The Ahern Brothers Collection - Claudia Burgoa Page 0,2

losing your mother and that happening to your sister was horrible, but you can continue with your life,” she pauses, covering her face and muffling a sound. “Everything will go back to normal in no time.”

Is she crying on my behalf?

If only I could, I’d set her straight.

Lady, you don’t know shit. Ava wasn’t my sister! I scream inside my head.

Mom … well, that happened nearly a year ago.

I hold my breath as a shiver runs down my spine. Fear. Despair. My heart races as I realize that I almost said something.

Don’t speak, I repeat several times.

“Normal,” she repeats.

For fuck’s sake, this woman is clueless. Does she even know what normal is for me? My life has been everything but normal since my grandmother died and left my mother to take care of me. After being cared for by a woman who was like Mother Theresa, I was left behind to hang out with one of Satan’s demons—and a stupid one for that matter. For the past few years, I hated my life, my mother, and myself. When she died, I was afraid that her husband would send me to a foster home. Now, I wish he would have. At least it would have kept me safe from … them.

The sound of tapping heels speeds my pulse. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly. The horror stories from the foster kids I met at school haunt me. My head pounds, and I hug myself.

“Finally, you guys are here,” a cheery female voice says. “You must be Abigail.

“I’m Linda Ahern, and please, you should just call me Linda.” She’s almost as tall as my five-foot-five. Her green eyes crinkle when she sees me. Her olive skin tone makes her look younger than Ms. Graves. Her light brown hair is styled in an elegant bob.

“We’re so excited!” she says with more enthusiasm than a cheerleader in the middle of a Broncos game.

This kind of happiness can’t be real. I lower my head wishing myself away. If only I had Dorothy’s red shoes, I could tap them and … where would I go? Certainly not to Oz, or home. I’d rather be here than home.

You don’t belong here, Abigail.

Mom always said those words. It was her mantra. She regretted having me. I ruined her life and those of everyone else around me. It won’t take long for these people to realize that I’m a burden. I’ll adapt though. I just need ten months. When I turn eighteen I’ll be able to leave this place, Colorado, and everything that happened here behind me.

Unless these people grow tired of me before I can escape. I should start planning. I scan the room. The fancy painting on the wall looks like the ones at the museum. The crystal chandelier right above me. I stare at it. One, two, three, four, five … my lungs loosen up, the air comes in and out more easily. Counting each prism soothes me.

“Mom!” A loud, rough voice interrupts my counting, making my entire body jolt.

I stretch my neck and spot a tall guy coming from the living room at the other end of the house.

“Sorry,” he says softly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He’s nearly a foot taller than me, has broad shoulders, and looks young. His short dark hair is combed to the side framing his piercing blue eyes. He looks like an actor, a model.

“Wes, dear. I was expecting your father.”

“There was an emergency at the office, so he asked me to come.”

Her green eyes dim for a second before her smile returns. My heart hurts because I feel her sadness.

“He’s sneaking into the garage, isn’t he?” Mrs. Ahern rolls her eyes and smiles. This smile doesn’t touch her eyes though. “You’ll excuse my husband, Abigail. He’s excited to meet you, but it’s difficult to get him away from his work.”

“Almost impossible,” Wes confirms with a sharp nod.

“Abigail, this is my son Weston,” she introduces me, but the guy doesn’t try to shake hands or say a word to me.

I nod and wonder if I should curtsy to please them.

“I’m sorry. Abigail is quiet and impossibly shy,” Ms. Graves glares at me as she apologizes for my silence. “She hasn’t spoken since…”

The long pause becomes a silence that lingers around us, thickening the atmosphere. I swallow hard before it chokes me.

“Would you like me to show her to her room, Mom?” Weston looks at his mother who nods in return.

“Please, Abigail, why don’t you follow me while Mom talks