Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
“Aye?”
“After I'm done here, you're getting those ribs wrapped, that cut stitched, and your bloody head looked at again. No arguments.”
“Aye.”
He leaves before I can protest.
Erin giggles, and Bridget follows suit.
“Bloody hell,” I mutter, which only makes them laugh harder. I smile and shake my head. I’m outnumbered, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Erin
When we're alone—just me, Bridget, and Cavin—Bridget turns to look at me properly.
“You did this,” she says softly. “You made this happen.”
“Cavin did it. He—”
“Because of you.” Bridget's grip tightens on my hand. “I know what you sacrificed, Erin. I know what Da did. What he made you do.”
My throat closes.
“Bronwyn told me everything after you left. After Da…” She swallows. “You sold yourself for this family. For me.”
“Bridge—”
“Let me finish.” Tears stream down her pale cheeks. “You gave up everything. Your innocence. Your future. Maybe your soul. All so I could have a chance.” Her eyes shift to Cavin, then back to me. “I won't forget that. Ever. And whatever happens, whatever you need, I'm with you. Always.”
I lean forward, pressing my forehead to hers. “You just focus on getting better, yeah?”
“I will.” She manages a weak smile. “And Erin? For what it's worth? I think he loves you too.”
I glance back at Cavin. He's watching us with an expression I can't quite read.
“He does,” I whisper. “I know he does.”
Two hours later, Dr. Rosenberg returns with a team of nurses. They whisk Bridget away for tests, leaving me and Cavin alone in the room.
“Your turn,” I tell him.
“I'm fine.”
“Dr. Rosenberg said—”
“I know what he said.”
But he lets me lead him to the emergency department anyway. A young doctor stitches his eyebrow, wraps his ribs, inspects his head, and does some tests, then prescribes stronger pain medication. The whole time, Cavin doesn't flinch.
“You're stubborn,” I observe.
“Pot. Kettle.”
When we're finally done, both of us properly patched up, we head back to Bridget's room. She's already there, looking exhausted but hopeful.
Dr. Rosenberg stands beside her bed, reviewing results on his tablet.
“Well?” I ask.
He looks up, and his smile is genuine. “We start tomorrow. Erin? This looks very promising, very promising indeed. Your sister’s ill, yes, and the prognosis without proper treatment is fatal.” He sighs, taps the papers together and smiles. “But I’m confident we’re going to save your sister's life.”
For the first time in months, I let myself believe it.
I turn to Cavin, bury my face in his chest, and finally let myself cry.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Erin
That night, Cavin and I lie in bed, the room dark except for the dying fire casting shadows across the walls.
We’re in our house.
Our. House.
Da’s been locked away, still up for questioning. Mam’s been released. And Bridget’s… here, with us, in the guest room, sleeping.
“Tell me something,” I say softly. “What do you see when you look at the future?”
It's quiet for a moment, his breathing steady against my hair.
“I never did think of the future until you, but now…” He pauses, his thumb tracing circles on my hip. “I see us here at Ballyhock. I see Bridget healthy and thriving. Maybe you knitting, bookkeeping. Whatever makes you happy.” He winks. “And keeps you safe.”
“Right then. So no undercover operations or shooting guns in rings.”
He slaps my arse playfully, then his hand finds mine under the covers, lacing our fingers together. “I see you with your knitting, making things—beautiful things. I see us growing old together, navigating whatever comes our way. Even the dangerous bits.”
His voice drops lower, more serious. “I won't lie to you, Erin. This life, our life—it's not easy. There'll be threats and rivals, people who want what we have. But we'll face it together.”
“Together,” I echo.
“Aye.” He kisses me softly. “You and me against the world, love.”
And I think about that. About the Boston connection that Declan's investigating. All the unknowns still lurking on the edges of our happiness. There will be more challenges, more danger. This isn't a fairy tale with a perfect ending.
But it's our ending. A hard one, honest and real.
“I can live with that,” I say.
“Good. Because I'm not letting you go.”
“You possessive Irish bastard,” I murmur against his mouth.
“Your possessive Irish bastard,” he growls, and I seal it with a kiss.
Epilogue
Cavin
The house is full of laughter and music, not the forced politeness of a formal gathering, but something real and warm.
Family.
Bridget's dancing with Declan, both of them laughing at something like an inside joke. Seamus is in deep conversation with Dr. Rosenberg, probably discussing medical innovations or some such shite. Mam’s talking with Da, who's looking more relaxed than I've seen him in months. Erin’s mam declined the invite, and I understand.
Tara Kavanagh found out about Padraic’s betrayal the same way Erin did. She swears she didn't know—that he'd been lying to her for months about where the money was going, what deals he was making. Erin believes her, which is good enough for me. Erin says her da was always good at compartmentalizing his shite, keeping the women in the dark.