Chapter 17
KATE
Another Sunday night, another family meal—this time with the Andersons, the schoolteacher and his wife who are the closest thing Cole has to a loving family. And I’m spoiling for a fight, much as I was last week when we joined Mam and Da for Sunday Roast.
Then, it was because my parents were pushing to turn poor Breagha into Tarasov’s whore. Now, it’s because Cole still hasn’t admitted he made a mistake, handing over Da’s banking file to that bratva shitehawk.
Plus, after seven days of fretting I’m no closer to finding a way to keep my sister safe from Tarasov.
She thinks she’s doing something noble, but she doesn’t have a clue how depraved that bratva shitehawk actually is.
If I tell her the truth after eighteen years, I don’t know how she’ll ever trust me again.
And one more thing: Cole is hiding something from me. He’s cut his usual four hours of sleep a night to barely two. Every time I walk into his office, he blacks out the monitors on his wall.
Something’s broken. Maybe several somethings. And the last way I want to spend tonight is putting on some feckin’ stage play—happy feckin’ wife, loving feckin’ couple—in front of the goddamn feckin’ Andersons.
I know I’m supposed to use my words, explain all the ways I’m angry and frightened and aching.
But the demons scrabbling inside my brain drown out everything I should do.
They tell me to do what I’ve always done, what’s kept me safe in the past: Forget about fair play. Do whatever I must to protect myself.
“Go on,” I say to Cole after he parks the Camry at the curb. “I’ll wait out here.” That way, I won’t be tempted to say things I shouldn’t.
He scoffs, exactly as I know he will. “You are not sitting in this car for the next four hours.”
“Then give me the keys.” I hold out my hand like that’s a perfectly reasonable request. “We passed a Starbucks a mile back. Text me when you’re ready to leave and I’ll come get you.”
His eyes harden. “Kate,” he says. That’s the way he said my name the night he gave away Da’s data: Kate, don’t be ridiculous. Kate, this is important to me. Kate, you will do as I say.
So I match his tone precisely: “Cole.” Cole, don’t you dare push me. Cole, don’t expect me to lie for you. Cole, I’m more stubborn than you and I’m more angry than you and I’ll make sure you pay a price if you drag me inside that house and expect me to pretend everything is fucking normal.
The Andersons think Cole is a dedicated worker bee at a giant government contractor. They don’t know about his billions. They have no idea I’m a mob princess. Their simple, honest world doesn’t have room for our true lives.
Clutching the steering wheel, Cole grits his teeth. But before Himself and I can launch into a true shouting match, Mr. A opens the bungalow’s front door and comes halfway down the walk. Mrs. A is framed in the doorway behind him, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Cole?” Mr. A calls, shielding his eyes with one hand to peer into our vehicle. “Is everything okay?”
Cole mutters under his breath, “Do not test me, Kate.”
The devil inside me says I should scream, but I manage to shove the demon down for long enough to stretch a grin across my teeth.
Feeling as fake as a Barbie doll, I open my car door and speak through my pretend smile.
“Everything’s grand, Mr. A. I was just finishing a story, telling Cole about a work disaster last Friday. ”
“That server outage was a mess, wasn’t it?”
The first time Cole brought me here, I improvised a job with the Baltimore School District, never dreaming how many people Mr. A actually knows in my supposed place of employment.
If I’d thought things through, I would have chosen a more obscure occupation—zookeeper, maybe.
Or wind turbine technician. Maybe I’d turn myself into a pediatric oncology nurse.
But I dug my grave. And now I have to avoid slipping into it as Cole follows me up the walk. I can feel his grim command—do not test me—like fog rising off a glacier as I say to Mr. A, “The day ended up a total loss.”
And then I’m folded into Mrs. A’s embrace. She smells like baby powder and lemons, and I wonder how hard I’m supposed to hug back. I must get the pressure right, because she’s still smiling when she goes up on tiptoe to kiss Cole’s cheek.
Before she can usher us toward the overstuffed floral sofa in the parlor, Mr. A says, “Can I steal you for a minute, Cole? I need some help around back.”
Cole’s glance toward me might be mistaken for a new groom’s loving concern about leaving his beloved bride for even a second. But I see the set of his jaw. He doesn’t trust me.
In response to that coded stare, all the wild spirits inside me rebel. They scream for me to set a torch to the tower of secrets Cole has built over the years. That’s the only way I can truly protect myself—hit first and hit harder and keep on hitting.
But Mrs. A doesn’t know anything about the savage forces gnawing through my breastbone. She smiles fondly at both men and says, “Go on, you two. But the instant you get that screen door set, I want you inside and washing up for dinner.”
“Two minutes,” Mr. A promises. Cole follows him, with a single backward glance. Mind your manners, he seems to say. I raise my chin, reminding him he doesn’t own me. His eyes narrow before he leaves the room.
“Wonderful,” Mrs. A says, guiding me toward the kitchen. “That gives us a few minutes to catch up, just us girls. Now tell me the truth. How are you settling into married life?”
What am I supposed to say?
That I ran away from home two weeks into my marriage, planning to buy a one-way ticket to County Donegal, but I changed my mind at the last possible second?
Or should I tell her about all the ways I’ve let Cole hurt me in his dungeon, and all the ways I dream he’ll punish me again?
Or maybe I should say Cole said he loves me, out loud, without any qualifiers, but thinking of saying the same words back makes my heart pound so hard my vision starts to fade at the edges?
I finally choose: “It’s harder than I thought it would be.”
“That sounds about right for newlyweds,” Mrs. A says with a laugh. “Evan and I have been reading all those articles this week, about layoffs at Hamilton. Is Cole worried about his department?”
A dozen possible answers sting my throat like vinegar.
Cole has left me exposed here. I don’t know what department he’s supposed to work for, so I’m vulnerable.
And this is all his fault because I told him I didn’t want to come to dinner.
I didn’t want to leave the car. I didn’t want to be left alone with Mrs. A.
“Dear?” Mrs. A prompts when I take too long to answer. Her face creases into a frown.
I’m embarrassed and I’m angry and I’m scared—which leaves plenty of room for my old familiar devil to maneuver.
Go ahead, he whispers. Lash out. Say whatever you want. Cole deserves it, after dumping shite on all the years you kept your da afloat. Eye for an eye, the demon says. Tooth for a feckin’ tooth.
It’s the wrong thing to do—I know that. But the devil you know… And this devil has kept me going for years. Ever since the bad men…
Do it. You’ll feel better. You’ll be in control.
“The truth is,” I start, before I have to clear my throat. “I haven’t been up front with you, Mrs. A. Cole hasn’t either. He—”
“Kate, love,” Cole says, so close behind me that I jump. I didn’t even hear the men come back inside while I was wrestling with my own worst instincts.
Cole settles his fingers at the nape of my neck, a gesture that must look like he’s offering a loving bit of massage. But I feel his real intention as his thumb and forefinger press together hard.
My husband’s voice is rock-steady as he says, “I thought we agreed not to bother the Andersons with all of that.”
The evil creature inside me burrows deep, leaving me alone to face the mess I’ve made.