“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. “Ilovefighting.”
“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 Iamallowed 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.”
