Chapter 15 #3
“But you love me,” she says.
“I do. So much.”
I can’t cry, not now, because even though this mascara is supposedly waterproof, I don’t want to risk fate.
“Bye.” I kiss the tips of my fingers and waggle them at her. “I love you so much too.”
There was a time when my sister and I didn’t tell each other that we loved one another, but now we realize there’s no way to know when the last goodbye will be.
I square my shoulders and walk downstairs.
I don’t know what to expect when I go downstairs, but I definitely don’t expect to see Cavin McCarthy sitting in one of the camel-colored chairs in my living room, having a drink with my father.
Oh my god. Why can’t he be outside, waiting in the car, so I can just run out to him? I don’t want to prolong this torture.
Cavin rises when I enter the room. And again, I think: gentleman. His mama raised him well.
“Erin,” Cavin says with a bow, and his eyes linger on me a second too long. He takes it all in—my dress, my makeup. “You look…” He clears his throat. “You look gorgeous.”
And it may be the first honest thing he’s ever said to me.
Will I ever be able to look at my future husband again and not remember the Dom in his sex club, the man who ruled that dark world, the lion in his lair? Because even now, with that look in his eyes—appreciative, a little stunned—I can feel his hand around my neck again.
And a part of me thinks, for one crazy, wild moment, that when his eyes meet mine, he’s thinking of that too.
“Thank you,” he says politely to my father. “That’s excellent whiskey.”
“I’ll have a case sent to you,” my father says with a nod. I’ll hand it to my dad—he knows how to play the part well.
“I’d appreciate that,” Cavin says with a loud, firm slap of hands and a handshake.
And then we’re headed to the door, and he’s opening it for me.
I have a little shawl draped over my elbow because Bridget told me to, and it all feels surreal.
Why am I looking forward to going on a date with a man I hate?
His car is absolutely gorgeous. It smells like leather and luxury, it’s spacious, and it’s immaculately clean.
“This car is gorgeous,” I tell him.
“Thank you,” he says. “It’s a loaner.”
“Oh, right. What happened the other night?”
“We don’t know yet.”
There’s a pause, and I wonder if he thinks it’s awkward. What exactly qualifies as an awkward pause? Three seconds? Five? Is there a scientific measurement? How do people know these things?
“Well, it’s a very nice car for my first date.” I instantly press my lips together. Why did I just confess to that?
He shrugs. “Aye. What do you mean?”
“I mean, well, you know, it’s my first date. I might as well go in style.”
“Your first date with me,” he asks quietly, “or your first date, period?”
Oh no. Was I not supposed to tell him that? I bite my lip and look out the window. It’s probably unusual for someone who’s twenty-six years old to be on her first date, but I’ve never wanted to date before.
“Um, no, just… just first date in general.”
“Alright. No pressure or anything,” he says with a smile that’s almost boyish. “Though I’m honored to be your first.”
He can’t look at me that way. When he looks at me that way, I forget that I’m supposed to hate him.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Bridget
How are you doing?
I text her back. We text for a few minutes, and Cavin gives me a side glance. I realize this is probably rude and put the phone down in my lap.
“Erin, tell me a little bit about yourself,” he says quietly.
And I actually laugh out loud.
“What?” he says, a little sheepish.
“Nothing. I…” Be honest, she said. Be brutally honest. “I was a little nervous about tonight, and I may have practiced a little bit with my sister. This sounds so awkward right now.” Oh god, maybe I wasn’t supposed to be this honest. I wring my hands and look out the window again.
“And the question that she asked me was, ‘Tell me a little bit about yourself.’ And I didn’t expect that that would actually be the question you’d ask.”
“No way,” he says with a chuckle. “Didn’t need to be that predictable, did I?”
Why is he so… disarming when he’s smiling?
“Right,” I say with a smile. “Alright. So, honestly—”
Be honest, you’re marrying this man.
“I don’t live a very exciting life.” I sigh, shaking my head.
“I like to be home. And when I’m home, I like to wear comfortable, familiar clothing.
I don’t like…” I sigh and blow out a breath.
“Getting dressed up and going to places. I don’t like crowds or noise or anything like that.
When I’m home, I like to do puzzles. Intricate ones with lots of pieces.
My mind works very quickly when it comes to patterns, and I piece things together.
It needs to be a challenge for me to find it enjoyable. ”
A challenge. Just like him.
“And I knit for pretty much the same reason,” I tell him quietly. “I like to listen to audiobooks while I knit. And thanks to my job, I may be a tad obsessed with finances and investing and whatnot. So there you go. I’m sorry, it’s…not exciting.”
“There’s no need to apologize for—”
The phone rings. The screen reads “Daire.”
Cavin curses and punches the screen.
“Hey. There’s an incident at St. Albert’s. Seamus needs you to go.”
Oh no.
No. Please no.
“Fuck,” Cavin mutters, already making a U-turn. “I’m sorry, I have to—”
“Don’t.” The word comes out sharp, panicked. “Don’t take me there.”
He glances at me, his brow furrowed. “What?”
“St. Albert’s. I can’t—” My chest tightens. I can’t breathe properly. “Just take me home. Please.”
I grip the door handle like I might jump out of the moving car. He pulls over to the side of the road and turns to face me fully.
“What’s wrong?”
Everything. Everything is wrong.
That place. Those hallways. The lockers where they’d corner me. The classrooms where he’d laugh. The bathroom where they—
“Erin.” His voice is gentle, confused. “Talk to me.”
“That’s where…” I can’t finish. My throat closes up.
Understanding dawns across his face, followed immediately by something that looks like horror. “Christ,” he breathes out. “That’s where we… where I…”
“Where you tormented me,” I finish in a whisper. “Where I spent every day terrified and hid in the library during lunch because it was the only place your friends wouldn’t find me.”
Where I learned what it felt like to be both invisible and hypervisible at the same time.
His hands grip the steering wheel so hard his knuckles go white.
“Where they locked me in that bathroom,” I continue, the words spilling out now.
I can’t stop them. “And you opened the door, and I thought for one stupid second that you were saving me. But you just stood there. And then you left. And I heard you laughing with them in the hallway while I was still shaking in the dark.”
“I didn’t—” He stops. Swallows hard. “Fuck. Erin, I didn’t laugh. I swear to Christ, I didn’t—”
“It doesn’t matter.” I wipe at my eyes angrily. “You didn’t stop them. You never stopped them.”
His phone rings again. Daire. Again. “I have to go,” he says quietly. “Seamus needs—”
“I know.” I force myself to breathe. “I know you have to go. But I can’t go there. I can’t walk through those halls with you like nothing happened. Like you didn’t make my life hell.”
He stares at me for a long moment, and something works in his jaw.
I draw in a breath and think. I don’t want to cower. I don’t want to hide. I need to face my fears.
“I can leave you in the car,” he says quietly.
“Alright.”
”For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. For all of it. For what I did. For what I let happen. For making you afraid.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Sorry doesn’t undo years of hell. But it’s something, and it’s what I need.
I nod. “Thank you. Let’s go.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod. “Aye. Just don’t make me go inside.”
“I won’t.” He gives me a curious look and drives to St. Albert’s.