Chapter Thirty-Eight
Erin
That night,Cavin and I lie in bed, the room dark except for the dying fire casting shadows across the walls.
We’re in our house.
Our. House.
Da’s been locked away, still up for questioning. Mam’s been released. And Bridget’s… here, with us, in the guest room, sleeping.
“Tell me something,” I say softly. “What do you see when you look at the future?”
It's quiet for a moment, his breathing steady against my hair.
“I never did think of the future until you, but now…” He pauses, his thumb tracing circles on my hip. “I see us here at Ballyhock. I see Bridget healthy and thriving. Maybe you knitting, bookkeeping. Whatever makes you happy.” He winks. “And keeps you safe.”
“Right then. So no undercover operations or shooting guns in rings.”
He slaps my arse playfully, then his hand finds mine under the covers, lacing our fingers together. “I see you with your knitting, making things—beautiful things. I see us growing old together, navigating whatever comes our way. Even the dangerous bits.”
His voice drops lower, more serious. “I won't lie to you, Erin. This life, our life—it's not easy. There'll be threats and rivals, people who want what we have. But we'll face it together.”
“Together,” I echo.
“Aye.” He kisses me softly. “You and me against the world, love.”
And I think about that. About the Boston connection that Declan's investigating. All the unknowns still lurking on the edges of our happiness. There will be more challenges, more danger. This isn't a fairy tale with a perfect ending.
But it's our ending. A hard one, honest and real.
“I can live with that,” I say.
“Good. Because I'm not letting you go.”
“You possessive Irish bastard,” I murmur against his mouth.
“Yourpossessive Irish bastard,” he growls, and I seal it with a kiss.
Epilogue
Cavin
The house isfull of laughter and music, not the forced politeness of a formal gathering, but something real and warm.
Family.
Bridget's dancing with Declan, both of them laughing at something like an inside joke. Seamus is in deep conversation with Dr. Rosenberg, probably discussing medical innovations or some such shite. Mam’s talking with Da, who's looking more relaxed than I've seen him in months. Erin’s mam declined the invite, and I understand.
Tara Kavanagh found out about Padraic’s betrayal the same way Erin did. She swears she didn't know—that he'd been lying to her for months about where the money was going, what deals he was making. Erin believes her, which is good enough for me. Erin says her da was always good at compartmentalizing his shite, keeping the women in the dark.
Whether my family believes her is another matter entirely. We agreed to let them both live, let Tara keep the house, but there's a price for that mercy—exile for her father, and Tara Kavanagh doesn't show her face at McCarthy events. Keeps her head down and her mouth shut.
It's likely why she declined tonight, though I suspect the conditions I’ve made—for the way she treats Erin and now having to ask for my permission—had something to do with it too. Maybe she needs to find another whipping boy or girl, as it were.
Erin and I sneak away onto the terrace, where the night is clear and the stars are out in force.
“Happy?” she asks.
