"I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to come out of your room."
Malcolm frowned at his sister as he slid into a chair across from her at the dining room table.
"Sorcha needed to sleep," was the only explanation he gave.
"Sleep." Amusement twinkled in the depths of Ainsley's eyes. Trembled in the curve of her lips. "I can't imagine why."
"She's a bit hungover."
Because she decided to have drinks with our mother last night, he added silently.
Something he still hadn't quite managed to wrap his head around. Sorcha refrained from touching alcohol after the hell Robert put her through last year. That Watkins put them through at Christmas.
That he put them through after he went out a window right before a bomb could make purée of Bright, got electroshock therapy, stabbed his father, and essentially pulled their lives apart when he chose to resume dating Eve.
She reached her breaking point with my getting arrested on suspicion of murder.
Another ball of guilt joined the rest bouncing around in his belly.
"Sorcha was hungover?" One flaxen brow quirked. "I thought she swore off drinking after the night you got attacked?"
"She did." Malcolm kept his gaze trained on the pristine tablecloth covering the table. "She reached a breaking point last night and decided to have a drink or two."
Or three or four.
"You've been through a lot." Ainsley took a sip of her coffee. "Her ex-boyfriend tried to kill her, you got kidnapped by a serial killer, you stabbed Dad, her ex tried to get revenge on you two, and now this. Kinda can see why she had a few drinks last night."
"That's why she needed to sleep."
"Sleep isn't the only thing that works to cure a hangover headache."
Malcolm rolled his eyes as he reached for the silver coffee pot set in the middle of the table.
"Why are you here?" he asked as he poured the hot liquid into a cup. "I figured you would be busy reporting the latest scandal to engulf our family."
"Mom called a meeting."
Malcolm tamped down his frustration. Harder to control was the tremor that rocked his hand.
"Of course, she did."
Why wouldn't their mother call a meeting? Their family was under attack by a man with more resources at his disposal than any of them could have imagined.
"You're in a lot of trouble here, bro."
"I'm perfectly aware of how much trouble I'm in, Ains."
The electronic device cinched around his ankle reminded him how much trouble he was in with every move he made.
"So..." Ainsley looked at him expectantly. Waiting for an answer to a question Malcolm couldn't figure out. When he arched a brow in return, she huffed, and asked, "What's your first move going to be?"
Malcolm considered his answer as he poured coffee into a second cup.
"I need to find a way to see Eddie's body."
That was his top priority, he decided as he carefully set the pot back in the middle of the table. He could figure out how and when Eddie died once he got a look at his body. Harder to prove was the blood not being his. Sorcha has an idea on that, though.
"Why do you need to the body?" A quizzical frown pulled at Ainsley's brow. "What does seeing it do?"
"It will tell me how he died for starters." He spooned sugar into one of the cups. Added enough cream to turn the coffee an almond color. "If I can figure out how he died... what?" he asked when he caught the smile on Ainsley's face. "Why're you smiling at me like that?"
"Isn't sugar and cream how Sorcha takes her coffee?"
Embarrassed color filled Malcolm's cheeks. He ducked his head to avoid seeing Ainsley's smile stretch into a knowing grin.
"Yes, it is."
"So, is it safe to say you two are back on the same page?"
"No." He stirred cream into his own cup. "We're nowhere near being on the same page."
Not with Eve's ghost floating between us and me likely heading to jail for a murder I didn't commit.
"She handled things with Eve better than I would have," Ainsley said as she reached for a piece of toast. "I wouldn't have packed my things and left."
"You'd have made a scene."
"Oh, I'd have made a huge scene," she confirmed as she spread a bit of jelly on the toast. "I would have burst in on your dinner party and made it clear I was your girlfriend and that I wasn't going anywhere."
Malcolm curled his fingers around his cup but did not lift it.
"I wish Sorcha had done that."
"She needed you to make that declaration." She waved her piece of toast at him. "To establish what her place in your life was."
"And I didn't because I'm an idiot."
Ainsley took a bite of her toast and smiled at him. "It's part of your charm." Pit vipers had more charm than he did in his opinion. "Seriously, bro, don't screw things up with Sorcha."
"You mean again?"
"What do you mean again?"
"Ains, I've been screwing things up with Sorcha since we met."
"I like to think you didn't screw things up until second year." Sorcha slid into the chair next to his, smelling of jasmine and orchids, and wearing one of his shirts. Something that Ainsley's smile confirmed she hadn't missed. "That was when you asked Cathy Morrison to go to that mixer being held off campus."
"Cathy Morrison?" Ainsley pursed her lips. "Why do I know that name?"
"She owns and operates Femme Fatale."
"The private, members only sex club?"
"That's the one."
Malcolm bit down on his lip, tasted shame as he recalled Cathy Morrison drug him to an underground sex club instead of going with him to that mixer. Told him she was going to teach him about "sexual freedom" and introduce him to a "bona fide sensual utopia."
What he ended up with were traumas piled on top of the plethora of others he already had. Sorcha discovered a set of half-healed bruises and whip marks on his back and torso after he tweaked his back in a boxing session. She questioned him about them but he refused to answer, too ashamed to tell her what was going on.
Not that his refusal to talk about how he got the injuries stopped Sorcha from finding out. No, she'd simply confronted Cathy and made clear what would happen if she came near him again.
Not that his spiral stopped there. After Cathy came Lori who convinced him to stop taking his medication. That resulted in Gil flying up to get him and bring him home for a thirty day stay in the hospital.
The only reason he didn't fall behind in his classes was because Sorcha taped the lectures on a recorder and brought them to him every weekend.
"You saved me." He hadn't meant to say those words out loud. He wished he could call them back. He couldn't, though, so he glanced at Sorcha from the corner of his eye. "Like you always do."
Her hand settled on his knee under the table, gently squeezed. "We've been saving each other all these years, you dope."
"You saved yourself from Robert."
"I'd be dead if you hadn't figured out where he took me and got Gil and paramedics there in time."
His hand took hers under the table. Needing that comfort and support despite telling himself he didn't deserve it.
"You'd have found a way to save yourself."
Sorcha held up the arm Robert slashed with a knife.
"My arm was useless, Mal. If you hadn't found me when you did, I'd have bled to death."
Twenty stitches, he thought as he stared at the scar running from her wrist almost to her elbow. The doctor who sutured the wound closed told him it was a miracle no muscle or nerves had been severed. Sorcha covered the scar with two hummingbirds drinking from the same orchid. To represent them, she told him the day she got it done.
"You aren't a mess like me, Sorch."
"We're all a mess in our own ways." She side-eyed him. "And if you try to give me the broken and not fixable spiel, I will pour orange juice on you."
"Grape juice stains better."
Malcolm grimaced as he recalled the many times Ainsley poured grape juice on him because she got mad at him for something.
"Oh, I know." Sorcha hummed a laugh. "I poured an entire jug of grape juice on my brother."
"How old were you?"
"Twenty-one."
Ainsley laughed softly.
"Were you mad at him?"
"I was aiming for your brother, actually."
Ainsley blinked her eyes wide. "What did he do?"
"Said I was broken." He slid his fingers between Sorcha's. "Moved before she could get me."
"I got you back later."
The words were low, intimate. Skittered along his every nerve, electrifying them. As she intended them, too.
"Go upstairs, you two," Ainsley teased.
"This feels like 2005 all over again," his mother said as she sailed into the room. "Only, my son wasn't suspected of murder."
"Mother, I assure you, I am innocent."
"I'm perfectly aware of that, dear." His mother took the cup of coffee that Ainsley poured for her with a small smile. "Now, your therapist will be here at ten."
"Don't even think about refusing to see Gabrielle," Sorcha chimed in before Malcolm could launch a protest. "You'll see her or I'm out of here."
As far as threats went, it was an effective one. He'd do anything to keep Sorcha with him. Which she knows, he groused as Ainsley snickered softly. He wished they were kids again. Then he could kick her under the table and be rewarded by getting sent to his room.
"I can see Gabrielle after we figure out how to keep me from going to jail for murder."
"You'll see her today, tomorrow, and any other day that is deemed necessary." Sorcha shifted to face him. "I've let you be lax about seeing her, Mal. No more. You needed to see her after Watkins, after you stabbed your father, after Robert sent that lunatic after us and didn't. Not this time. You're seeing Gabrielle and that's final."
"When did you get so bossy?" He furrowed his brow and poured himself another cup of coffee. "Don't remember you being so bossy."
"Always been bossy," she said as she set a piece of toast on the plate in front of him. "You just didn't mind it."
"I was completely oblivious to it, you mean." He eyed the toast and then her. "Not hungry isn't going to work here, is it?"
"You haven't eaten anything substantial since the day before yesterday."
"I did, too."
"Pretzels and licorice sticks don't count as substantial."
Malcolm inwardly cursed. Of course, she'd predict what he ate. Why wouldn't she? Sorcha knew everything about him.
"They're substantial," he pointed out. "And filling."
"Try eating the toast." She leaned over to brush a kiss to his forehead, his cheek. "For me."
The ends of his lips curled. "That's not manipulative at all."
"I'll get you jello and won ton soup for lunch."
His lips inched up another fraction of an inch.
"Bribery now?"
"If she was going to bribe you," Ainsley popped in to say, "she'd need that nurse outfit I saw in the back of your closet."
"Ains!" Malcolm glowered at his sister.
"What?" She blinked her eyes. The picture of innocence. "It's not like it's some big secret here, bro."
Malcolm wished the floor would open up and plunge him into the basement.
"Ains," Sorcha said with a small kernel of amusement. "You're embarrassing your brother."
"I know." Ainsley smirked. "That's why it's so much fun."
Malcolm shot her a dirty look. Before he could reply, Louisa entered, and placed a platter of eggs and some fresh fruit on the table. The sight of both curdled his stomach.
"Just the toast." Sorcha squeezed his fingers. "Please?"
He broke a piece off and offered it to her. "Only if you have some, too."
"2005 all over again." The fond tinge to his mother's voice, to her smile surprised Malcolm. If he hadn't seen her say the words he wouldn't have believed they came from her. It wasn't like his mother to speak fondly of the past. He was about to ask if she was okay when she sighed and said, "Only your father wasn't rotting in Rikers like he is now."
Malcolm took a bite of his toast and refrained from saying anything. He didn't want to break the relative good mood surrounding everyone.
Especially since it wasn't going to last long.
A/N: Hello, all! Hope this finds you well!
I want to send a special thank you to Rookblonkorules and chelsnichole12 for their lovely reviews!