Page 70 of Faithless Vows

He gives me a small shrug and winces before he can hide it. “Dr. Murphy says I’ve a thick skull,” he says, trying for a grin. “Only needed seven stitches. Says I’ll be grand in a day or two.”

I want to believe him, but he looks awful.

“Lannie, I’m fine,” Finn says softly. “Are you?”

I nod because what else can I do? My throat feels too tight for words.

The conversation picks up around me again, but I stop trying to follow it. I prop my elbow on the table and rest my cheek in my hand, my eyes starting to close no matter how hard I try to keep them open. Grandmam lays a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, pet,” she murmurs. “Let’s get you up to bed.”

I don’t argue. Grandmam and Róisín help me up from the table and take me upstairs, and by the time I’m under the blankets, my eyes are already closing again.

***

I wake with a start to the sound of pans clattering in the kitchen below and turn over, trying to drift back to sleep, but a sharp pain pulls through my side and brings me fully awake. The room is still grey with early light. I lie there staring up at the ceiling, confused for a second about why everything hurts, and then it all comes rushing back.

Ronin in the shed.

Ronin on the boat.

The look on his face.

Finn hitting the ground.

I close my eyes, but it doesn’t help. It’s all still there.

More noise drifts up from the kitchen, and I know Grandmam is downstairs getting breakfast ready. If I go down there, she’ll ask if I’m all right. She’ll look at me the way everyone did last night, like I might fall apart at any moment, and I don’t think I can handle that rightnow. But if I can slip out through the front door without her seeing me, I can buy myself a little time.

It’s a good enough plan until I remember my coat is hanging by the back door in the kitchen. I’ll never get to it without Grandmam seeing me. But my other coat is still in the shed. It isn’t far. Just across the yard.

I don’t like the thought of going near the shed again, but Ronin won’t still be there. He can’t be. After everything that happened yesterday, Grandda would have sent him back to Boston by now. My coat is only just inside. I can get it and leave.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I dress quickly, wincing when I lift my arms too high or pull at anything too fast, then leave my bedroom and head downstairs. I grab my boots from beside the front door, step outside, and pull the door shut quietly behind me. I sit on the step long enough to tug them on, then start across the yard toward the shed.

I’m nearly there when a shout cuts through the cold morning air.

“Don’t!”

I stop dead in the snow. That voice—panicked in a way I’ve never heard before—is Ronin’s. He’s still here. Grandda never sent him back to Boston. But why? He wanted to talk, and we talked. Why would he still be here?

My heart starts hammering, and I force myself to keep walking toward the shed, each step heavier than the last. As I get closer, I hear other voices, low and sharp, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. I reach the door, lift my hand, and push it open just enough to slip inside.

“If Alannah wants me to sign it,” Ronin says, “she can tell me herself.”

Sign what?

Everyone has their backs turned to me. Grandda and Uncle Conor stand near the middle of the room. Declan leans against the far wall. They’re all facing the chair in the centre.

Ronin is tied to it.

They’re still talking, but I can’t make sense of it. I’m too busy looking at Ronin. His face is worse than yesterday, thebruising darker, the swelling worse, his nose sitting crooked. Dried blood is crusted at his mouth and near one eye.

Grandda’s voice cuts through it, hard enough to pull me back. “Last chance, lad.”

Ronin looks straight at him. “I’m not signing.”

Grandda shakes his head, like Ronin has disappointed him, then reaches into his coat and draws out a gun. A sharp click breaks the silence.

“No!” I run forward.