“We don’t know,” Bronwyn says quietly.
“You don’t know anything at all?” Erin’s father snaps. “What, didn’t she have a guard on her?”
Seamus interjects. “Of course she did,” my brother says sharply. “She’s got a better one now. We don’t know what happened.”
“My god,” my father mutters, shaking his head. “I’d lose my damn mind if one of my girls was taken.”
“Tell me about it,” Da murmurs. Everyone in Ballyhock knows how protective Keenan McCarthy is of his family. I served time for that damn reason.
I know the brief time Bronwyn was missing absolutelydestroyedhim.
I wonder if he blames himself for stepping down as the clan leader.
Bronwyn glances at Erin and smiles. “Thank you for asking. Erin, that dress is absolutely beautiful. Where’d you get it?”
Erin looks down. “I-I don’t know. I don’t like shopping much. Mam tries to buy me things, you know? She likes to dress me up…” Her cheeks turn pink.
“Oh, I love that,” Bronwyn grins.
“Your mam buys you clothes?” Kyla snaps.
“I…” Erin starts, then falters. Kyla eyes her like she’s something to dissect.
“I mean… I do buy my own clothes. But Mam doesn’t like what I pick. Says I wear the same thing over and over, like a uniform.” She laughs nervously. “Whatever. She’s not wrong. I’d live in yoga pants and jumpers, but…” She shakes her head.
“Me too,” I say. “Alright, maybe not the yoga pants.”
Declan snorts into another glass of wine as the staff brings out trays of desserts.
“Maybe it just makes things easier. Roll out of bed. Pull on your slacks. Pull on your shirt. Who the fuck cares, right?”
I don’t know why I’m taking her side, or why this even is a side.
“Right,” Erin says, staring at her plate. When the staff passes by, she eagerly takes the chocolate mousse and shortbread.
“Cavin,” Mam warns me, under her breath. “Language.”
My cousin Ashland chuckles into his glass. But Declan watches Erin with something close to curiosity.
“Those aren’t easy books to keep, Erin. Complicated work.”
“I suppose for some,” she says. “For me, I enjoy it. I like the challenge.”
“You do?”
“Aye. It’s something I’m quite good at.” She lifts her chin, just slightly. “I like recognizing patterns. Numbers make sense. Unlike people, you know?” She huffs a dry laugh. And fuck me… she means it.
Black and white. That’s how she sees the world.
And somehow, that honesty, the simplicity of it, makes me want to drag her into a dark corner and figure out every shade of gray in her mind. She’s like a puzzle I can’t quite figure out, and goddamn it, I want to.
I want to study her like a book, find what makes her smile… I want to see that light in her eyes one more time.
And then I remember something I haven’t thought about in ten years or more.
The toilet. The lock.
Her screaming.
