She ushered them into the living room, where she invited them to make themselves comfortable on the well-worn sofa set with mismatched cushions before disappearing into the kitchen.
Even though Martha was no longer in the room, Olivia hadn’t let go of his hand. Eli told himself it was for the cover. It had to be. But when she settled onto the sofa next to him, their shoulders touching, her thumb brushing lightly across his knuckles, his brain shorted out for a full two seconds.
Martha returned with a tray of tea and a plate of cookies that Sloane and Olivia demolished in minutes. Between bites, Sloane told her what had happened while she was on the run, about how she found her siblings and she ended up with the New York Clan and eventually discovered Eli wasn’t dead. How Ronan and Garret were brought down, though Martha said she knew that part as everyone in the clan had been following the trial.
As per their plan, Sloane stuck close to the truth, only leaving out the real reason the four of them were in Boston. As far as Martha was concerned, they were visiting now that it was safe to come back.
“I always knew that man was no good,” the old woman said. “Your aunt knew too, God rest her soul. She just couldn’t do anything about it, but she loved you and did her best to protect you.”
“I know,” Sloane said quietly.
“And now he’s rotting where he belongs.” Martha squeezed Sloane’s knee. “Your parents can finally rest in peace.” She glanced at Eli. “And you, young man. Garret was a monster, and I don’t hold you responsible for your father’s sins. But I hope you understand why some people around here might not feel the same.”
“I do,” he said. It was fair and he didn’t expect anything different. “And I’ll be facing the consequences too. Confessing to my part and asking the High Council for leniency.” He added that part just now, but as he met Sloane’s gaze, she nodded in approval. After all, it would be suspicious if the other people in the crew had to pay for their crimes while he didn’t.
“Good.” She gave him a curt nod. “Now then. More tea?”
They were on their second pot when a sharp knock came at the front door. It swung open without waiting for an answer.
“Martha! We’re here!” boomed a gravelly voice from the hallway.
“In here, Patrick,” Martha called back. “Just come in!”
A moment later, two figures appeared in the doorway of the living room. The first was a wiry old man with a shock of white hair and a face like worn leather. Despite his age, Patrick Gallagher moved with the easy confidence of someone twenty years younger. Behind him, practically bouncing on his heels,was a much younger, stocky man with a mop of brown curls and a grin wide enough to occupy half his face.
“Holy shit.” Matty Hudson’s eyes went straight to Eli. “Holy shit. You’re alive.”
Before Eli could respond, Matty practically flew across the living room and threw his arms around him. The hug was so forceful it nearly knocked them both into the sofa. Eli stiffened, but Matty didn’t seem to notice or care.
“Dude, we thought you were dead. Like, dead, dead. I went to that memorial thing they had and everything. I even said something nice about you.”
“That must have been hard,” Eli said.
Matty pulled back, eyes shining. “It was. I had to make stuff up.”
Despite himself, the corner of Eli’s mouth twitched.
Patrick, meanwhile, had made his way to Sloane. He stood in front of her, arms crossed, looking her up and down with a scowl that could curdle milk. “So. The prodigal daughter returns.”
Sloane did not flinch under his stare. “Miss me, old man?”
“Like a Goddamned toothache.” But the scowl slowly disappeared, and he pulled her into a gruff, one-armed hug that lasted exactly two seconds before he let go and cleared his throat. “You look good, kid. Healthy.”
“I am.” She rubbed her belly. “I assume Martha told you.”
Patrick’s bushy eyebrows shot up as he glanced at her stomach, then Jacob standing beside her. “Yours?”
“Yes, sir.” Jacob extended his hand. “Jacob Martin.”
Patrick shook it once. “You hurt her, I’ll bury you in the harbor.”
“Noted,” Jacob said cheerfully.
“And you.” Patrick turned back to Eli, his expression turning into something more guarded. “McCall.”
“Blake,” Eli corrected. “It’s Blake now.”
Patrick studied him for a moment, then grunted. “Good. Never suited you anyway.” He dropped into the nearest armchair like he owned it. “Martha, is that tea or are you just gonna stand there holding a tray?”
