Page 82 of Vengeful Secret

I grimace as I stand, wiping my hands off on my thighs because they’re covered in Darragh’s fear-sweat.

I roll my shoulders around before opening the door and shutting it behind me.

I text our cleaner, Murray, a deaf-mute who’s roughly the size of a barn but somehow always gets the job done despite his disabilities.

He sends back a thumbs-up emoji, and I chuckle down at my phone.

I head upstairs, where Lara is hugging Paige goodbye.

I frown. “You and Kael aren’t staying for dinner?”

She shakes her head. “I’m exhausted. I just want to put my swollen feet up.”

I smile. “Can’t believe you and Bree are going to have babies only a few months apart.”

“It’ll be just like Irish twins,” Paige chirps, in a good mood like usual despite her pregnancy.

She gives me a smile and kisses my cheek before leaving. Kael follows her before raising an eyebrow at me to make sure I don’t need him.

I shake my head, and he waves and walks out to the car.

“Are you willing to babysit Ciara tomorrow night?” Lara asks me.

I snort. It isn’t exactly be babysitting, since she’s my daughter, but Lara doesn’t know that yet.

“Sure, but why? It’s not like you can take Sutton out on the town.”

“I can’t, but I can make it fun for her here! A dinner party with all my girlfriends.”

I smile. We’ve kind of been recluses since Da was hurt, simply because of necessity. We don’t want Murphy to know how bad it is.

“I think that’s a great idea. No boys allowed?”

“Only the one in Bree’s belly.” She giggles and bounces off toward the stairs, presumably to ask Sutton about the dinner party.

I shake my head at her exuberance, but I’m still smiling.

Paige has always been the friendly one, and it usually takes Lara a bit to open up to friends. I’m glad that she's latched on to Sutton the way she has. Makes me feel like I’m making the right decision.

Not that falling in love with Sutton was a decision at all. It just happened the moment I saw her.

I find myself trailing into Da’s room, wondering if he’s up yet. It’s still pretty early in the morning, and he sleeps as much as he can to try and heal. It seems to be working, but progress is slow.

“That you, son?” he calls.

“One of them.” I smile, stepping into his room.

The whoosh of his oxygen concentrator sounds in the room.

“How are you feeling today, Da?”

He struggles a bit to sit up, and I try to help him, but he holds a hand up.

“I’m feeling right as rain, boyo. Don’t you worry about old Patrick!”

“Who says I’m worried, old man?” I tease, and Da barks out a laugh.

“Aye, I suppose you’ve got more things to worry about, don’t you?”

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