“Alright,” he says. “Deal.”
We have six more days—the clock ticking like a time bomb, and death knocking at our door.
Six more days before my sister sees Dr. Rosenberg.
Before the tribute’s due again.
Six more days… that we hope and pray Bridget can hold out.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Cavin
Erin likesto keep herself busy. She's sat in the corner of my study, needles clicking away, while I pretend to focus on ledgers for hours. The truth is, I've been watching her more than the numbers.
The way the firelight catches on her soft golden hair. The little furrow between her brows when she counts stitches. Domestic, that's what this is.
And I'm fucking terrified of how much I love it.
I didn't know how much I needed it, wanted it, or how it grounds me. I grew up in a stable family, for all our flaws. And my time in prison showed me there's nothing I wouldn't trade for more of this domestic peace and comfort.
“What're you makin’, then?” I ask her.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she says with a little wink. “This yarn’s gorgeous, Cavin.”
“Bridget might’ve texted me some tips.”
“Oh, really? You and my sister are besties, now, is it?”
I chuckle. “Someone needs to tell me your secrets. You sure bloody won’t.” Truth is, I text her because I like to keep tabs on Erin’s mam, and I like to know if there’s anything Bridget needs. She’s my sister now too. “Now are you going to tell me what you’re makin’?”
“It’s a surprise,” she says, her lips tipping up at the edges.
Erin smiles a lot more lately, especially now that we know we have a chance with her sister. My pen stalls over the ledgers.
“Is it for me?”
“Don't be getting the big head about it,” she says with a wink. But she's grinning like she just won something, and god, I'd give her the world to keep that smile on her face.
“Cavin, I’ve been getting these… apologies? People from St. Albert’s.”
“Aye,” I say, not meeting her eyes.
“Cavin… what’d youdo?”
“We’re still trying to locate who’s running the damn account, but I paid a few people a visit, didn’t I? I didn’t rough them up, not these nasty bitches in the comments. But I made it damn clear you’re mine, and I won’t tolerate another second of their bullshit.”
Her eyes shine at me. “Thank you.”
I wink at her. “You can thank me later.”
Smiling at me, she ties off the last stitch and holds up a knit cap. I can't believe I didn't know this is what she was knitting right there in front of me. But now that she places her hands underneath it and stretches it around them, I can see it's simple but well-made. Thekind that'll actually keep the cold out, not the shite fashion ones. The kind that people pay big money for.
“Come here,” she says, crooking a finger at me.
I love when she looks at me like she wants me to fucking devour her. Or she wants to fucking devourme.
I cross to her, and she stands on her toes to reach the top of my head, adjusting it with careful fingers. Then she steps back, and her eyes go wide. Her lips part.
