Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Had a hard one today. Don't know why I'm telling you that.
Declan
I know why.
…
Declan
You're alright, Bridget. You've been alright before and you'll be alright again. You’re the strongest fucking woman I know
How do you always know what to say?
Declan
I don’t… I just know you.
I read that one so many times, the screen times out.
Do you ever think about what it would have been like. If things were different?
Declan
Don't.
I know, I know, ugh, I get all philosophical sometimes when I’m drunk
Declan
Are you safe? Home?
Yes and yes. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have messaged
Declan
Don't apologize
What am I allowed to do?
Declan
Go to sleep.
There's someone from work who keeps asking me to dinner. Thought you should know since you apparently know everything.
Five minutes pass.
Declan
And?
And nothing. Just telling you.
Declan
Have a good time.
He went quiet for three days after that. When he came back, he didn't mention it, and neither did I. The guy stopped asking shortly after. I never found out why…
DECLAN
Bridget
soooo a friend asked me on a double date
You and a girl? I approve
Bridget
Ha! No. A guy she likes and his best friend
I clench my phone and, in thirty seconds, tally who I could call to find out who this fuck-wad is, run a background search, and threaten to stay the fuck away from her. I’m in a tiny apartment in downtown Boston, the bright city lights and honking cars just outside my window a vivid reminder that I’m not home, that I’m three thousand miles away from her, and that even if she was in trouble, I’d have to call someone to help her.
I need to go home.
But it’s not her fucking fault.
Safety in numbers and listen to your gut
Bridget
You approve then?
Fuck no, I don’t approve, but I have no right to tell her what to do. I can’t have her, and she knows it. My knuckles whiten when I grip the phone and type out the response with difficulty.
You don’t need my approval. You fought hard to be able to live your life. Do what you want
Bridget
Is that what you’re doing in America?
Jesus fucking Christ, if it’s not a death by a thousand cuts. Yeah, lass, that’s what I’m fucking doing in America, if you can call working undercover and risking my fucking life on the daily for the sake of my family, living my life.
What I’m doing in America is working. Getting by.
I don’t hear from her for a few months, and when I finally do, it’s just a picture of her dressed to kill, telling me she’s going out on a date. She won’t tell me who it is. Smart girl.
Not texting her, not talking to her, feels like death, like mourning. I miss her. I’m aching and furious, and I take it all out at the gym. It only helps for a little while before it all creeps back.
When Seamus tells me it’s time to come home, I know it’s for the best.
I know that Bridget Kavanagh isn’t for the likes of me.
She’s better off without me.
Part Two
Chapter Four
Present day…
BRIDGET
It's early morning in the kitchen, and light still lingers at the edges. I'm always awake before Erin, so I put the kettle on. I'm a light sleeper and have been since I was in the hospital. It's like my body never really learned to rest. I don't like to examine what that means because I feel like I'm in a constant state of waiting.
Waiting to see if my remission is only temporary. Waiting to see if my sister's going to move, have a baby, or do something that will change her life as we know it because of her loyalty to her husband’s family.
Waiting to see if Declan will come back home.
It’s really time I moved out of Cavin and Erin’s house. Both she and Cavin believe I need to be safe, that I need to be protected, but the truth is, I’m an adult and have been for quite some time. I was an adult before they even married, but now I finally feel like one.
The kitchen is comfortable, welcoming, and lived-in. The kettle is on the stove, and my myriad of coffee cups sit on mug stands, taking up way more cabinet space than a houseguest should. Cavin likes to remind me of that, but he only teases me. He's like a brother to me, and I'm grateful.
Erin's one mug is in the same place as it always is, of course, because she is a creature of habit and doesn't like change.
“Did you turn the heat down again?” Erin says as she walks into the kitchen, shivering. “It's freezing in here.”
“It was damn near boiling. It's not my fault your husband likes you walking around scantily clad.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her, and she teasingly swats at me. I’m not wrong, and she doesn't really mind.
I don't either. She reaches over, turns up the thermostat, and sticks out her tongue.