They didn’t mean for it to go that far, they said afterward.
It was supposed to be a laugh, some stupid, harmless fun. That’s what the lads said, anyway.
Lighten up, McCarthy. She’s too bloody serious. And did you forget how she ratted you out?
We'd been partnered up in biology. She muttered something under her breath about how looks don't make up for brains. Finn thought it'd be funny to teach her a lesson. He was a right prick though.
I should’ve stopped them. I didn’t. Part of me felt she deserved the comeuppance for her haughty attitude.
But they would’ve listened to me. I could’ve made them.
I heard her sobbing, banging on the door, pleading. Something in me snapped. Before I could think, I shoved the others aside and fumbled with the lock until it gave.
Erin was in the corner, crouched tight, her hands over her head, hair clinging to her face and neck.
“Hey. Hey, you’re fine,” I said. It felt like being with my father when we hunted at the Kildare estates, and he caught a deer. They’d stare, as if they knew they couldn’t outrun their human predators, and it made me feel helpless and angry.
“Erin.” She flinched and uncovered her eyes. I still remember the sound she made when she saw me—this broken, choked thing, like she thought I was part of it.
And maybe I was.
“Get out,”she snarled. “Your stupid little joke isn’t funny, and I hate you.”
With a fresh sob, she grabbed her bag and ran. The boys had scattered by then, laughter fading down the hall, leaving me alone with the proof of what they’d done.
I told myself she’d be fine. She wasn’t hurt. She’d just… panicked or something.
But later, when she wouldn’t look at me anymore—when she’d cross the street rather than pass me in the hall—I started to understand.
I hadn’t just stood by.
I’d let her believe I was the one who locked the door.
Seamus pushes to his feet. “Padraic. A word, sir.”
Chapter Nine
Erin
The car ridehome is suffocating, like the air’s been stolen out of the world, and I’m choking on silence.
All my tricks, all my usual anchors feel useless.
I’m tapping. Counting. Closing my eyes and trying to pretend I’m anywhere but here. But it doesn’t work.
I’m trapped.
My father insisted on driving instead of having a ride. I see why now. Heknewwe’d need the privacy.
My mother’s perched next to him, her back ramrod straight like the seatbelt isn’t enough to keep her spine stiff. Their silence presses against my skin like a second layer—heavy, breathless, and crushing.
I’m trying to find the words to express my absolutefuryat them, but words seem to fall short. I’m simmering, absolutelyshakingwith anger.
Because I thought I understood the bargain.Be polite. Smile at dinner. Make friends with the McCarthys so they'd help us reach Dr. Rosenberg. So they'd use their connections to save Bridget.
I thought I was playing nice for an evening. Maybe a few more dinners. Some tea with Caitlin McCarthy. Pleasant conversations about gardens and books.
Not this. Neverthis.
