Page 67 of Irish Reign

All those sentences are dead ends now. I need to surgically remove them from my life.

“Well, get your purse,” Mary says.

I finally find the will to say something. “Why?” I ask.

“You don’t want to leave it overnight.”

“I’m going to work a while longer.”

“Not tonight.”

I gesture at the stack she just delivered. “There’s so much to do…”

“There’s always so much to do. And it will be there tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.”

“I’ll just get started?—”

“No,” Mary says, her voice incredibly gentle.

That makes me cry again, because the last person who told me no was Braiden, just before he said, “Fuck you.”

“Let’s go,” Mary says.

“Go where?”

“To my house.”

“I can’t stay with you!”

“The place has four bedrooms. I’ve got two roommates. We just put up ads for a fourth.”

I can’t think of a kinder offer. “I can’t… I shouldn’t… I won’t…”

“You can and you should and you will. Stay for a few days. Just until you get your feet under you.”

I shake my head, because I’ve forgotten how to argue.

“Come on,” she says. “Where’s your suitcase?”

I look around, as if one might materialize if I stare in the corners long enough. “I don’t have one,” I finally say.

Once again, Mary mutters, “That bastard.” But this time, she steps back, placing her hand on the light switch by the door. Then she speaks in the bright voice of a kindergarten teacher convincing a child her scraped knee won’t require amputation. “All right. Let’s go. You’re really lucky. Tonight is spaghetti night, and I make a mean marinara.”

I grab a handful of Kleenex for the ride to my refuge.

29

BRAIDEN

I’m going after Russo.

I call Seamus Campbell, my Quartermaster. I need all the funds he can spare.

I call Rory O’Hare, my Warlord now that Patrick’s gone with Fiona. I need all our soldiers ready to fight.

I call Declan Fitzgerald, the man who makes the computers run as they should. These days, half our battles are won with online attacks, not bullets.

And then my finger hovers over Samantha’s name.

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