I mean, how could you not love a man who helped you end a day where the world lost a soul that had touched your heart, doing it guiding you to it giggling with his family and eating peanut butter, chocolate chip Rice Krispie treats?

“Better,” I whispered.

He dipped in and touched his mouth to mine.

Then he turned his eyes back to the TV.

I stayed tucked close, rested my cheek back to his shoulder and did the same.

* * * * *

It was late, hopefully Donovan family bedtime because I was tired, and I was coming back from the bathroom when I ran into Ash in the hallway.

“Hey, blossom, going to bed?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she answered.

I stopped and thought twice but decided to go for it, reaching a hand her way and brushing the back of hers with my fingertips before I said quietly, “Thank you for helping make me feel better tonight.”

She ducked her head, shrugged a shoulder and replied, “Not a problem, Amy.”

I didn’t like that but I didn’t push it. The night had been a good night. She’d been Ash of old (or the old I knew). Hanging with her family. Being quiet-ish but not gloomy. It wasn’t the time to push it.

“Okay, kid, I’ll let you go to bed. Thanks for a good dinner,” I said, giving her a small grin and moving past her.

“Amy?” she called.

I stopped and turned back, seeing her in the open door to her bedroom.

I was only two feet away.

“Yes, honey?” I asked.

“Mom bought that candle. The one on the coffee table.”

At her words, words delivered apropos of nothing but whatever was in Aisling’s head, I braced.

“Okay,” I said when she spoke no more.

“It was on what she called our first ‘big girl shopping trip,’” she told me. “I was seven. I picked the sand.”

“It’s a pretty candle, Ash,” I remarked when she stopped talking.

“She brought it home,” she carried on like I didn’t speak. “Dad teased her like he always teased her when she bought candles. Saying no wife of a fireman had candles. But he didn’t really care. What she liked, he’d like because he liked her.”

“Aisling,” I whispered.

She lifted her chin. “She took it. When she left. She took it.”

I nodded.

“I stole it,” she declared. “I stole it and brought it back.”

“Right,” I said gently.

Her chin trembled and she stared at me.

“Ash—”

“It’s my umbrella,” she whispered.

Then she disappeared behind her closed door.

Which was good since I had to put my hand to the wall to hold myself up, she’d cut me so deep, the blood was pouring out of me.

* * * * *

“Fuck me,” Mickey murmured, his head turned to the side.