Page 51

FIFTY-ONE

MOIRA

The speedometer needle quivers just under a hundred.

The engine roars beneath me, the whole car vibrating as if even the machine itself is terrified of the way I’m treating it. But the road stretches long and busy ahead of me. Red taillights flicker in the distance. Brake lights flare as I weave between cars.

But I don’t slow down. I don’t lift my foot off the gas. I don’t even blink.

I can’t. Because if I blink, if I stop, if I even let myself breathe too deeply, I’ll feel it.

The gaping, sucking chest wound where my heart used to be.

I did the right thing.

Right? Right. Of course, I did. I saved Domhnall. I gave Bane back his life. I did what I had to do.

And all it cost me was everything.

“FUUUUCK!” I scream into the night, slamming both palms against the steering wheel so hard the whole car shudders. The headlights ahead of me wobble with the impact, but I don’t care. Cars whip past on either side, a blur of silver and black, some honking as I cut too close, but I don’t give a shit. It’s just me, the moon, and my absolute, unrelenting regret.

I yank my phone out of the cupholder and jab at the screen. Domhnall’s name. Again. Ringing. Ringing. Straight to voicemail.

I throw the phone onto the passenger seat. “Pick up, you useless bastard!”

I need to know. I need to hear him say it. That it worked. That everyone’s safe. That I didn’t just burn my whole world to the ground for absolutely fucking nothing.

But the silence stretches, and my fingers twitch against the wheel. The itch starts low, right in my bones, crawling up my arms and wrapping around my throat.

I’m burning. I need?—

To scream? To smash something? To fuck? To crash this fucking car into the nearest concrete median just to feel something else?

The highway curves, and I take it too fast, tires screeching. There’s a thrilling, terrifying tilt of gravity before the car corrects itself. A truck blares its horn behind me, its lights flashing as I cut in front of it.

Adrenaline spikes through my veins, but it’s not enough. I press harder on the gas because fuck it, why not? Let the whole world try to stop me. Let the cops come. Let someone do something because I sure as hell don’t know how to stop myself.

“God, you’re such a fucking idiot, Moira,” I snarl to myself. “You had it. You had him . And you just—what? Threw it away? Maybe for fucking nothing!”

You loved him, didn’t you? whispers a quiet, traitorous voice in the back of my mind.

“Shut up,” I snap back out loud as if I can banish my own thoughts through sheer force of will. “Love isn’t fucking real. Love is a goddamn bear trap hiding under the grass just waiting to snap shut around your fucking ankle the second you get comfortable.”

The tears come hot and fast, blurring the road ahead. I blink hard, shaking my head like a dog.

I did the right thing.

But what if I didn’t?

What if I just threw away the only real, good thing I ever had in my entire life?

“NOPE. No, we’re not doing that.” I sniff hard, knuckling my eyes before gripping the wheel again. “We are not having a mental breakdown on the road, we are not careening off into a ditch, we are absolutely, positively not going to cry over a man. Nope. No, sir. Not today, Satan.”

I nod firmly to myself and then slam my palm against the horn for no other reason than the fact that it feels good to make noise. The driver in front of me flips me off in the rearview mirror. I grin wildly, teeth bared, and floor the gas to pass them.

The itch gets worse. My body vibrates with it. I press down on the gas again, foot shaking. One hundred. One-ten. One-fifteen. The world outside is a blur, just streaks of light and shadow, and inside my head, it’s even worse. I’m spinning out. I’m spiraling. I need to do something?—

My phone buzzes.

I lunge for it, barely glancing at the screen before swiping to answer. “Domhnall?!”

“Moira, what the fuck?—”

A car flashes toward me in the opposite lane, horn blaring, headlights glaring like judgment. I yank the wheel hard to the right, tires screeching as I barely correct in time, my stomach slamming into my spine from the sheer force of it. The car beside me swerves, its horn blaring in a long, angry note.

“Jesus fecking Christ,” Domhnall’s voice barks in my ear. “Where the fuck are you?”

I pant, white-knuckling the wheel, chest heaving. “Driving.”

“Driving?! Driving where? Are you drunk?”

I laugh, high-pitched and unhinged. “Oh, I wish. That’d be way more fun than this.”

“Moira.”

His voice changes. No more bluster, no more exasperation.

I swallow hard. “Just tell me. Did it work?”

A long pause. “Yeah,” he says finally. “Mads called and said she’s all right. We’re all safe. Whatever you did, it worked.”

I squeeze my eyes shut for a brief second. Relief crashes through me so hard I nearly choke on it.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Okay. Good.”

Domhnall exhales on the other end. “Where are you?”

I glance up just in time to see the giant green highway sign flash overhead.

Austin .

“I—uh. Apparently, I’m about to be in Austin.”

Domhnall mutters a long stream of Gaelic curses under his breath. “Jesus, Moira. You need to?—”

But I don’t hear the rest because suddenly, the itch is worse than ever. My hands shake as I hang up on Domhn. My whole body thrums with electricity. I don’t know what I need. To fight? To break something? To break myself?

All I know is that I can’t stop. I can’t slow down.

Everyone’s safe, but it doesn’t change anything. I can’t go back to Bane or it just starts all over again.

I yank the wheel to take the 6 th Street exit.

Losing myself in the famous Austin bar scene sounds perfect just about now.