Take Us to Her

Ronan did not kick the door in.

He pushed it open with two fingers and called Lila Doyle's name.

The living room smelled of wet carpet, spilled beer, and old fear. A lamp shade was bent on the floor. A bowl had shattered near the couch. Rain blew through the open door and made the curtains lift and fall like frightened lungs.

Lila was on the far side of the room, sitting against the wall with one hand pressed to her ribs. Her hair was damp with sweat. Her eyes widened when she saw Ronan, then Emma behind Victor's leg.

'Emma,' she breathed.

The man in the room turned.

Travis Doyle was not Emma's father, though he wore the last name like a claim. He was Lila's estranged husband, back after two months gone because the storm had given him an excuse and the county road had given him cover.

He pointed at Ronan like he had found someone to blame.

'This is family business.'

Ronan stepped inside, hands open, shoulders square.

'Not anymore.'

Travis looked past him and saw Mason on the porch, Victor behind Emma, June's truck lights turning into the lane, and red-blue flashes beginning far off through the trees.

His courage started leaking out of him.

'You don't know what she did,' Travis snapped.

Lila lowered her head as if the words alone could strike.

Ronan knew that look. He had seen it in his own mother's kitchen when he was eight years old, before any of the tattoos, before anyone called him dangerous. He had heard men call cruelty discipline and fear respect.

He did not move toward Travis. He moved toward Lila.

'Ma'am,' he said, voice steady, 'can you stand?'

She tried and winced.

Emma made a sound behind him.

Ronan lifted one hand without looking back. 'Stay there, baby girl.'

Police tires hissed outside. Doors slammed. The room filled with official voices, flashlights, rain, and the sound of Travis suddenly becoming small.

When officers took him out, he shouted until the porch swallowed him.