Page 189 of On Edge

I tap the outside of my glass with my short nails. “Yes, but don’t do anything.”

“How can I? You let her go.”

“She’s my mother. I had to.” There’s a twisted pull in my chest whenever I think about what she did, but an even deeper one that hurts whenever I think about something happening to her. Maybe one day, with therapy, I can get over her. But not now.

“Still? Even now, knowing that she knew and did nothing, that it was your father who saw you at Grayfleet stealing the evidence. He was the one who chased you, not Darrow, and pushed you off the dock, not the tower, when he caught you trying to escape. The fact that he didn’t know it was you until you hit your head on the rocks means shit. You could have died. And she said nothing.”

“But I didn’t, and here we are.”

He’s silent for a long moment, jaw tight. He doesn’t say what’s unspoken, that he lost me then. All he says is one word that makes me love him all the more, “Okay.”

I reach across the table and cover his clenched fist with my hand. “Not all razors need to cut.”

“Stop quoting me. I sound like a complete dick when you say it.”

“Then say something intelligent.”

I smirk at him, and he laughs. And then he leans in. “I can’t wait to devour you, little finch.”

“Now you sound like a Neanderthal.” But I give him that look, the one I know he can’t resist.

His eyes are sparking with unspoken things when they meet mine. “I spent all day looking at paint samples and discussing cabinet hardware while you made lunch for the woman who helped destroy both our lives.” His voice is low and dangerous now. “I’ve been very patient today. Very fucking civilized.”

My breath catches. “And now?”

“Now I want to take you home and be very uncivilized.”

Awarmth bloomsin my core. I bite my lips. “Laine’s might be better; there are contractors everywhere at Grayfleet.”

“They’re gone. Kathy and Elias, too. I sent them home hours ago when I realized you’d left Laine’s.” He stands, pulls me up with him. “We have the whole house to ourselves.”

The approachto Grayfleet from the rear twists through hills thick with evergreens. The house looms like the castle from Sleeping Beauty with dark stone, wrapped in mist and waiting for someone brave enough to wake it. Troy’s hand is on my thigh the entire time, possessive and warm even through my jeans. Ben is in the back seat, his head poking between us occasionally before settling down.

Snow is falling heavily now, coating the grounds in white as we pull up to the house. The autumn rains have given way to winter precipitation, falling as ice or snow, which has drained the one road to Grayfleet, so we don’t have to keep taking a boat. It’s made the renovations easier. In spring, we’ll become an island again, when the snow and ice melt, feeding the lake. But for now, we’re connected.

The fairy lights Mundel installed around the entrance glow softly, making the place look welcoming for once as we get out and start hauling our shopping in.

Inside, Troy immediately takes my hands. “Stop with the bags. I can do that. You’re frozen.”

“I’m not that cold.”

“I was going to get a fire lit, but I think a bath would be better.”

“No, there’s no time.”

He’s already taken the bags from me, leaving them on the kitchen counter, before leading me upstairs. “Bath. Now. We have Laine’s Christmas party later, and you’re not going anywhere until you’ve thawed.”

“I can run my own bath.”

“I know you can.” He’s already in the bathroom, turning on the taps. “But since we’re all alone, you’re going to let me look after you for once.” As he runs the water, he tests it with his hand to check the temperature, then adds salts before lighting the candles scattered around the tub’s edge.

Then he looks at me. “Strip.”

I bite my lip and start unbuttoning my coat. “Is there really no one here?”

He straightens, comes over, and takes my coat. “Just Ben.” He barks an order in Irish, and Ben slinks out.

“Really, Troy, you don’t need?—”