"Grace, love, we know...we know it's a lot t'take in, an' we know yer pissed. But, well, dere's somewhere we hafta be, an' we didn't want t'leave ye wit'out tellin' ye. Will ye let us in fer a minute?"
I glance up at the door from where I'm perched on my windowsill. I seriously consider ignoring them, but I shake my head at my petty, childish attitude and stand, stretching my sore tailbone. I've spent nearly an hour crammed onto the narrow ledge, my knees tucked under my chin and my back pressed to the chilly glass, resolutely refusing to think about anything to do with the idiots in my living room. I know that I'll have to talk to them eventually, but damn it, I just don't want to right now. I'm tired.
I cross the room, unlocking the door and walking away without bothering to open it. I'm sure they'll find their way in. I drop down on the edge of my bed, slouching forward to cradle my aching head in my hands, wondering why the universe chooses to do the things that it does.
I hear the door open slowly, but I don't look up. I still don't actually want to see any of them. This whole mess is still too new, too much to take in. The bed sinks down on either side of me, but both twins refrain from actual physical contact. Definitely a good idea.
"We're not done talking," I say into my hands. The words are muffled, but I know they understand me.
"Aye, we know. Roc's got summat t'tell ye as well, if we're goin' fer full disclosure, but we t'ought it might be wise t'give ye some time t'think over what we've said so far. We've gotta be somewhere in an hour or so, an' we wanted t'see if ye needed anyt'in' b'fore we left," Murphy offers cautiously. Both twins know my temper, and Murphy seems to think handling me like a live bomb is the best approach. I don't honestly blame him. My head is so screwed up right now that actually exploding seems somewhere in the realm of possibility.
I glance up at him from my hands, my eyes sore and swollen from crying. "So, no McGinty's tonight, huh? Regular date nights are pretty much tossed to the wayside at this point, I guess."
"Summat we gotta take care of," Connor says softly, though there's no apology in his voice. I know then that something has irrevocably shifted with the three of us. While I don't feel any less important to the two of them, there is definitely something else that is going to come first in their lives from now on, and I have no idea how far the effects of this displacement will reach. I let out a shaky breath, searching for a response that can adequately explain what I'm thinking.
"Ye want us to drop ye at th'bar on our way?" Murphy offers suddenly. Connor shoots him a sharp look, which Murphy ignores, but I don't blame Connor for his reaction. I'm not sure what Murphy is thinking, except that maybe he doesn't want me to be alone right now.
"I'm not in much shape to be social right now," I say, rubbing my face with both hands, soundly exhausted by the last few days' events. "Do I want to know where it is you have to go?"
Silence, then both of them shake their heads simultaneously. I nod, understanding immediately that this will be our new reality. But they'd damned sure better tell me when they get back.
"And we're all absolutely sure that we're awake and this isn't some sort of screwed up group nightmare? I'm really not hallucinating? Because I will totally and completely accept that I am on drugs right now."
Connor's mouth twitches at the corner, and Murphy lets out a quiet laugh, but they have the sense to remain relatively sober.
"If ye would, lass, could ye stay in t'night an' lock yer doors? Maybe check th'window locks on yer fire escape exit?" The genuine concern in Connor's voice shakes me from my fog of misery, and I sit up straighter, peering inquisitively at him.
"Do I need to be worried? Is there something you guys haven't told me that I need to know right now?"
"No," Connor replies decisively, "but we ain't takin' any chances wit' yer safety, an' dis is one t'ing ye don't get t'argue wit' us about."
"Speakin' of," Murphy cuts in, "what time are ye goin' t'work t'morra? One or bot' of us are gonna escort ye dere an' back home from now on, no matter how good yer gettin' at takin' care o'yerself."
"I don't work on Sundays anymore, remember?" I'm utterly exhausted now, and I wonder if I even have the strength to make it to the front door to lock it behind them. "And Jen took me off the schedule for the rest of the week; I was going to surprise you when you took me to McGinty's tonight. She said I hadn't taken a vacation since I started at the company and to think of it as a signing bonus for my promotion. Besides, I need some time to get my clothes ready for my new managerial/directorial status."
They stare at me, utterly confused by my last statement.
"Like...get 'em pressed or somethin'?" Murphy asks, glancing at Connor with a mystified expression. Connor shrugs, looking equally baffled, and they both turn to me for explanation.
"I have to go buy some business suits and similar outfits this week. I'm expected to dress a lot fancier from now on. No more jeans at work for me," I clarify. The statement is so ordinary and everyday that my thoughts stumble briefly before returning to the current state of affairs.
They nod in understanding and rise from the bed at the same time. They've already got their coats on to leave, and Murphy offers me his hand, pulling me to my feet. He hugs me tightly against his chest, and I wonder if it's my imagination that I can feel his gun holstered under his coat.
As I pull away, something soft and black drops out of his coat pocket and falls to the floor at my feet. Without thinking, I stoop to pick it up and hold it out to him before I realize what it is.
"A ski mask?"
Murphy doesn't answer, knowing I don't need him to. He watches the silent parade of emotions across my face, his own expression as stoic and unreadable as the mask I just handed him. I open my mouth to ask why they would need to cover their faces when I realize just how stupid that question is and press my lips closed again. I know exactly why they need to stay hidden. I glance at Connor's identically impassive demeanor, my gut twisting into yet another knot of apprehension.
"When are you coming back?"
They share a silent, grave look before turning back at me. Connor is the one who finally speaks.
"We don't know exactly. Are y'sure ye want us to?"
From the loaded pause that follows Connor's words, I get the feeling this is the question neither of them wanted to ask me. I don't know how Connor drew the short straw, but looking into his earnest, painfully blue eyes, I remember his words from my dream.
Dis was bound t'happen whether you were here or not. I was protectin' me family. I've done th'same fer you an' Roc an' Ma, an' I'll do it again. It's what I do.
"Yes," I say firmly. I put my hands on the backs of their necks, pulling them both to me until our foreheads are touching. Both of them raise an arm to circle around my back, and my breath catches a moment at the sudden sting of pain in my chest. The sounds of the television in the next room, of Rocco laughing, of the Boston nightlife filter out until it's just the three of us, linked together, our heartbeats pounding in my ears in perfect synchronization.
"Always come back to me."
Author's Note: I've got a nice backlog of chapters, so the sooner you tell me you like what I'm doing, the sooner I'll have the next bit up. Thank you for reading.
