The old-timers truly thought of every grim possibility, except for the one where none of their children wished to go through with that fucking arrangement.
Jesus.
It’s just another reminder of everything we have hanging over our heads.
There are more variables in play than I’d like, and I’m truly fucking miserable knowing the secret McCarthy just spilled.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Malachy
Charlotte looks appalled when I let her know she can leave her new clothes in the bins in the laundry room, or hell, even in the pack bedroom. Like magic, they’ll appear washed, dried, and folded in the clean laundry baskets within a day or two.
“Or I could do it myself,” she mutters, bending over to pull the freshly washed laundry out of the washing machine.
“Far be it from me to stop you from doing whatever will make you happy.” I chuckle, tilting my head to appreciate the view of her ass.
Lucky squeals, and he’s loud enough that I can hear him from where he’s playing in the living room with Miriam and Seamus.
The door to the garage flies open, and I immediately slide forward, flattening my hand over Charlotte’s head. When she inevitably jumps from the sound of the door slamming against the wall, it pinches my arm, but at least she doesn’t whack her head against the top ring of the washer.
Cormac’s anxiety spills into the bond as he grows closer, and my metaphorical hackles rise.
Charlotte pops out of the washer, holding an armful of her new clothes, and she spins toward Cormac. “What’s wrong?”
That asshole is going to have to get better about not allowing his thoughts and feelings to be so easily picked up in the link.
He sighs, shaking his head. “We need to have a family meeting.”
Cormac paces in front of Patrick’s desk as we all wait for the latter to end his phone call.
Once he hangs up, Patrick stands and also begins pacing, except he stays behind his desk. “We need to be quick. Moretti is here. Well, he’s at the gate. I told them to send him through. It sounds important.”
Cormac freezes and spins back toward the room. “McCarthy talked. Not much, but he told me something that I don’t think I can keep to myself.”
Charlotte sits on my lap, facing me. At Cormac’s words, she buries her nose in my throat.
I run my hand down her spine and start to purr. “You know we can handle this without you,” I say, nuzzling my cheek to the top of her head. “If you want to leave it up to us, we’ll deal with it, and you never have to know or worry about it.”
Charlotte scoffs. “I’m nosy, and I’m a worrier. I’ve already mentally conjured every option and worst outcome for each of those possible things.”
“I get it,” I tell her, and I really do.
I would want to at least know what was happening and be around for the brainstorming conversation where we come up with a solution.
“Well, get on with it,” Patrick mutters.
“Blade is alive, and he knows that Charlotte is in Boston,” Cormac blurts out, pulling off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. “He also knows about Lucky.”
“No way,” Charlotte hisses. “He was dead. Likeseriouslyfucking dead.”
“He might have played dead,” Cormac says.
Patrick’s office door pops open, and Seamus steps inside, followed by Emory Moretti.
“The gate team said you wanted me to show him right to your office,” Seamus says, backing toward the door.
“Knocking would have been nice,” Patrick mutters.
