Page 63

December, 9 Months Later

MOIRA

Domhnall’s new house is fucking ridiculous.

I mean, I’m not one to talk anymore. I’m literally staying in a castle right now. An honest-to-God British castle with towers and turrets and creepy suits of armor that I still swear move when I’m not looking.

But Domhn’s place is ridiculous in a different way—all sleek lines and sharp angles and more security than the Pentagon. It’s a fortress disguised as a modern architectural wet dream. He moved again after everything went down. I know he keeps hoping that if MadAnna comes back—no, when she comes back—he doesn’t want her to worry about being in danger ever again.

“Stop bouncing your leg,” Bane murmurs, his hand settling on my knee like a warm anchor.

I hadn’t even realized I was doing it. I glance down at his fingers splayed across my skin, and something inside me settles. Just a little. Just enough.

“Sorry,” I whisper back, but there’s no real apology in it, and we both know it.

Bane’s lips twitch. “No, you’re not.”

“Nope.” I pop the ‘P’ because I know it amuses him.

Across the room, Domhn is pacing. Again. He hasn’t stopped since we arrived twenty minutes ago. Back and forth, like a caged tiger. Is this just what he does all the time now?

Isaak watches him with the patience of, well, Isaak, while bouncing his and Kira’s four-month-old daughter on his knee.

Baby Lily is a squishy, perfect little thing with Kira’s eyes and Isaak’s perpetual look of mild concern. She’s got a jumble of dark curls and the kind of cheeks you just want to nom nom nom on.

“Would you sit the fuck down?” I call to my brother. “You’re making me dizzy.”

Domhn glares at me. “I’ll sit down when I feel like sitting down.”

Bane’s fingers squeeze my knee in warning. I ignore him. “So... never, then? You gonna just wear a trench in your fancy floor by the time MadAnna gets back?”

“Moira,” Kira interjects, her voice that perfect blend of gentle and firm that only seems to work when she uses it. “Let’s give him some space.”

I flop back against the couch with a huff. “Fine.”

It’s hard to believe it’s been three months since Bane and I reunited. Three months of figuring out this new us. Three months of learning how to be together again, but differently.

I fidget with the gold band on my finger—the proper one Bane got me after we returned from England and sorted out all the legal bullshit with his father’s estate. He officially said goodbye to his congregation, though he remains ordained. All his time is spent heading his new charity board as we work to give away the billions left in the trust after the inheritance was distributed. It’s still weird being married to a billionaire.

No, scratch that. It’s weird being married, period.

Me. Moira fucking Callaghan. Settled.

Well, as settled as I get these days.

“She’ll come back,” I say suddenly, because I can’t help myself. Someone’s gotta say something. The silence is unbearable. “MadAnna. She always does.”

Domhn stops pacing just long enough to skewer me with a look. “It’s been nine months, Moira.”

“And? She disappeared for what—a whole year last time? And still came back.”

“That was different.” He speaks through his teeth, neck veins strained.

“Was it, though?”

Bane’s hand slides subtly up my thigh. A squeeze. A warning. Don’t push too hard .

But pushing is what I do. It’s what I’ve always done. Being medicated doesn’t change that; it just... smooths out the edges. Makes the pushing less erratic, maybe.

That’s the thing nobody tells you about meds. They don’t fix you. They don’t even change you, not really. They just make you more... manageable. Less likely to fly off the handle or buy a one-way ticket to Bali on a Tuesday at three a.m.

Sometimes, I miss that wild, careening freedom. The way the world used to feel so sharp and bright it cut my retinas.

But then I look at Bane, and I remember the way his eyes went dark with terror that day I told him I was leaving. The way his hands trembled when he found me again. And I think maybe... maybe this middle ground isn’t so bad.

“Do you want some wine?” Kira asks, already heading for the kitchen. She’s gotten so good at defusing tension. I wonder if that’s a side effect of living with Isaak, the human equivalent of a controlled explosion.

“God, yes,” I reply, ignoring the way Bane’s eyebrows lift slightly.

What? I’m allowed. The meds don’t play nice with too much alcohol, but one glass won’t kill me.

Probably.

Domhn finally stops pacing and drops into a chair, his head falling into his hands. I’ve never seen my brother like this. So utterly demolished. It’s fucking unsettling. Domhn has always been the solid one. The mountain. The absolute immovable object to my unstoppable force.

“She’s coming back,” I say again, softer this time. “She loves you.”

He looks up, eyes red-rimmed. “You don’t know that.”

“I do, actually.” I mean it. I might be chaotic, but I know love when I see it. And whatever MadAnna is—assassin, enigma, avenging angel—she loves my brother with a ferocity that rivals my feelings for Bane.

Speaking of.

Bane shifts beside me, his arm sliding around my shoulders, drawing me against his side like he can’t bear to have me too far away. Even now, after everything, he still touches me like I might dissolve into smoke at any moment.

To be fair, I did kind of pull a Houdini on him once. Can’t really blame the man for his attachment issues.

Kira returns with wine for me and Domhn, water for herself and Bane. Isaak is still occupied with Lily, who’s attempting to grab his nose with sticky fingers.

“She’s got your smile,” I tell Kira, gesturing at the baby with my wine glass.

Kira beams. “You think so?”

“Definitely. Look at those dimples.”

Shit, I sound like a normal human having a normal conversation. Progress!

Baby Lily chooses that moment to let out a gurgling laugh that does weird, squeezy things to my insides. Like my organs are being hugged.

“Do you want to hold her?” Isaak asks, and my stomach drops through the floor.

“Oh, uh?—”

“She won’t break,” he adds with a rare smile. “Trust me, we’ve tested it.”

Kira slaps his arm. “Isaak!”

“What? She rolls off things all the time. She’s resilient.”

I glance at Bane, panicking. He just smiles, that knowing, infuriating smile that says I see you, I know you, and I love you anyway .

“I don’t think?—”

But Isaak is already moving, and suddenly, there’s an eleven-month-old being deposited in my lap like a warm, squirmy loaf of bread.

Holy shit.

Lily stares up at me with huge, curious eyes. I stare back, frozen.

“Support her head,” Bane murmurs, his hand sliding beneath mine to show me.

His fingers are warm and steady against my own. I follow his lead, cradling the tiny human in a way that apparently won’t result in permanent damage.

Lily reaches up to grab a fistful of my hair, yanking with surprising strength.

“Ow, fuck—I mean—shoot!” I wince, trying to untangle her grip without hurting her.

Bane chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest and into my side. “I think she likes you.”

“Yeah, she’s expressing it through violence. Takes after her dad.”

Isaak actually laughs at that, which makes me unreasonably proud. Getting the stoic giant to crack is my personal Olympic sport.

Domhn watches us from his chair, something unreadable on his face. For a moment, I wonder if seeing me—wild, unstable Moira—holding a baby is just too bizarre for his brain to process.

But then his expression shifts, softening. “You’re not awful at that,” he says, which might be the closest thing to a compliment he’s given me in years.

“High praise,” I retort, but my voice lacks bite.

The truth is, holding this tiny human is terrifying. And kind of amazing. And has my brain spiraling in about sixteen different directions.

Could I do this? Could I be responsible for a little life?

A month ago, Bane found me curled up in the bathtub at four a.m., weeping because I couldn’t remember if I’d taken my meds. I was convinced I’d taken too many, or none at all, and that I was about to either die or lose my mind completely.

He sat on the bathroom floor for an hour, just holding me, breathing with me, until the panic subsided enough for him to show me the pill organizer. Monday’s compartment was empty. I’d taken exactly what I was supposed to.

And then there was the day I ran out of the house in nothing but his shirt and my underwear because I’d seen a fox in the garden and was suddenly, irrationally convinced it was my spirit guide trying to tell me something.

Bane found me twenty minutes later, halfway down the lane, still trying to chase down and talk to the bewildered animal.

So, yeah. Probably not Mother of the Year material.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” Bane murmurs, his lips brushing my temple.

I look down at Lily, who’s now attempting to eat my necklace. “Nothing.”

“Liar.”

I sigh. “Just... life stuff.”

His eyes soften, seeing right through me as always. “We have time,” he says quietly. “For all of it.”

He means kids. We’ve danced around the topic, never quite addressing it head-on. His gentle “we have time” is both permission to wait and the promise that he’s not going anywhere while I figure my shit out.

Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever feel stable enough, sane enough, to be a mother. If the meds will ever balance out just right, if therapy will finally click and make me whole. If the fear of passing on whatever genetic time bomb sits in my DNA will ever fade.

Other days, I think maybe I’m overthinking it. My own mother was a complete disaster, and I turned out... well, I turned out.

Lily suddenly decides my lap is no longer the place to be and makes a grabby-hands motion toward Kira, who swoops in to reclaim her offspring.

“She’s probably getting hungry,” Kira says apologetically.

I hand over the baby, ignoring the strange emptiness I feel once my arms are free again. “She’s amazing,” I say, and mean it.

Kira’s smile is pure sunshine. “She is, isn’t she?”

Bane’s hand reaches out, fingers threading through mine. A silent I’m here . A wordless whenever you’re ready .

The thing about Bane is, he never pushes. Not about the important stuff. He might dominate me in a thousand delicious ways in the bedroom, but out here? He waits. He watches. He offers his steady strength without forcing it on me.

It shouldn’t work, this thing between us. The wild girl and the controlled priest. The chaos and the order. But somehow, it does.

We’ve spent the last months building something new from the ashes of what we had before. Something stronger and more honest.

There are days when I miss the mania—that electric euphoria, the feeling that I could conquer worlds. Days when the meds make everything feel flat and gray and I wonder if Bane secretly longs for the untamed girl he fell for.

But then he’ll look at me like he is now, like I’m the most fascinating creature he’s ever encountered, and I remember—he never loved me for the chaos. He loved me despite it. Because of it. Through it.

“We should probably head out soon,” Bane says, checking his watch. “We’ve got an early flight tomorrow.”

Right. Back to England for another round of meetings about the foundation. Bane’s determined to put his father’s blood money to good use, funding mental health research, prison relief programs, and supporting programs for at-risk youth. It turns out my formerly penniless priest has quite the head for business when he wants to.

I’ve been tagging along, finding my own place in this new world we’re building. Turns out, my unique perspective on mental health systems is actually valuable. Who knew?

“Stay for dinner,” Domhn says abruptly. It’s not quite a request, but it’s softer than his usual commands.

I glance at Bane, who nods slightly. “Okay,” I agree. “But I’m not eating any of that keto shit you’re always pushing.”

Domhn almost smiles. Almost. “We’ll order in.”

“Pizza,” I demand.

“Fine.”

Kira and Isaak exchange a look that I can’t quite decipher, but it’s something like surprise mixed with relief. Maybe they’ve been worried about Domhn, too. Maybe they’ve been trying to pull him out of this funk for months without success.

Bane’s thumb traces circles on the inside of my wrist, right over my pulse. It’s a habit he’s developed. Like he’s checking that I’m here, that I’m real, and that my heart is still beating.

“Lily needs a change,” Kira says, grabbing up her packed baby bag.

Isaak immediately jumps to his feet to help, but Kira waves him away. “I got it.” She hefts her infant in her arms and sweeps out to another room.

For a moment, no one speaks.

Then Domhn sighs heavily. “You look... good, Moira.”

I blink, surprised. “Uh, thanks?”

“I mean it. You seem...” He struggles to find the right word. “Steadier.”

I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended. “Meds will do that to a girl,” I say, trying for lightness but hearing the edge in my voice.

Bane’s hand tightens around mine.

Domhn’s gaze shifts to Bane, something like grudging respect in his eyes. “You’re good for her.”

Okay, now this is fucking weird. My brother, admitting that Bane is good for me? Next thing you know, pigs will fly and hell will freeze over.

“She’s good for me too.” Bane’s voice is quiet but firm.

The two men look at each other for a long moment, some unspoken masculine understanding passing between them. I roll my eyes.

“Jesus Christ, just hug it out already so we can order pizza.”

Domhn snorts, but the tension breaks. He gets up to grab his phone, presumably to call in our order, when the doorbell rings.

We all freeze.

No one rings Domhn’s doorbell. Ever. He has more security than Fort Knox, and visitors don’t just drop by .

“Expecting someone?” Bane asks, already shifting slightly in front of me. The protective gesture would be annoying if it wasn’t so goddamn endearing.

Domhn frowns. “No.”

He moves to a panel on the wall, checking the security feed. His entire body goes rigid.

“Domhn?” I push to my feet, suddenly on high alert. “What is it?”

“Stay back. My security feed’s glitching.” He strides to the door with purpose, his shoulders set in a hard line.

Isaak immediately jumps to alert, hurrying behind Domhn, hand hovering at the gun on his belt—a new addition since he’s gotten all his licenses in.

Bane and I exchange a look, then follow, too. Whatever—whoever—is on the other side of that door, we’re facing it together.

Domhn yanks the door open, and for a moment, there’s only silence.

I peek around him, trying to see what’s got him frozen like a statue.

At first, I don’t understand what I’m looking at. There’s no one there. Just a wicker basket sitting on the doorstep, covered with a soft blue blanket.

And then the blanket moves .

Oh.

Oh shit .

Domhn drops to his knees like his legs have given out. With trembling hands, he pulls back the blanket to reveal a tiny, perfect face. A baby—no more than a few weeks old—with a shock of black hair and eyes the exact same shade as my brother’s.

There’s a note pinned to the blanket. Domhn unfolds it with shaking fingers, reads it silently, and then reads it again as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“What does it say?” I whisper, unable to tear my eyes away from the infant, who’s now making adorable gurgling sounds.

Domhn looks up, and I’m stunned to see tears in his eyes. Real, actual tears. From my stoic, unshakable brother.

“It’s from Mads,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “She says... she says this is our son. That she’ll be home soon. That she loves me.” His voice breaks on the last word.

The baby—my nephew, holy shit—lets out a tiny, indignant cry, and Domhn gathers the baby into his arms with the kind of reverence usually reserved for religious artifacts.

Bane’s arm slides around my waist, pulling me against him. I lean into his warmth, my heart so full it feels like it might crack my ribs.

“What’s his name?” I ask, peering into the tiny, scrunched-up face that somehow manages to look exactly like Domhn already.

My brother blinks clumsily and cups the back of his baby’s head in astonishment, glancing down at the note again, a smile—a real, genuine smile—breaking across his face like a sunrise.

“Connor,” he says softly. “His name is Connor.”

As if recognizing his name, the baby’s eyes blink open, staring up at the giant man holding him with a kind of solemn curiosity that’s almost comical on such a tiny face.

Bane’s lips press against my temple. “You okay?” he murmurs.

I nod, leaning into him, letting his strength support me while I process the hurricane of emotions swirling through me. Joy. Wonder. A strange, fierce protectiveness. And deep, deep relief that MadAnna is alive. That she’s coming back. That she hasn’t abandoned my brother after all.

“Family just got more complicated,” I whisper back.

He chuckles softly. “Family always is.”

I watch as my brother—my fierce, terrifying, overprotective brother—cradles his son against his chest for the first time. His face is transformed by a love so raw and immediate it takes my breath away.

And suddenly, I get it. Why people do this. Why they take the risk.

Love is worth it. Love is always worth it.

I turn in Bane’s arms, looking up at the man who has seen me at my absolute worst and still looks at me like I’m his miracle.

“I love you,” I tell him, because it’s true and because life is short and unpredictable and magical.

His eyes crinkle at the corners. “I love you too, little heathen.”

Maybe someday we’ll be ready for this—for tiny humans with Bane’s gray eyes and my wild curls. Maybe we won’t. Either way, we’ll figure it out together.

For now, I have this: my husband’s arms around me, my brother finding his way back to hope, and a brand-new little person who’s about to discover that being part of this family means being loved fiercely, protected ruthlessly, and accepted completely—just as you are.

Imperfect. Complicated. But never, ever alone.