Erin giggles, and Bridget follows suit.
“Bloody hell,” I mutter, which only makes them laugh harder. I smile and shake my head. I’m outnumbered, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Erin
When we're alone—justme, Bridget, and Cavin—Bridget turns to look at me properly.
“You did this,” she says softly. “You made this happen.”
“Cavin did it. He?—”
“Because of you.” Bridget's grip tightens on my hand. “I know what you sacrificed, Erin. I know what Da did. What he made you do.”
My throat closes.
“Bronwyn told me everything after you left. After Da…” She swallows. “You sold yourself for this family. For me.”
“Bridge—”
“Let me finish.” Tears stream down her pale cheeks. “You gave up everything. Your innocence. Your future. Maybe your soul. All so I could have a chance.” Her eyes shift to Cavin, then back to me. “Iwon't forget that. Ever. And whatever happens, whatever you need, I'm with you. Always.”
I lean forward, pressing my forehead to hers. “You just focus on getting better, yeah?”
“I will.” She manages a weak smile. “And Erin? For what it's worth? I think he loves you too.”
I glance back at Cavin. He's watching us with an expression I can't quite read.
“He does,” I whisper. “I know he does.”
Two hours later, Dr. Rosenberg returns with a team of nurses. They whisk Bridget away for tests, leaving me and Cavin alone in the room.
“Your turn,” I tell him.
“I'm fine.”
“Dr. Rosenberg said?—”
“I know what he said.”
But he lets me lead him to the emergency department anyway. A young doctor stitches his eyebrow, wraps his ribs, inspects his head, and does some tests, then prescribes stronger pain medication. The whole time, Cavin doesn't flinch.
“You're stubborn,” I observe.
“Pot. Kettle.”
When we're finally done, both of us properly patched up, we head back to Bridget's room. She's already there, looking exhausted but hopeful.
Dr. Rosenberg stands beside her bed, reviewing results on his tablet.
“Well?” I ask.
He looks up, and his smile is genuine. “We start tomorrow. Erin? This looks very promising, very promising indeed. Your sister’s ill, yes, and the prognosis without proper treatment is fatal.” He sighs, taps the papers together and smiles. “But I’m confident we’re going to save your sister's life.”
For the first time in months, I let myself believe it.
I turn to Cavin, bury my face in his chest, and finally let myself cry.
