“No. But I think we're both stuck, and we can either make it hell or we can try not to kill each other. Your choice.”
She considers this, her head tilting slightly. “You're surprisingly pragmatic for someone who locked me in a bathroom.”
Jesus Christ. Straight for the throat.
Are her eyes dancin’ a bit?
“Erin,Ididn't lock you in,” I say, keeping my voice level. “The lads did.”
She holds my gaze for a moment. “But you were there.”
“Aye.”
“And you didn't stop them.”
I shake my head. “I didn't.”
She nods once, like I've just confirmed something she already knew. “At least you're honestabout it.”
“Would lyin’ make you feel better?”
“No.” Her fingers start tapping again. “But an apology might. It felt… good when you apologized at St. Albert’s.”
I exhale slowly, scrubbing a hand over my jaw. “I'm sorry. For that, and for every other shite thing I did to you back then. I’m sorry, Erin. You didn't deserve it.”
She blinks—once, twice—like she's processing.
“Okay,” she says.
“Okay?”
“Yes. Okay. You apologized. And this time, I… I accept.” She shifts on the stool. “Can we move on now?”
Christ, she's a different sort.
“Right. Moving on.” I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “Figured we needed some time, just the two of us, without crowds or family pressin’ in. And every time we’re together, we’ve got a damn audience, so…” I rub a hand across the back of my neck. “Now that the sprites and fae are momentarily quiet…”
Her lips twitch, and she nods. “You want to get to know each other a bit more? Cavin McCarthy, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think that was downrightcivilized.”
I snort. “Let’s not get carried away. I do have a reputation to keep.”
She smiles softly. “So I can ask questions?”
“Aye.”
“Are there… limits to the questions?” Her brow rises.
“You can ask anything you want. I’ll tell you as much as I’m able.”
Nodding, she leans back a bit. “That’s fair. Alright.” She studies me for a long moment. I could get lost in those earthy brown eyes and be happy for it. “Can you tell me more about why you were in prison?”
Of course that's her first question. Likely been holdin’ back.
“Assault. But it… wasn’t me. It was my da. But I took the hit. At the time, he was acting head.” I sigh. “And it would’ve killed Mam. He nearly killed a man.”
“Nearly.” Her tone is clinical, detached. “Not quite.”
“No. Not quite.”
