Page 86 of Finding Home with You

I glance at Joe before turning back to the road. “It’s going to be alright, babe,” I say. “I promise.”

“I know,” she says.

“I love you, I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye,” comes her quiet reply.

Finn and I arrive at Erin’s place at the same time. I try to ignore the bruise on his jaw as he makes the introductions to his crew, suddenly feeling like total shit for the way I reacted the other day toward him.

I know none of this is his fault, just like I know it’s not Erin’s. And as much as the idea of them sharing a bed still doesn’t sit quite right for me, a bigger part of me is supremely grateful that he’s been here for her all these years and done everything he can to protect her.

I know I owe him big time for that.

Erin greets us at the front door, quickly grabbing my arm and whispering that Sarah’s gone home.

“She take it okay?” I ask, quickly leaning down to kiss her.

“No, she was pissed about it of course, but we managed to convince her.”

I nod, knowing exactly how my sister would’ve been. “It’s for the best,” I tell her. “I’ll sort it out with her afterwards, I promise.”

We all move into the kitchen and I can’t help but smile at the coffee and bagels Erin has laid out for everyone, as though this is all nothing more than one of her PTA meetings instead of some crazy ass plan to take down her mobster ex-boyfriend.

There are seven of us in total; Finn and two of his boys, Erin, Joe, Chris and me. It doesn’t feel like nearly enough, despite the room feeling crowded and hot as we all stand around waiting.

“Okay,” I eventually say, pulling out a chair for Erin. “This is Hamish’s number,” I add, sliding it in front of her. “Just explain that…”

“It’s cool,” she says, pulling out her phone. “I’ve got this.”

I watch as she swallows hard before typing in the number I gave her, her fingers shaking ever so slightly. Without asking, she puts it on speaker phone, before laying it on the table.

The dial tone sounds loud in the quietness of her kitchen and I swear all of us are holding our breath.

“Hello?” a gravelly voice says, the slightest hint of an Irish accent.

“Hamish?” Erin says, without hesitation. “Hamish Donnelly?”

“Who is this?”

“Erin Fitzgerald,” she answers, the shock of hearing her real name sending a jolt down my spine. “I understand you work for my father?”

“How’d you get this number?”

Erin laughs a little, but it’s insincere. “Please,” she says, as though that much should be obvious. “I need you to pass on a message to Anthony.”

“Don’t know no Anthony,” he says.

“Yes you do,” Erin continues, her voice calm and in control. “And I need you to tell him to call me. Tell him that I need to speak to him about an incident. He’ll know what I’m referring to.”

“Whatever lady,” he says, coughing. “I don’t know no Anthony and I don’t know no Fitzgerald,” he adds. “Don’t call me again.”

The call goes dead and almost immediately Erin lets out a deep breath.

“Fuck,” says one of Finn’s crew, shoving a hand through his hair. “That wasn’t good.”

“He’ll pass on the message,” I say at the same time as Erin says, “Anthony will call.”

We both look at each other, a silent acknowledgement of the incident she was referring to.