Page 14 of Wicked Ruin

“You’re taking the piss.”

“I am absolutely not taking the piss.” She looks entirely too pleased with herself. “Where did you think women learned about this stuff? There are whole series. Subgenres. It’s very well-documented.”

I pull back and look at her. “And how would you know about that, young lady?”

She stops. Her cheeks have gone pink, her chin comes up, and she gives me a curious look. “Because when you have nothing to do but read,” she says, “you read voraciously. Come on. You didn’t know? And young lady? Okay, Grandpa. What are you, sixty?”

It happens before I’ve thought it through. I tuck her against my chest, and my hand finds the back of her hair. I’ve wrapped one of her curls around my finger, pulled—not hard, just enough—and tilted her head back.

“Older than you,” I mutter.

What the fucking hell am I doing?

Christ, I know exactly what I’m doing, and I’ve been doing it in small increments, rationalizing stepping into a space where I have no fucking business being, telling myself it’s fine, and ignoring how every time I see her, I just want to see her again.

She's looking up at me, her lips parted, and I want to—no. No.

She's Cavin's new sister. She's in remission. She's too young, and she reads romance novels, and she called me Grandpa thirty seconds ago, and I have my hand in her hair at a family party like I've lost every fucking brain cell god gave me.

I’m dancing with her life, and it feels protective and has nothing to do with the way she smells or the fact that she reads romance novels about men like me.

The song ends. I step back properly this time, and she smooths her dress. Across the room, Cavin is still watching. I ignore him.

She’s safe tonight. She’s safe this week, probably. She’s under Cavin’s roof, and that counts for something. But Seamus is going to ask me soon about the Kavanagh girl, and I’m going to have to have an answer. The answer I give him will determine what her life looks like from here on out.

I flag down a passing server and trade my soda water for two Cokes.

I hand her one, and she takes it, looking at me with those steady blue eyes, like she’s waiting for something she doesn’t have a word for yet.

“Get some rest this week,” I say. “I’m glad you’re better, but you’re not all the way back yet.”

“You do like to tell me to get some rest… Grandpa,” she whispers.

Fuck pulling her hair, this little brat needs to go over my knee and⁠—

I cut the thought off before it finishes. That's how far gone I am. That's what she's done to me in the space of one song.

No. No, she does not need to do anything that would put her anywhere in closer proximity to me.

“Rest, lass.”

She tilts her head. “Is that an order?”

I let myself look at her for exactly one more second.

“Aye.”

Seamus is staring at us. The song comes to an end, and I let her go, just as he gestures for me to come and talk to him.

“Stay in touch, Trouble.”

I reach Seamus a few minutes later. I don’t want him questioning anything with Bridget, so I change the subject before he can even bring it up. “Heading in to see Torin tomorrow.”

Seamus's brother, my cousin Torin, is serving a life sentence in Dublin. Wasn’t supposed to be, but right around the time he was due to be released, he was found in possession of drugs. A plant, we’re confident. Someone doesn’t want Torin out.

He nods. “Yeah? He’s worried about Da.”

“Aye.” I nod. We all are. Uncle Keenan’s been having heart issues in recent months, and it’s beginning to grow more concerning.