Chapter 8 #2
“Interesting,” I say. “Didn’t know the Kavanagh books needed defending.”
Erin’s cheeks flare pink. “They don’t. I wasn’t… I only meant that I notice things, patterns and the like… they’re easy to understand. Unlike human behavior,” she finishes in a tiny voice.
Tara exhales, long-suffering. “She means she keeps the family’s financial affairs in order. That’s all.” Her smile is brittle, a warning for Erin to stay in her lane.
Erin folds in on herself, her shoulders tight, mouth pressed shut, but in her eyes, there’s the faintest spark of defiance. The kind that I notice. The kind I well know doesn’t stay buried for long. “I wasn’t finished,” she murmurs.
Mam smiles at her. “You’re guileless, lass. That’s rare in our stock. And I like it very much.”
So do I, for reasons I don’t understand. It’s almost… endearing.
The rest of dinner passes mostly without a hitch. I take it as my personal mission to observe everything I can about my future wife.
“You sure you don’t want a drink? I can get you a beer, if it’s wine you don’t like.”
“No, thank you. I like to stay in control of myself,” she replies. “I don’t do anything that threatens my control.”
“Right…” I mutter, then quieter, so only she can hear, “Except for formal family dinners.”
She swallows and sniffs, but doesn’t argue. “Aye. You’re not wrong.”
Why does it feel like a peace offering?
“And how’s Bridget?” my mother asks politely.
Tara looks away, too quickly. “She’s fine, just out of the country for a bit,” she says.
“Oh, is she?” Mam says softly, while Da and Seamus discuss trade routes with Erin’s father. I only half listen. My focus stays on Tara.
Unlike her daughter, who couldn’t lie if her life depended on it, she’s hiding everything, calculated and controlled.
Must fucking infuriate her knowing she can’t get a grip on Erin.
“Where is she?”
“Oh, visiting family in Europe,” Tara replies—too fast. Too rehearsed. “She’ll be back in time for…” Her eyes flit to Erin’s. “For the festivities and all.”
She pours another glass of wine, her fourth or fifth.
Erin turns to Bronwyn, who’s been quiet, watching. She gives a small smile. “I’m glad you’re home again.”
Tara flinches, but my mother smiles. My da too. Erin’s growing on them.
Fuck. Just what I need—everyone getting soft.
“Do you know what happened?” Erin asks. “Why were you taken, Bronwyn?”
“We don’t know,” Bronwyn says quietly.
“You don’t know anything at all?” Erin’s father snaps. “What, didn’t she have a guard on her?”
Seamus interjects. “Of course she did,” my brother says sharply. “She’s got a better one now. We don’t know what happened.”
“My god,” my father mutters, shaking his head. “I’d lose my damn mind if one of my girls was taken.”
“Tell me about it,” Da murmurs. Everyone in Ballyhock knows how protective Keenan McCarthy is of his family. I served time for that damn reason.
I know the brief time Bronwyn was missing absolutely destroyed him.
I wonder if he blames himself for stepping down as the clan leader.
Bronwyn glances at Erin and smiles. “Thank you for asking. Erin, that dress is absolutely beautiful. Where’d you get it?”
Erin looks down. “I-I don’t know. I don’t like shopping much. Mam tries to buy me things, you know? She likes to dress me up…” Her cheeks turn pink.
“Oh, I love that,” Bronwyn grins.
“Your mam buys you clothes?” Kyla snaps.
“I…” Erin starts, then falters. Kyla eyes her like she’s something to dissect.
“I mean… I do buy my own clothes. But Mam doesn’t like what I pick. Says I wear the same thing over and over, like a uniform.” She laughs nervously. “Whatever. She’s not wrong. I’d live in yoga pants and jumpers, but…” She shakes her head.
“Me too,” I say. “Alright, maybe not the yoga pants.”
Declan snorts into another glass of wine as the staff brings out trays of desserts.
“Maybe it just makes things easier. Roll out of bed. Pull on your slacks. Pull on your shirt. Who the fuck cares, right?”
I don’t know why I’m taking her side, or why this even is a side.
“Right,” Erin says, staring at her plate. When the staff passes by, she eagerly takes the chocolate mousse and shortbread.
“Cavin,” Mam warns me, under her breath. “Language.”
My cousin Ashland chuckles into his glass. But Declan watches Erin with something close to curiosity.
“Those aren’t easy books to keep, Erin. Complicated work.”
“I suppose for some,” she says. “For me, I enjoy it. I like the challenge.”
“You do?”
“Aye. It’s something I’m quite good at.” She lifts her chin, just slightly. “I like recognizing patterns. Numbers make sense. Unlike people, you know?” She huffs a dry laugh. And fuck me… she means it.
Black and white. That’s how she sees the world.
And somehow, that honesty, the simplicity of it, makes me want to drag her into a dark corner and figure out every shade of gray in her mind. She’s like a puzzle I can’t quite figure out, and goddamn it, I want to.
I want to study her like a book, find what makes her smile… I want to see that light in her eyes one more time.
And then I remember something I haven’t thought about in ten years or more.
The toilet. The lock.
Her screaming.
They didn’t mean for it to go that far, they said afterward.
It was supposed to be a laugh, some stupid, harmless fun. That’s what the lads said, anyway.
Lighten up, McCarthy. She’s too bloody serious. And did you forget how she ratted you out?
We'd been partnered up in biology. She muttered something under her breath about how looks don't make up for brains. Finn thought it'd be funny to teach her a lesson. He was a right prick though.
I should’ve stopped them. I didn’t. Part of me felt she deserved the comeuppance for her haughty attitude.
But they would’ve listened to me. I could’ve made them.
I heard her sobbing, banging on the door, pleading. Something in me snapped. Before I could think, I shoved the others aside and fumbled with the lock until it gave.
Erin was in the corner, crouched tight, her hands over her head, hair clinging to her face and neck.
“Hey. Hey, you’re fine,” I said. It felt like being with my father when we hunted at the Kildare estates, and he caught a deer. They’d stare, as if they knew they couldn’t outrun their human predators, and it made me feel helpless and angry.
“Erin.” She flinched and uncovered her eyes. I still remember the sound she made when she saw me—this broken, choked thing, like she thought I was part of it.
And maybe I was.
“Get out,” she snarled. “Your stupid little joke isn’t funny, and I hate you.”
With a fresh sob, she grabbed her bag and ran. The boys had scattered by then, laughter fading down the hall, leaving me alone with the proof of what they’d done.
I told myself she’d be fine. She wasn’t hurt. She’d just… panicked or something.
But later, when she wouldn’t look at me anymore—when she’d cross the street rather than pass me in the hall—I started to understand.
I hadn’t just stood by.
I’d let her believe I was the one who locked the door.
Seamus pushes to his feet. “Padraic. A word, sir.”