Page 84 of Sweet Poison

The anger inside me surges, but I swallow it down. My fists clench. I don’t want Mrs. O’Sullivan and Willow to turn around and see my brother. I don’t want my messed-up life touching them. The only thing that comforts me is that Mr. O’Sullivan is just outside— and he’s much scarier than Milton is.

“Leave,” I manage to say, the words steady despite the fear crawling under my skin. “Before Mr. O'Sullivan comes.”

My brother laughs again, a hollow, mocking sound. “I’ll see you around, kid. And I’ll be seeing that pretty bitch and her brat too.”

With that, he stands up, his presence lingering like a torturous nightmare as he saunters out of the bakery. The door chimes behind him, but thankfully both mother and daughter are oblivious to what just happened. Good.

With my heart in my throat, I turn back to Mrs. O'Sullivan and Willow, forcing a smile as they continue baking their cupcakes, but the knot in my stomach tightens. The safety I felt just moments ago is gone, replaced by the crippling fear that Milton will make good on his promise and hurt the two people I’ve come to care for.

I need to protect them. No matter what. I won’t let my brother ruin this.

Ruin them.

Chapter

Twenty-Six

JOY TO MY WORLD

Madden

Past

“Falling in love with her felt like the magic of Christmas morning.” — M

Isit at the massive wooden table, my feet swinging a little above the ground, and I look around at the O' Sullivan’s.

They all look very jolly as they sit wearing tones of red, white and red. Willow’s mother made it a requirement for Christmas Eve dinner.

The dining room is filled with laughter and the warm glow of the Christmas lights strung up everywhere, twinkling brightly. Mr. O'Sullivan is at the head of the table, looking as scary as always but laughing at something one of the uncles says—something about catching rats, I think. The uncles usually look like they just stepped out of a mafia movie, their faces rugged and serious, but tonight they’re all smiles, cracking jokes and telling stories.

Especially the goofy one with all the tattoos, Cianne.

Mrs. O'Sullivan glides by, her apron dusted with flour, and gently fills my plate with turkey and stuffing, a mountain of mashed potatoes, and green beans. She’s been doing this since I got here, always making sure I have enough to eat. I watch her, the way she moves with quiet confidence and strength, her energy warm like the food she’s serving.

I don’t know how someone as kind and as sweet ended up married to a giant who looks like he eats children for dinner.

But she did and she looks at him as if he hangs the moon and stars for her.

Huh.

Is that how my mother looked at my dad? I guess I will never know.

More laughter rings while I sit here not happy myself but not unhappy either. It’s a strange feeling, like I’m floating in a bubble—detached, observing, but not fully part of it all. I take a bite of the turkey, and it’s juicy and I’ve never tasted one as good as Mrs. O’Sullivan. I look down at my plate, then back at the family around me, the weight of their joy pressing against my chest, mingling with something darker.

I glance around the table, and their laughter feels like a sharp knife in my chest. Everyone’s so happy, their faces lit with joy, but all I feel is numb.

This will be my last night here. I know it. I’ve tried to push the thought away, but it’s there, heavy and suffocating.

Milton won’t give me another choice. I know he will make good on his promise and ruin this for me— ruin them.

I can’t let that happen.

He’s ruined enough already.

Mr. O’Sullivan’s father, Cathan, cracks a joke about something I don’t understand, and everyone erupts in laughter. I force a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. I can’t shake theanger and sadness that grips me. My brother’s promise looms over me, dark and ugly, a shadow that stretches out to Mrs. O’Sullivan and Willow. I can see them in my mind—Willow’s laughter, Mrs. O'Sullivan’s gentle smile—and the thought of them in danger makes my stomach churn.

I want to enjoy this moment— these people, to laugh, to bathe in their warmth— but I know better.

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