Page 13 of Wicked Ruin

“Hey,” I say, my voice gentle in a way that’s foreign to my own ears. What is it about this girl that makes me want to put my arms around her and shield her from the world? “It’s alright. I get it. Working on staying alive is more important than spending time with Ballyhock’s finest residents. We all have our priorities.”

She giggles. She has a pretty giggle, because of course she does.

“Yeah,” she says, still smiling, then her eyes grow a little troubled. “And things have been strange, dealing with the aftermath of my parents. I’m sorry, Declan. I’m sorry they did that.”

“You don’t owe me or anyone an apology for what someone else does.”

“But they were my family, and I feel responsible⁠—”

“You’re not.” My tone is sharp enough to cut her off. She bites her lip. Then huskier, “Now, no more of that, alright?”

She nods. “Aye.”

I run a hand through my hair. “That’s on me. Everything with your parents—the logistics of it fell to me, and I let it take over. It sucks, and I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she says too quickly. “It’s not your fault.” She stops, and something behind her eyes shutters briefly. “We shouldn’t apologize for what someone else does.”

“Maybe neither of us should apologize,” I say. “Let’s make a deal. No more apologizing for other people’s bullshit.”

She considers that like it’s an offer on a contract, then nods. “Deal.”

She puts her hand out to shake, and like a fool, I take it.

I should know better. It's her hand, just her hand, and I take it to shake it like a normal person, and then I just—don't let go. She's warm against my palm, and my brain goes very quiet. The next thing I know, I'm drawing her toward the dance floor, and she's following, and I'm not stopping us.

Cavin is twelve feet away, with the eyes of a man who will make my life significantly more difficult if I give him any reason to. And she’s alone, watching her only family member cleave to another family, standing here with a gaping loss in the space where her family used to be.

“Fancy a dance?”

She looks a bit chagrined. “I’m not very good⁠—”

“You’ll be fine. Just follow my lead.”

She’s a liar, for the record. She’s a perfectly good dancer—light on her feet, responsive—the kind of partner who reads movement without needing to be told. I steer us away from Cavin and Erin’s view, and she lets me.

I am acutely aware of every point of contact.

I’m also aware, beneath all of it, of the thing I haven’t said to her. The thing I haven’t said to anyone.

Seamus is going to want her accounted for.

The Kavanaghs betrayed us, and Bridget and Erin are the remaining liabilities. Two young women with no family protection, too close to McCarthy business to be left floating. Erin is Cavin’s now, so that’s sorted. But Bridget…

“What are you doing tonight?” she asks.

I pull back slightly from that train of thought. “I have a shift at the club.”

She tilts her head up at me, entertained by something. “A shift?”

“Aye.”

Cavin and Erin look over. Erin’s face does something soft. Cavin’s does something I’ll have to deal with later. I rotate us another few degrees and sidestep.

“Question. Do they really have dungeon masters? Or is that only in the books?”

I stare at her. “The… books? What books?”

“The romance novels. There’s a whole—” She must see my face because she starts laughing. “You genuinely didn’t know.”