Chapter 38
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.