He glances at me. “Will you?”
“Eventually.” My shoulders tighten. “We’re married now.”
I expect an explosion. Of all the Crowley brothers, Nolan has the shortest fuse.
Instead, he only lets out a long breath. “I should’ve known it would happen sooner or later.”
“It was necessary to protect her.”
“We both know that’s not true.”
I grunt in acknowledgment. “No. It’s not.”
Nolan shifts his weight, shaking his head. “Finn first, now you. Nobody ever thinks about how their actions will affect the rest of us.”
My eyebrows raise. “I didn’t realize me getting married mattered to you.”
“Think about it.” His tone sharpens as his anger leaks out. “Finn’s got his wife. Now you’ve got what you’ve always wanted and you’re off the marriage table too. When Dad wants to build some new alliance, who do you think he’s going to marry off? Liam? We both know that’s a joke. It’s going to be me when it should’ve been you.”
I glare at him. “You can be a selfish asshole sometimes.”
“Yeah, so can you.” He turns his back on me. “Good luck telling Dad. I won’t be there to help.”
“Are you really pissed about this?”
“Honestly, Carson? I’m pissed you didn’t tell me. I’m pissed you’ve kept me in the dark. I thought we were better than that. Guess not. Good luck with your new wife, I suspect you’re going to need it once she realizes how insane you are.”
Nolan walks off. I watch him go, seething. That fucker only worries about himself.
But once he’s gone, I start to calm down, and I can see how he might have a point.
Not about the marriage thing—that won’t be an issue sooner than he realizes, considering Dad’s cancer—but about our friendship. I reallyshouldhave told him right away instead of letting him stumble in on the secret like this, except I’ve been too laser-focused on Ash to think about anyone else.
Which makes me realize: I need to tell my parents. I can’t keep this a secret for long, and it’s better that I get out ahead of it. Dad’s going to flip—but I can handle him.
I only hope Mother doesn’t try to cut my throat.
Chapter26
Carson
Ifind my father on the back patio. He’s in slacks, a tucked-in shirt, his sport coat thrown over the back of a chair. TheBoston Herald’s spread out on the table as he reads through the sports page.
I hesitate, watching my old man as he grumbles to himself about the Red Sox. All my life, my father’s been like a specter, haunting all of my decisions, pushing me into this life, training me for future control of the family. I love him and hate him, and I won’t mourn him when he’s gone.
He would call me soft if I did.
“Are you gonna come over here, or are you gonna fuckin’ stare?” Dad lowers the paper. “You can be a creep sometimes, Carson.”
I grunt my reply. “I should’ve known you spotted me.”
“You’re not as sneaky as you think you are.”
“Or maybe years of nearly getting murdered made you exceptionally paranoid.” I sit in a chair across from him.
Dad barks an ugly laugh that turns into a wet cough. He hocks and spits into a tissue. I catch sight of blood before he balls it up and tosses it aside. “To what do I owe the pleasure of my eldest son’s presence?”
“I assume you heard about the Poles already.”