Page 23 of Wicked Ruin

“Did you check out that dossier I sent you?” I ask her.

“Of course I did. It was the first thing I did, and I think you're right. There’s still something brewing in Boston, though it's been a while, hasn't it?”

When our parents betrayed the McCarthy family, it came to our attention that one of their cousins had also betrayed them. He was in league with the Boston Irish, but after our family was exiled and their cousin was suitably punished, the threat from the Boston Irish quieted.

They’re always in the distance, trouble brewing, circling like vultures that smell fresh meat.

Erin waddles over to me, her hand on her growing abdomen. She’s the cutest damn pregnant woman I’ve ever seen in my life. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel great,” Erin says with a smile. “I’ve been researching the optimal time for cord clamping and the hospital’s policy on it, the expected percentile charts for newborns, and whether the car seat we’re looking at has the highest safety rating.”

I snort. “Of course you are.” I give her belly an appreciative rub, like she’s Buddha, a move only a sister could get away with. A husband, too, maybe.

Knowing that my sister’s having a baby, I am genuinely happy about having a niece or nephew. I love my sister, and I love the idea of a new baby coming.

“You're very cute in Cavin's jumper, you know,” I say, rolling my eyes but winking at her. I never imagined Erin Kavanagh would become Erin McCarthy, who steals her husband's clothes and has the audacity to look better in them.

“They fit me better these days, and they…” She smiles bashfully. “They smell like him.”

I sigh and shake my head, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit a tiny part of me is jealous.

She pours herself a cup of tea and takes a look at my computer screen. We're working together on finance and investing, all under the McCarthy umbrella. Erin pulled me in when I was well enough, and what started as something to do became something I am genuinely good at. We have a quarterly report to show at the end of this week, and the specifics matter less than the texture of it.

“This number doesn't look right,” I say to Erin, flagging it.

She nods and agrees. “Let's look deeper into that, shall we? Is this due to Boston?”

“Aye.”

Every time anyone mentions Boston, there's only one thing, one person, I can think of. I’ve barely seen him since Seamus sent him there ages ago.

It's good. It’s fine. He’ll be back, and it’s short-lived. Honestly, I avoid him. It’s better that way. I'm healthy, and I've moved on, and I know that… even our friendship was fleeting. It had to be.

And I’m alright with that.

Cavin enters, his hair all mussed up, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers.

“God above, put some clothes on,” I mutter, because Cavin’s all hard lines and muscles and ink, and a girl needs to concentrate already. Plus, he’s like a brother to me.

He rolls his eyes. “A bloke should wear whatever he wants in his own house. Get your own flat!”

Grump.

“True, but still.” I roll my eyes as he walks over to my sister, wraps an arm around her, and kisses her cheek. Something like jealousy bubbles up inside me, but it isn’t jealousy, not really. I want Erin to be happy. She deserves this.

I get lonely sometimes though.

I remember what Erin was like before Cavin. She was hard to reach sometimes, closed off, but being with Cavin has changed her. She's learned to trust again.

“Coming to dinner at the weekend?” Cavin asks me, pouring himself a cup of tea.

“Aye, sure. It's your mam’s birthday, isn't it?”

He nods.

“Who else will be there?”

“Damn near everyone. Ashland's bringing a new girl, name's Bianca.”