. Weirdo.
“I’m going to make pancakes. Do you want blueberries or chocolate chips in yours?”
“One of each?”
“Sure thing.” He turns to me. “And you?”
“Same.”
“Alrighty then. I’ll meet you in the kitchen when you’re ready.” He saunters through the door and leans back looking at his pup. “You coming?”
When Eleanor doesn’t move, he mutters under his breath and leaves the women of the house together. If I’m not mistaken, he calls her a traitor, but I don’t think he’s actually mad about it.
I flop onto the bed near where my daughter sits. I don’t want to talk about therapy. I don’t want to talk about what we went through. I want to erase it from my memory and pretend it never existed. Solid parenting at its finest. Denial. Denial. Denial.
“You didn’t tell me.” My daughter says sheepishly.
And denial loses again.
“Tell you what, “Née?”
“That you were having nightmares.”
I wrap an arm around her waist and speak into the blankets. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I think I’m screwing everything up. Actually, I always think I’m screwing up. Yes, I’m having nightmares. I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t save you. That may haunt me forever.”
“Cian saved both of us.”
He did.
“You think the dreams will stop?”
“I hope so.”
“Me too, Mom.” She falls back to the bed, her head hitting her pillow and her hair splaying wildly.
Before we even settle, Eleanor jumps up and slides between our not-quite-touching thighs. She nuzzles a nose under my free hand but slides her back against Renée.
“I think she’s claimed you,” I offer.
“Think Cian will be mad?”
“Not even a little.”
Breakfast came and went.
Ayla did the same. Cian wasn’t wrong when he said she and my daughter could conquer Denver, but he missed the Front Range and the High Country. I swear the two of them together could overrun the state… and well beyond.
She told us about Joanie and how she found her. Then she told me about Jessi, her amazing hair wizardress, as she calls her. I swear Ayla Murphy Barone could sell bridges in the desert, ice in the Arctic circle, and water to a man stranded at sea.
I’m convinced I need to meet both Jessi and Joanie. Hell, at this point I’d buy a timeshare with both of them, sight unseen. This does not bode well for my wallet.
My daughter thinks Ayla hung the moon, and with all the shit swirling around us, I’ll take it. I’d trust all the Murphys with my daughter… well, except Seamus. The jury’s still out on Cian’s mom, Janie, too. She’s been noticeably absent, noticeably quiet.
And I can’t say I’m mad about that either.
Now we’re on our way to Rosie’s.
I’d love to say I’m confident on what we’re walking in to. In reality, it’s the opposite of that. I have more anxiety than I expected. Maybe because Renée is with us. Maybe because the devastation on my daughter’s face this week multiplied times five might break me.
What in the world are we going to do with five teenage girls we essentially kidnapped?
“We need Sherman,” I say to Cian.
“Who?”
“My… well, Christian’s lawyer friend. This could be sticky.”
“Make a note. We can call him on the way home.” How in the world Cian is Teflon right now is beyond me. There’s no way he’s unfazed by all that surrounds us.
“How are you this calm?” I squeeze his hand on the center console.
“You’re safe. Renée’s safe. Everything else is secondary.”
“We have a lot of secondary.”
“We have a lot of secondary,” he repeats, staring through the truck’s windshield.
Make that secondary, and tertiary, and whatever comes after that.
Rosie’s house is madness. Full-on madness.
Her two-bedroom, two-bath, perfect place for a fifty-one year old is overrun. It seems we were just here for girls’ night. That was peaceful in comparison.
Five teenagers mill about, wearing Rosie’s clothes, and not in the way that anyone would style them. How would they know that though? Dishes litter the sink and food is still in plates on the table. Going from one to six has obviously been a challenge.
“RoRo,” Renée hollers and runs for her grandma’s arms.
Rosie’s wide-open welcome is probably as foreign to the girls as it is needed for my daughter.
I can’t hear their conversation, and I don’t try to. I simply enter and stay to the side. Cian, though, moves to the kitchen, and stays out of the way.
I only told him once, but I guess seeing it with his own eyes penetrated somewhere deep.
Men are to be feared. Men are to be obeyed. Men are not safe. That’s what these girls know. So Ci milling about, especially after Sunday, that wouldn’t help things.
Water runs, dishes clank, and my heart melts. My man, the one who owns my heart, the one with me in thick and thin, who’s committed to me and my daughter… That man is in my mom’s kitchen doing dishes, flipping the script so that at any time the girls can see what real, modern life is like.
It’s not men imposing. It’s men alongside.
It’s not women serving. It’s women as equals.
It took time for me watching Randy. Not listening to his words, anyone can say what you want to hear, but watching him love his wife. Watching his kindness toward her, toward me, so I could learn what life outside was like.
Rosie’s head pops up, and she opens an arm to me. I fold into her embrace, fighting the swell of emotion, bubbling within me. She’s such a safe place for me.
It was a no brainer when the girls got on that plane for her to be their shelter too.
I can’t imagine what it would be like to be in their position, all those years, and then that night, only to have Christian, Ren, and Fitz—all imposing figures—take them from their homes and onto an aircraft of all things.
I’m guessing fight, flight, or freeze became cryogenics. It would’ve been for me without a doubt.
“Love you, Sariah. I don’t say it enough.” Rosie kisses my temple before releasing me from her hold.
The room is deathly quiet, only the sound of running water and Cian whistling breaks the eerie silence.
We pull apart and, instinctively, I grab Née’s hand.
I turn to the girls. “I’m Sariah. This is my daughter, Renée.” I look each in the eye; only one holds my gaze in return.
“Hi.” My daughter gives a low wave.
“I grew up at Promised Land Ranch and ran away when I was your age, a little younger actually.”
Heads spring up around us.
Tilting my head to Rosie, I add, “Rosie found me when I was scared and alone, and she helped me when I didn’t want to go back.”
I fold to the floor, legs crossed in front of me. There aren’t nearly enough seats for us all to have one.
“Brother Jonas wanted Renée to participate in the full moon ceremony and he tried to make sure she did. I didn’t want that for her.”
“And I wouldn’t allow it either,” Rosie offers, showing solidarity, in their eyes as an elder.
“Why?” The bravest girl asks.
“Because I believe women get to choose their destinies, their careers, and what happens to their own bodies. Renée wasn’t offered the choice. I don’t think you were either.”
Two of the girls shake their heads.
“Outside of Promised Land Ranch, girls aren’t forced to do those things.”
All eyes spring up to mine.
“And I, or rather we, owe each of you an apology. We didn’t offer you a choice either when we brought you here.
” Shit this is harder than I want it to be.
“I don’t want you to, but you can choose to go home.
Brother Jonas will punish you for leaving.
He will have another ceremony on a full moon night, but I suspect it will be more strict, more guarded. ”
Tears roll down my face. The idea of Renée going through that, or worse. Even these girls I don’t know…
“My mom escaped.” My daughter, wise beyond her years, takes over. “And she’ll help you escape too. So will Cian.”
Um, what?
Eyes lock on my face. I feel them boring into me.
“We all will,” Rosie says. “You can live here.” She looks around and I’d bet she’s thinking the same thing I am—where will they all fit?
The running water stops and footsteps might as well pound behind me.
The girls all drop their heads, but my man must get it.
“I’m going to wait in the car, Angel. I’ll call Sherman.
Will you let me know what you need me to do to help?
” His tone is soft. “I’ll make sure you and the girls are safe and nothing can harm any of you.
” He goes back the way he came and slides out the kitchen door instead of the front one.
I could kiss him for his thoughtfulness. I will… later.
“Men outside of Promised Land aren’t raised like they are inside. Well, some are. But there are plenty who are kind. That’s Cian, by the way. He’s promised to protect us, and I believe him. I’ve known him a long time.”
“He saved me from the men that night. He saved my mom too. You all saw it.” Renée pauses. “Will you tell me your names?”
One by one they do. All but one.
“That’s okay,” Rosie puts in. “We respect your decision not to share. You won’t be forced to do anything here you don’t want to do.”
Of course, she knows the girl’s name. But choosing to protect her privacy is such a Rosie thing to do.
I lean to the side and kiss Rosie on the cheek. “Love you, RoRo.”
This is as foreign to the girls as all the rest. But love is worth demonstrating. And Rosie’s love even more so.