Page 65 of The Games We Play
“It’s like there’s two parts of me. The part interested in self-preservation and the part ready to tumble and fall for him. This weekend, it was ... special. Since the car accident actually.”
“On a scale of one to ten, how deep are you in trouble?”
“Ten on all fronts.” I sip my coffee and decide I need to tell someone what is happening. “My uncle is holding Michael’s support resources over my head to get me to spy on the club for him.”
“Shit,” Kasey says. She’s met Michael. He adores her. She adores him. They kick a ball around in the yard together occasionally, on the rare days Cillian makes allowances for Michael to come visit me. “Can’t you stop that?”
I raise an eyebrow. “He can just put him in line for state services, which are minimal. They take forever to get because of the demand and level of services is totally different once he’s classed as an adult rather than a child. Cillian wouldn’t have to pay for all the extra resources he’s always provided. I don’t know why he’s threatening to pull them now. I thought that in spite of everything, he might have cared for Michael.”
“Is he bluffing?”
“No. I don’t think he is.”
“The Iron Outlaws ... if they find out ...” Kasey’s words drop off. She shakes her head. “Your life is not a bargaining chip to be traded for Michael’s care. Can’t you tell the police? Call the FBI or something? What are you going to do?”
I shrug helplessly. “I can’t inform the authorities. First, I don’t have proof. It’s my word against Cillian’s. Second, the police won’t care about one illegal organization trying to take out another. It saves them work. And third, Cillian has the financial resources to bury me under a lifetime of legal fees if I even try to do anything.”
My safety is of no concern to Cillian. I wonder if it would be to Spark. I feel like he’s shown me time and time again he’s willing to look out for me.
“Well, I’m here for you, whatever you decide. But I’ll say this. I know Michael is your brother and you love him, but can you really see yourself following Cillian’s orders for the rest of your life to protect him?”
I look down at my coffee cup for a moment. “I don’t need to; I just need to get him to eighteen when Cillian won’t legally have any responsibility but before Cillian can institute any kind of guardianship or conservatorship arrangement. I need to strike first.”
“How far away is that?”
“One year, two months, and twenty-two days.”
“Does Spark know you’re a package deal?”
I shrug. “I’ve told him about Michael. Not explicitly that he’ll need to live with me as an adult. Or that I want him to have all the support resources he has now. It’ll cost a lot. Michael is way more capable than Cillian sees. I want to explore that and let him have more freedoms, not switch his prison from Cillian’s to mine.”
She shakes her head. “It would never feel like a prison to him. He loves you. I hate to say it, Iris, because I love you ... but he loves Cillian too. I don’t think it’s as simple as just persuading him to live with you or legally being able to offer him the choice.”
Deep down, I know all this. “You’re right.”
Kasey finishes her coffee and puts it down on the counter. “For what it’s worth, Iris, you deserve happiness on your own terms. And if it’s with Spark, then you have to grab hold of it. Even if you don’t understand it yet. And hopefully he’ll protect you. But, babe, this feels like a world you shouldn’t be in, birthright or not. And that might mean letting go of anyone in it, even SparkorMichael.”
I sigh. “Wise words, my friend. Wise words. I’d have left a long time ago if it weren’t for Michael.”
Kasey stands, steps around the counter, and hugs me. “Just be careful. And always tell me where you are and who you are with. Turn on your tracking location on your phone and share it with me.”
I nod against her shoulder. “I will.”
“We should eat these before we have to leave,” she says finally. And we each pull a croissant out of the bag.
It melts in my mouth. Buttery soft with flakes of pastry that flutter onto the counter. I try to catch them with my hands. “These are so good,” I mumble with my mouth full.
“Fresh out of the oven at Bake My Day,” Kasey says, taking a bite.
“Perfect timing.” I glance in the bag and see there are also two pains au chocolat.
Kasey smiles. “Given I spent the night with the owner, it would be impossible to mistime it.”
My jaw drops for a second. “That was fast. That bakery has been open for like five minutes.”
Kasey grins. “I met her before it even opened. She was painting the inside. I was nosy and poked my head in to ask what the store was going to be. She told me a bakery, we flirted. I went on opening day and asked her out. So here we are. Her croissants are delicious.”
“Is that a euphemism?”
