She’d never been a warm and fuzzy kind of girl. That had been Elise: soft next to Julia’s hard edges, optimistic next to Julia’s cynicism, pleasing next to Julia’s determination not to please, even when it would have been better for her if she had.
Her love life had been all short-lived relationships and hookups, situations where nobody could get too close, where nobody could know her too well. She used to tell herself it was because she didn’t need anybody in her life, didn’t want the trouble of working someone into her life, but deep down she’d just been scared. Scared that once they knew her, they wouldn’t like her. That she was inherently unlovable.
“Hey.” Ronan reached out and stroked her cheek. “You want to go?”
Leaving would just add more drama to the situation, and it would be stressful for Elise, who’d always been willing to cut their mom more slack.
“No, it’s fine,” Julia said, opening her car door. “Let’s just go in.”
She’d only seen her mother once since Elise had come home. It had been one too many times as far as Julia was concerned, but she couldn’t bring herself to disagree when her gramps had said their mom deserved to see for herself that her daughter was safe and sound.
The dinner had been awkward, the baggage of their shared history — their mom’s long line of boyfriends, each more of a loser than the last, her pattern of putting them before her two daughters, largely raised by their grandfather — heavy between them.
Julia had been relieved to leave, sure that it would be another year at least before they saw their mother again despite the fact that Gramps claimed she’d kicked out her last boyfriend and hadn’t been seeing anyone new.
They made their way up the flower-lined walkway toward the porch. As always, the door opened before they reached the top, Gramps standing in his favorite cardigan and pressed khakis, creased from the iron.
“Hello, hello!” he said, stepping out onto the porch. He reached for Elise and bent to give her a kiss on the cheek. “How are you, my dear?”
“Fine, Gramps. How are you?” Elise asked the question like she asked every question since she’d come home — like it was a line she’d rehearsed, like she was speaking one of a few carefully memorized foreign phrases designed to get her around in a new country.
“I’m better now that my girls are here.” He held a hand out to Ronan. “And their trusty bodyguard, of course. Ronan, nice to see you.”
Ronan shook his hand. “Sir.”
Gramps put an arm around Elise to guide her into the house and patted Julia’s shoulder before leaning in to speak softly near her ear. “Be nice now.”
Julia bit back a retort and followed him and Elise into the house, grateful for the giant wall of Ronan’s presence beside her.
He leaned close to her ear. “You don’t have to be nice if you don’t want to. In fact, I’d pay to see you give her hell.”
Julia laughed and shook her head. He was kidding, but she had the feeling he wouldn’t mind at all if she finally let loose on her mom. She’d only given him the barest of explanations about their history, but Ronan had a complicated relationship with his own father. He got it.
The house was warm, a fire burning in the grate, the air fragrant with her gramps’ beef stroganoff, one of Elise’s favorites. Julia took her time removing her shoes and shrugging off her jacket. When she turned around, her mom was standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen.
She came toward Elise and pulled her into a hug.
“Hi, Mom,” Elise said.
“You look so good, sweetheart.” She pulled away and smoothed Elise’s hair, studying her face. “It looks like you’ve gotten some sun, and you’ve put on a little weight too — that’s a compliment, by the way.”
Her laugh was brittle and Julia had an unwelcome flash of sympathy for her mom. She heard her gramps’ voice in her ear the last time they’d visited, when Julia had bristled at the idea of paying her mom a visit.
She’s trying, Julia. What more would you like her to do?
The truth was, she didn’t know. He was right: the past was the past. It couldn’t be changed. Why couldn’t Julia just move past it?
Her mom let go of Elise reluctantly, turning toward Julia like she was bracing herself for an assault. She looked healthier than the last time Julia had seen her, her face less gaunt, more color in her cheeks. Her hair was still thick, the same shade as Elise’s, like sun-warmed hay.
“Julia, you look well.” She leaned in to drop a short kiss on Julia’s cheek, retreating back into her own space like she thought Julia might bite. “It’s so nice to see you.”
“Hi, Lisa,” Ronan said, breaking into the awkward moment and shaking her hand. He’d only met Julia’s mother once and had wisely refrained from either attacking or defending her based on their short interaction. “Nice to see you again.”
“Well, I think it’s time to put the meat on the grill,” Gramps said, heading for the kitchen. “I have the heater on outside, but there are blankets too, just in case. I thought we should enjoy the deck before it’s too cold.”
“Can I help?” Julia asked.
“You can bring out the sides if you don’t mind,” her gramps said, heading for the fridge. He opened the door and removed a plate of raw steak, chicken, and sausages.
“I don’t mind.”
Julia’s mom stood at the island. “I’ll help.”
Ronan pulled the backgammon board off the kitchen counter and looked at Elise. “I guess that leaves me no choice but to defend my honor.”
Julia had asked Ronan if he’d been losing to Elise intentionally — he was that bad at the game — but he insisted he was doing his best and the two of them had taken to playing while Julia and her gramps finished up dinner each week.
Elise gave him a ghost of a smile. “It’s your funeral.”
“It’s my…” Ronan clutched his chest like he was wounded and looked at Julia. “Do you hear this trash talk coming from your sister? And she looks so sweet too.”
“I mean, she does have a point,” Julia said.
He gave her a wounded glance as they followed Gramps out onto the deck.
Julia turned to the fridge, her gaze roving over bowls of potato and pasta salads, a cheese plate with olives, and a plate of sliced heirloom tomatoes. “Is all of this supposed to go?”
“I think so,” her mom said.
“It’s a lot of food,” Julia said, taking out the bowl of pasta salad.
“What can I do to help?”
“You could get plates and silverware,” Julia said.
This was fine. This was good. This was something she could still do with her mother: talk about plates and side dishes.
Her mom moved toward the cupboard holding the dishes. “How has she been?”
Julia hesitated. She had no idea how often Elise talked to their mother or how much had been said between them about what had happened to Elise. “Okay, I think.”
Her mom set a stack of plates on the kitchen island. “Still going to therapy?”
“Every week,” Julia said.
Her mom nodded. “I’ve been going too, you know,” she said, busying herself with the silverware.
“To therapy?” Julia couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice.
Her mom nodded. “Crazy, right? Who would’ve thought?”
Julia started pulling plastic wrap off the dishes she’d pulled from the fridge. “For how long?”
“A few months now.”
Julia chewed her lip, glad she had the side dishes to focus on. She didn’t want to look at her mother, didn’t want to see what was in her eyes. “Since before Elise went missing?”
She dared a glance at her mom and saw her nod.
“How is it?” Julia asked.
“It’s… enlightening.” Her mom laughed a little.
“That’s good.” Julia didn’t know what else to say. The idea of her mother in therapy was impossible to imagine. She might as well have said she was tra
ining to join the circus.
“Julia…”
Julia dug through one of the kitchen drawers for serving utensils. “Hmmm?”
“Can you look at me for a minute?”
Julia had to force herself to meet her mother’s eyes. It had been too long — if ever — since they’d had a heart-to-heart. Julia didn’t know how to do this, how to be a regular mother and daughter who had quiet conversations about important things in the kitchen.
“What?”
Her mother inhaled. “I know I’ve made mistakes.”
“Did you learn that in therapy?” Julia regretted the biting question as soon as it escaped her mouth. She knew she was being unfair, mean even, and yet she couldn’t seem to help herself. The pain of being abandoned, of being forgotten, was stronger than her desire to be mature, to be forgiving.
She didn’t want it to be true, but it was.
“No, I learned it when I realized neither of my daughters wanted me in their lives,” her mom said. “When they spent all their time avoiding me, when I looked back and couldn’t blame them.”
Julia sighed and went back to digging for the serving utensils. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Mom.”
“Nothing. This isn’t about you saying something — it’s about me saying something.”
Julia slid a large spoon into the pasta salad and one into the potato salad, then looked up to meet her mother’s eyes. She just wanted to get this over with. “What do you want to say?”
Her mother inhaled deeply, like she was hoping the breath would give her courage. “I want to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all those years when I didn’t put you and Elise first. I’m sorry for all the… all the men I brought home. I’m sorry I was too selfish to see how much you needed me, and how much it hurt you both that I wasn’t there for you when you did.”
Julia’s chest felt like a too-full balloon about to pop. She wasn’t ready to have this conversation, hadn’t come here for this. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. That’s what I’m trying to say. I know it’s not fine, that it was never fine. I’m trying to learn from my mistakes.”
Julia had a flash of memory: waking up and walking to the kitchen before school, her Mom and one of the many men who’d occupied her bed passed out naked on the couch, empty bottles of beer littering the coffee table.
She’d been seven.
“It’s a little late for that,” Julia said.
“It’s all I can do,” her mom said. “I hope you can find a way to forgive me.”
Julia picked up the potato salad and cheese plate and started for the door. “Can you grab the pasta?”
5
Ronan stood at the counter, waiting for the kettle to boil for Julia’s tea and replaying the night’s awkward dinner at John Taylor’s house. He hadn’t expected Lisa, Julia and Elise’s mother, to be there, and Ronan had passed the time torn between feeling sorry for Lisa and wanting to sweep Julia into the car and drive her home.
Julia hadn’t gone into detail when talking about her childhood, but Ronan hadn’t needed details to gather that Lisa had been a shitty parent. She’d abandoned her daughters over and over again, letting John take care of them when what they’d really needed was a mother.
It was hard not to hate Lisa for that, hard not to hate anyone who had ever hurt Julia, but even Ronan could see the woman had been suffering, trying to make conversation with her daughters, one of whom was so traumatized from her kidnapping she could barely speak and the other so angry she was afraid to.
That’s what it came down to: Julia was afraid to let loose with her mother, to really have it out, afraid to open up the wounds that hadn’t healed, but had at least scabbed over, allowed her to feel like she could lead a normal life.
Ronan got it. He had plenty of baggage with his own father, albeit of a different nature. What was hurting Julia most was her unwillingness to confront all the ugly, messy feelings associated with her mom.
Ronan knew that firsthand too.
He knew it because of his father, a retired Boston police officer who believed that nothing was more important than the law. They didn’t talk openly about the way his sons made a living — stepping in when the law failed — but it was no secret that he disapproved. He’d liked it better when Ronan had been a star football player in high school, when he’d joined the Navy and went through SEAL training.
MIS was not something his father had anticipated, and that didn’t even touch the baggage Ronan had about the drug overdose that had killed his youngest sister, Erin, when she’d been twenty.
Knowing all of that made him want Julia to face her feelings about her childhood and her mother. There was no healing without it, and after years of taking care of Elise, of taking care of everybody, he wanted Julia to have healing, wanted her to live happily and at peace.
No one deserved it more.
The kettle whistled and he turned off the heat and poured hot water into the waiting mug.
“Heard you had quite a night,” Nick said, coming into the kitchen smelling like a locker room and still wearing his rugby clothes. His dark hair was damp with sweat and falling over his forehead like it had when they’d been kids.
He dropped a hand to pet Chief, lying in one of the many cushions scattered throughout the house for her.
“Take a shower and ask me that again,” Ronan said. “You reek, man.”
“Work hard, play hard,” Nick said.
Ronan didn’t bother calling him on the lie. Nick wasn’t exactly down for “playing hard.” Other than his intramural rugby games, a vestige of his college extracurricular, he didn’t have much of a life outside of MIS and the occasional one-night stand.
Ronan let it go. The last thing he needed after the tense night at John’s house was a verbal sparring match with his brother.
“What’d you hear?” Ronan asked.
“Heard Mom was there and it made for some tense eating.” Nick opened the fridge and grabbed a beer, leaning against the counter as he opened it.
“Elise tell you that?” Ronan asked.
Nick’s green eyes — the same shade as Erin and Nora’s — flashed. “Who else? I’m not surveilling your dinners at Taylor’s house, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Just surprised, that’s all.” It was hard to imagine Elise confiding in anybody but Julia, let alone Nick.
Nick lifted his eyebrows. “Friends, remember?”
Ronan nodded. “Mom was there, and the eating was indeed tense.”
“I guess Julia didn’t take it too well?”
“I’m guessing that’s not a question,” Ronan said.
Nick took a swig of the beer. “Elise just said Julia has trouble with the mom thing.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Ronan said. “A lot of baggage.”
“Parental baggage,” Nick said sarcastically. “Something you know a lot about.”
“Fuck you.”
There was no anger behind the words. They’d had the conversation so many times that everything had been said: Nick thought Ronan was being an asshole when it came to their father, that Ronan should accept their father was an old-school Irish cop who couldn’t help being disapproving about lawbreakers. Ronan thought their dad should get over himself and admit there were times when the law didn’t get the job done.
Nick pushed off the counter and started out of the room. “Back at you, brother.”
Ronan picked up the steaming mug of tea and passed through the shared living room on his way to the hall that ran the length of the U-shaped house, providing access to the private quarters that belonged to Declan, Nick, and Ronan as well as guest rooms like the one Elise now occupied.
Declan’s door was closed, the room quiet, and Ronan guessed he was out looking for his next conquest. He was smart as shit, but his level of seriousness and commitment could fit in a thimble.
Julia was sitting on the bed, her back against the headboard. Her hair was still damp, her chee
ks flushed from her bath. Her legs were covered in loose sweatpants and stretched out in front of her. A faded T-shirt had slipped off one bare shoulder.
She was so beautiful it hurt to look at her.
“How was your bath?” He set the mug of tea on the nightstand next to the bed and dropped a kiss on her forehead.
“I feel almost human again.” She lifted the mug to her nose and inhaled, then took a sip. “Hmmm… thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He stretched out on the bed next to her and waited for her to set the mug down to pull her into his arms. “You smell good.”
She did. Like vanilla and coconut.
“So do you,” she said against his chest.
He laughed. “I need to shower.”
She lifted his shirt and pressed her lips to his stomach. “I like the way you smell.”
A bolt of lust roared through his body like clockwork. It happened every time she kissed him, every time she touched him.
Hell, it even happened when she looked at him.
He wanted her with something akin to a fever. Wanted her body, her heart, her soul. But he also knew how hard Julia worked to avoid emotional intimacy. She’d gotten better at letting him in since the trip to Greece, but she still shied away from the heavy stuff.
Ronan didn’t like to push her, but he wasn’t going to help her hide either. Hiding didn’t solve anything — it only fucked you up more.
“Hey…” He touched her head as she kissed her way toward one of his nipples.
She looked up at him. “I’m trying to work here.”
He smiled and cradled her face in his hands. How had it come to mean so much to him? To mean everything?
“Are you okay? Really?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“How were things with your mom?”
Her hands slid under his shirt, her fingertips, light as a feather, teasing his skin as they marched up his chest. She stretched to reach his mouth with her own.
“I don’t want to talk about my mom,” she said against his lips. She slipped her tongue inside his mouth and his cock hardened in his jeans. “Do you have a problem with that?” she murmured.
Murphy’s Love: Murphy’s Law Book Three Page 3