But I knew exactly what she’d done and why.

The ambulance arrived four minutes later. I followed it with my own car. I tried to call Hunter and Cillian repeatedly. Both their phones went straight to voicemail.

I couldn’t understand why. It was nighttime. They should be at home with their families. I resorted to texting both of them our code word. Our emergency code.

Clover.

And then, when there was no answer: Clover, clover, clover! Pick up!

Reluctantly, I didn’t want my sisters-in-law to know the extent of how screwed-up my family was, especially with Da living out of the house and my parents probably getting a divorce. I called Persy.

Persephone and I always had this unspoken connection, of two, shy and romantic wallflowers forced to blossom in the jungle that was the Fitzpatrick family.

“Hello?” Pers sounded drowsy, drunk with sleep.

“Oh. Hi,” I said chirpily, feeling idiotic for forcing on a cheerful tone. “It’s Ash. I’m trying to reach Cillian, but he is not answering. Any idea where he might be?”

“Hey, Ash. Is everything okay?” she asked and then, processing the fact I asked her a question, she added, “Kill is at Badlands with Sam, Devon, and Hunter. It’s some kind of a special gambling night. I wasn’t paying attention. Can I help you in any way?”

My blood sizzled in my veins as I gripped the steering wheel to a point of having white knuckles. My brothers were ghosting me. They’d left me to tend to our mother while they went gambling with Sam Brennan.

Fresh anger bubbled in my stomach. How dare Cillian and Hunter so easily accept a reality in which sweet, timid Aisling took care of Mother and Athair while they went to live their big fulfilling lives?

I pulled up at the hospital and ushered Mother to the ER along with her designated doctor, giving him as much information as I could based on what I knew. What drugs she may had taken, the quantity, how much of it she threw up.

They ran some tests at the speed of light and pumped her stomach, but it was already mostly empty thanks to me. Mother was put on an IV drip and was conscious now, not even two hours after she got admitted.

“Just don’t tell your father. He’d think it’s about him, and he doesn’t need the ego boost,” she moaned, reaching for the remote by her hospital bed. “Do you think they have Netflix here? Oh, this is so highly inconvenient for me. I have a facial tomorrow morning.”

I stared at her through bloodshot eyes, my whole body shaking with rage.

“You’re an idiot.”

The words slipped from my mouth before I could stop them, but I couldn’t for the life of me find a drop of remorse after they were out in the open.

“Excuse me?” Her head jerked sideways. She gave me a hard, motherly stare.

“You heard me.” I stood up, walking to the window, watching snow-caked trees and dirty ice roads. “You’re an idiot. A selfish one at that. You refuse to get the help you need, and you abuse prescription drugs to get back at … who, exactly? The only person you are hurting is yourself. Now let me tell you what’s about to happen …” I turned back around, fixing her with my own glare, my newfound spine tingling with the need to take action. “I’m going to go back home, leave you here on your own, and empty all your cabinets of drugs. Any drugs. You won’t even have an Advil for your morning migraines. Then I’m going to book you an appointment with a therapist. If you don’t go, I’m moving out of the house.”

“Aisling!” Mother cried. “How dare you! I would never—”

“Enough!” I roared. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m tired of mothering you all day, every day. Of holding your hand through life. Of being the parent in our relationship. You know, I grew up seeing you and Da shipping off Cillian and Hunter to boarding schools in Europe and was terrified of sharing their fate. There was nothing I feared more than saying goodbye to you and Athair. Now, I am actually jealous of my brothers,” I spat out, “because you gave them the best gift of all. They grew up barely knowing you and liking you very little. They are not attached to you like I am. They can live their lives, do as they please, free from the chains of loving two people who are incapable of loving anyone else but themselves. I’m done!”

I flung my hands up in the air and stormed out, bumping into a doctor who scurried into Mother’s room. He called out to me, trying to find out what was wrong, but I ignored him, feeling very young and very desperate all of a sudden.

The drive back home was a blur. I was surprised I made it at all, seeing my unshed tears impaired my vision. I stormed into my mother’s en-suite, opened the cabinets, and started throwing everything into a white trash bag I’d taken from the pantry.

Anything you could get high on was gone. I shoved it all in without rhyme or reason. Sunscreen, Vaseline, bandages, painkillers, and cough medicine alike. When I was satisfied with my findings, and sure there were no other drugs to be found in the house, I proceeded to stomp my way outside, hoisted the full trash bag into the trunk of my Prius, and floored it all the way to Badlands.

I tried not to think about the last time I’d seen Sam.

I told him I never wanted to see him again then went ahead and knocked on his door. Not the most consistent I’d been, but I was worried. When I’d heard from Cillian, Hunter, and Da that Sam was nowhere to be found, I figured he was holed up in his apartment and for good reason. Honestly, I’d been more afraid he’d gotten shot or had a serious wound and was too proud to ask for help.

I’d found him sick and shivering, nursed him back to health, and then gave him the space he needed.

That was three days ago.

He never even said thank you.

Not that I had any reason to expect him to. This was Sam I was talking about, a well-known monster.

While I knew he wouldn’t hand me over to the authorities in a red satin ribbon, I also didn’t trust him with the information of what I was doing with my medical degree. Why did I share with him my story of Ms. B, then?

Because you love him, mon cheri, and when you love someone, you want them to get to know you, so maybe they’ll fall for you, too.

Well, Sam was obviously feeling much better, seeing as he was clubbing with my selfish brothers tonight.

I stopped in front of Badlands, dragged the trash bag out, and rounded the building, toward the back door leading to Sam’s office.

I knew better than to knock. Which was why I took the tweezers out of the trash bag and tampered with the lock. It was a simple lock, and I had the advantage of knowing what I was doing. I’d broken into my brothers’ rooms plenty of times when I was younger. I was bored and alone in the impossibly large, looming Avebury Court Manor.

Sometimes, my only company was other people’s things. Toys and gadgets I had found under their beds. I’d even pretended the women gracing the covers of Penthouse and Playboy—found under Hunter’s bed—were my girlfriends.

The door hissed open with a soft click, and I trampled inside. Sam’s office was dark and empty. I threw the door open and headed downstairs, the music pounding from the club making the floor quake.

I wasn’t interested in the club, though. I headed straight to the card rooms. As soon as I reached the junction of the four card rooms, I peeked into each of them. It wasn’t hard to find my brothers. They were in the last one. It was the noisiest, most boisterous room, filled wall-to-wall with men wearing tuxedos, smoking Cuban cigars and drinking old whiskey, huddled around roulette and craps tables.