Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Erin
When we walk in the room, Mam scowls at Cavin, and then at me. Turns out Cavin had a backup bag in the car with my signature uniform—yoga pants and an oversized jumper with “Cork City FC” on it. It’s Cavin’s.
“You’re a respectable member of the McCarthy family now,” my mother says. “Cavin, for Christ’s sake, you let her walk around like that.”
Cavin draws himself up to his full height.
“That's my wife you're talking about. She married me for you lot, and she's beautiful in whatever she chooses to wear.
Now, you'll bite your tongue about what she says and how she looks, or you'll find yourself not welcome in her presence. We clear on that?”
My mother stares, and her jaw drops a little bit.
“You wouldn’t dare—”
“Try me,” he says, hard. “I know what you’re going through is difficult, Mrs. Kavanagh.” His nostrils flare, and his knuckles turn white with the fist he’s holding. “But you’ll not be taking out your temper on Erin, never again, ma’am. Do you understand?”
She purses her lips at him and stares. “Fine. Wear whatever you want. I’m getting a cup of coffee.”
“Go then,” he says. “Text me before you come back in the room, will you?”
“Excuse me?” She turns on her heel.
“I'm with Erin. And you wind her up,” he says. “Unless you learn to treat her properly, you'll be needing my say-so before you're allowed near her again.”
“I have never in my entire life—I’m calling your mother,” she says, pointing an irate finger at Cavin before she slams the door behind her.
“Good thing she didn’t see what you wore before,” he says in my ear.
Cavin’s deep, masculine laugh fills the room, followed quickly by Bridget’s tinkling one.
“That was bloody brilliant,” Bridget says. “Well done, you.”
She leans back on the pillow. There’s a bloodstain from her last nosebleed.
“Let me get you fresh sheets and a pillowcase, Bridget.”
“Thank you,” she says with a grimace. “This is the bloody pits, isn’t it?”
“Ugh, it is,” I tell her. “But I have news. I wanted to tell you when Mam wasn’t in the room.”
“What’s that?” she asks.
“There’s a doctor, Dr. Rosenberg. He does experimental procedures for aplastic anemia. Do you remember we spoke to Mam about it?”
“Aye,” she says. “This is the one who knows the McCarthys, right?”
I share a look with Cavin and nod.
“I’ve been in touch with him,” he says quietly. “And he says he’s going to see you in six more days.”
My heart feels like it’s soaring. “Six days, Bridget. You have to hold out. Can you?”
She laughs, brushing at the air. “Hold out? What are you on about? I’ve got years left. Thank you, Cavin,” she says quietly. “I do very much appreciate it.”
“Aye, of course,” he says, reaching for my fingertips and kissing each one.
“Oh, you two lovebirds are the cutest. Who said that you’d want to spend your newlywed days here?” She shakes her head. “That isn’t right, I tell you.”
“We haven’t just spent it here,” I tell her with a shrug. “We’ve gone to Cavin’s club a few times.” Her eyes dance. “He’s taken me to D’Agostino’s for dinner. You know, I do like a good Italian dinner. And you know I don’t want to travel.”
Bridget grins. “I do.”
“And you have to see the room he had fashioned for me.”
I pull up the picture on my phone to show her. “Look how cute that little electric kettle is.”
Bridget smiles. “You’ve got backup jumpers in the closet. I love that.” She sighs. “I haven’t seen you this relaxed in god knows how long. What spell have you cast on her?” she asks Cavin.
“The better question is, what spell has she cast on me?” He takes my hand. “Do you know I love her?” He pulls me onto his lap and kisses the apple of my cheek.
“Look at you two,” she says. “You should at least have a proper honeymoon.”
“Dunno, I’d say we’ve gotten a proper honeymoon,” Cavin says.
Bridget rolls her eyes heavenward. “Oh, just like a man, isn’t it?” she says, but she’s giggling.
And I’m rolling mine too. Cavin smiles and gets a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Just got a text from your mam. She’s asking for permission to come back in the room.”
Bridget giggles. “Oh my, is she then?”
“Aye,” he says.
“Well, did you give her permission to enter?” Bridget says, grinning at Cavin.
“Should I?” he asks my baby sister.
“Oh, I suppose,” she says, with a dramatic sigh. “I mean, she is my mam after all. Honestly, Cavin, she can be abrasive, but she’s harmless. She’s not going to hurt anybody.”
He says nothing, obviously disbelieving her. I’m yawning, exhausted. I don’t know if I agree with Bridget. Cavin definitely doesn’t.
“Got a text from Dr. Rosenberg,” he says. “Gave him access to Bridget’s labs, and this is what he says.
Dr. Rosenberg
The labs are concerning, but I see a way forward. We’ll do what we can.
“I…” My lower lip wobbles.
“C’mere,” he says, holding me to his chest. “Y’are alright.”
There’s something incredibly therapeutic about soaking a man’s tee with your tears when he loves you. I finally slow my crying, as he rubs soothing circles on my back, and I take a deep breath.
“Cavin. She’s asleep. Let’s go back to the house,” I say to him. “I’d like to look through those files that you and I were discussing.”
We’re quiet on the elevator, and he holds my hand.
“She’ll be better, lass. I promise you.”
“You can’t promise me that.”
“Well, I promise you I won’t let your mother bully you anymore.”
I smile at him softly. “I’ll take you up on that. Did you see the look on her face?”
The elevator cruises to a stop at the bottom.
“We have six days,” I whisper.
“Aye,” he says. “But I’ll have more for you to… invest soon.”
“You don’t mean—?” I ask him curiously.
“We’re set to prepare for another fight tomorrow.”
I blow out a breath. “Are you sure you want to keep doing this?”
He sighs and leans back. “I love fighting.”
“But maybe… there’s another way to do it that doesn’t involve you and another man’s fists, potential injuries, broken bones, and your blood spilled?”
He laughs. “Well, this time, I know I’m going to win and give you my purse. Mackey doesn’t stand a bloody chance. And I’d like to see what you can invest in and do with it. Right?”
“Right,” I say, smiling sheepishly. “I do know how to turn a dollar.”
“Yeah, absolutely you do. You’ve got the Midas touch.”
That makes me giggle. “You can fight, but only under one condition.”
“I didn’t ask you for permission,” he says with an almost petulant look like a little toddler.
“I’m your wife. It only makes sense that you get permission to fight.”
He gives me a lazy grin and tugs a lock of hair. “Alright, fine then. What’s the condition?”
“The condition is that I am allowed to go. I don’t want to be separated from you. I don’t like it. But after the fight, maybe… you can take me to The Craic again.”
“Alright,” he says. “Deal.”
We have six more days—the clock ticking like a time bomb, and death knocking at our door.
Six more days before my sister sees Dr. Rosenberg.
Before the tribute’s due again.
Six more days… that we hope and pray Bridget can hold out.