14. Ailish
Ailish
Mackenzie comes down the next morning with two training bags over her shoulder, exactly like she said she would, and nobody so much as looks up.
She drops them inside my office, shuts the door with her heel, and says, "Talk."
So I do. I get about six words in before she crosses the room and sits on the edge of my desk, close enough that I have to say the rest of it quietly, and when I finally get the word out she doesn't gasp or reach for me or make it bigger than it already is.
"You haven't taken it," she says.
"No."
"Then we're taking it. Not here." She's already thinking. "Not in a building where somebody empties your bin."
Which is how I end up at my own apartment that night, for the first time in five weeks, because Mackenzie went to Liam and asked for it as a favor and Liam said yes without asking her why.
Two guards escort me up. They sweep the place and stand outside, and the silence inside the unit is startling, like a void I've been missing without realizing it. No footsteps. No men on radios. No Liam pacing.
Just me. And the small paper bag on my dresser like a detonator.
I've been ignoring the nausea for weeks. Telling myself it was stress, or lack of sleep, or too much coffee. Telling myself I'm strong enough to push through anything. But strength doesn't stop your hands from shaking when you finally open the bag.
I take it into the bathroom. The tile is cold under my feet, and the overhead light hums faintly, almost metallic. I’ve spent so long running from this moment, but standing here, alone for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, I realize there isn’t anywhere left to run.
My reflection in the mirror doesn’t look like me. My cheeks are pale. My eyes look darker. My lips are pressed so tight they almost vanish.
I look like someone bracing for a blow.
“Just do it,” I whisper to myself.
My fingers fumble with the wrapper. The test feels too small. Too plain. Too fragile to hold the kind of answer that could change everything.
When it’s done—when I place it on the sink counter—I can’t look. I turn away, heart pounding in my throat, muscles coiled tight. I grip the edge of the counter until my knuckles ache.
The seconds stretch, thick and oppressive.
I force myself to turn and look.
Two lines.
Not faint. Not a trick of the eye. Not a maybe.
Positive.
My knees nearly buckle. “No,” I whisper, backing away from the counter as if the test itself is dangerous. “No, no, no—” But denial doesn’t wash the lines away. The room tilts. My breathing fractures. The world narrows to a silent scream inside my skull.
Pregnant.
A child conceived in a moment of fear and adrenaline and desperation and something else neither of us could name even now. A moment that shouldn’t have happened—and yet did, with a force that stripped me bare.
My hands fly to my mouth as the spiral hits me full force—fear, dread, confusion, grief, longing, anger, love, shame, hope, terror—all swirling like a storm I can’t outrun.
I stumble out of the bathroom, clutching the phone before I realize I've even picked it up. She answers on the first ring. She's been waiting on it.
"Positive," I say.
A sharp inhale. Then, softer, "Okay. Sweetheart. Okay."
“I don’t know what to do.” My back hits the wall, and I slide down to the floor, knees pulled up, phone pressed to my ear like a lifeline. Tears burn hot down my cheeks. “I don’t—I can’t even think. I can’t breathe. I don’t know what this means. For me, for him, for everything—”
“Okay, okay,” she murmurs gently. “Slow down. Breathe. I’m here.”
Her calm only makes me cry harder. “I can’t tell anyone,” I choke out. “Not Liam, not Nadia, not Ronan—no one.”
“And Declan?” she asks carefully.
I squeeze my eyes shut. His face flashes in my mind—angry, exhausted, starving for something he wouldn’t let himself name. Then that kiss in the office. The way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world capable of destroying him. The way he vanished afterward.
“He’s unstable,” I whisper. “He’s furious all the time. Self-destructive. Bitter. Dangerous. And he’s shutting me out.”
“He’s always had a temper,” she reminds me gently.
“This is different,” I whisper. “He’s spiraling. He’s drinking more. He’s reckless. Conor said he’s pacing like he’s waiting for a bomb to go off. Mack, if I tell him—if he finds out right now—he’ll explode.”
She’s quiet for a moment. Then softly: “I think you’re right.”
A sob slips from my throat. “I don’t want to keep it from him forever, I just—I need time. I need a moment to think. For the new businesses to stabilize. For Liam to stop watching me like I’m going to break. For the Russians to stop—God, for everything to calm down enough that I can breathe.”
“And your head needs to clear,” she adds.
“Yes.” The word cracks. “I can’t even think straight. I’m so scared, Mackenzie.”
“I know,” she murmurs. “But listen to me—you’re not alone. You tell me what you need, when you need it. Until then, I won’t breathe a word. Not to Liam, not to Nadia, not to anyone.”
My chest shakes with relief and terror all at once. “Thank you. Please—just don’t tell him. Not yet.”
“I won’t,” she promises, fierceness threading her voice. “But Ailish… you need to prepare yourself for something.”
“What?”
“When he eventually finds out—whenever that is—Declan may not react well.”
A flash of heat spikes through my chest. Fear, mixed with something more fragile. “I know.”
“I’m serious,” she presses. “He’s intense on a normal day. But lately? He’s volatile. Add this? He might panic. Or rage. Or lose control.”
“I know,” I whisper again, voice raw. “That’s why I can’t tell him now. He’d either disappear or demand I let him handle me like I’m property. Or he’d pick a fight with Liam and tear the entire syndicate apart. He’d be… Declan.”
“And you’re not ready for that version of him,” she says gently.
“No. Not when I’m barely holding it together myself.”
We sit in silence for a moment—her breathing steady on the other end, mine jagged and sharp. Finally, she says, “Okay. I’ll keep your secret. But when the time is right, you have to tell him. Whether you’re afraid or not.”
I nod even though she can’t see me. “I will.”
“Good. Now drink some water. Lie down. And call me if the spiral gets bad.”
“I will,” I whisper.
We hang up, and the apartment is silent again. Too silent. I’m still sitting on the floor when my phone buzzes with another call.
Gianna.
Of course. One more person who genuinely cares. One more person I can’t tell.
I swipe to answer and clear my throat before speaking. “Hey.”
“Ailish!” Gianna’s warm, bright voice fills the line. “It feels like forever. How are you doing? I’ve been worried—you’ve barely replied to anyone.”
I lean my head against the wall and try to pull myself together. “I’m… okay. Just busy.”
She laughs softly. “You always say that. But seriously—how are you? You sound tired.”
“I am.” I force a small laugh. “It’s been a long few weeks.”
“I can imagine. Between the Russians and all the new operations and that insane attack—God, when I heard what happened, I wanted to drive down myself.”
A sting of guilt slices through me. “I’m all right now. Really. It was awful, but… I’m safe.”
“Good. Liam said he’s got you under guard constantly.”
“Yeah,” I say faintly. “He does.”
Gianna hums sympathetically. “I hate that you’re stuck under so much scrutiny again. I know you hate feeling watched.”
“I do.”
“And Declan?” she asks lightly. “Is he still being… Declan?”
My breath catches just enough for her to notice. “Oh,” she says softly. “That bad?”
I shake my head even though she can’t see me. “It’s complicated.”
“It’s always complicated with the men who make your life interesting.”
My throat tightens. “Yeah. Something like that.”
Gianna sighs. “Well, I’m here if you ever want to talk. Or scream. Or murder him. Just say the word.”
A weak smile touches my lips. “Thank you.”
“And hey,” she adds, “you’ve been quiet lately. Everything okay? Like, everything everything?”
My heart plummets. I swallow hard, staring blindly across the room. “I’m fine,” I lie. “Just tired.”
She softens immediately, trusting me too easily. “Then rest. Or try to. You sound like you need it.”
“I do.”
“Call me tomorrow, okay?”
“Tomorrow,” I promise.
We hang up.
And for the first time since reading those two lines on the test, I let myself curl on my side on the living room rug and feel it all—the fear, the loneliness, the secret inside me like a fragile ember I’m terrified to touch.
The apartment is too quiet. My life is too loud. And I don’t know which part terrifies me more.
But I know one thing with devastating clarity: Before long, silence won’t protect me.
And when everything comes crashing down—and it will—Declan will have to hear the truth. No matter how unsteady we both are when that moment comes.