Page 57 of Irish Daddies
She collapses against the floor, panting, blinking up at us in a daze.
“We’re not finished, kitten,” Declan says, already unbuckling his belt.
“Not by a long shot,” I agree, crawling up her body and kissing her softly, tasting every wrinkle in her lips.
We take turns the way we fight—deliberately, bruising, tender in ways we don’t understand. Caroline doesn’t choose a favorite. She gives herself to each of us, and we take her like we’ve been starving.
And when it’s over, when she’s spent and shaking and covered in us, we lie beside her on the floor, her body bracketed by our arms, our warmth, our promise.
“Whatever happens next,” I whisper, stroking her stomach, “we’ll go through it together.”
She doesn’t answer. She just pulls my hand to her chest and holds it there like she’s afraid it’ll disappear.
33
CAROLINE
The next week,after finally getting Alaina to give me a definitive answer about her schedule, I pack the boys’ things. I go slowly, folding tiny shirts with hands that can’t stop shaking. I try to sell it as a sleepover, an adventure, something exciting that doesn’t carry the weight of a goodbye.
“How long will we be gone?” Isaac asks, his eyes round and trusting. He’s trying to be brave, but his thumb keeps drifting toward his mouth like it did when he was younger. He knows something’s off. They both do.
“Just a few nights,” I tell them. It’s not a lie, but it’s notnota lie either, something gray like an untruth maybe? It’s that I don’t know how long it will be. It’s that my plan might mean I die, and it’s forever. After all, we’re not just fighting a man. We’re challenging an empire of rot built on bones and blood. I don’t know if any of us are walking away from this. They could lose their mother and their father all in one night. If I die, the only thing that matters is that they live. My boys. My heart outside of my body in two fragile, loud, beautiful pieces.
I try to smile. I don’t know if I pull it off. But I kiss the tops of their heads anyway, breathing in the smell of their shampoo like I can memorize it. I want to believe I’ll be here to tuck them in again. That I’ll still be someone’s mother in a week. But I’m also not stupid.
I zip up the little suitcases that Alaina brought them to me with, suitcases with dinosaurs on rocket ships on them. It chokes me up to think of how worried she must have been and how she still didn’t buy the cheapest suitcases—she bought ones that would make the boys smile. That’s the kind of woman she is, the kind of friend she is. The kind of person I thought I was not so long ago. “You’re going to stay with Miss Alaina again, okay? With Juniper and Aspen. Was that fun before?”
Joshua balances on one foot, his other foot splayed out in the air for seemingly no reason. Just because he’s a kid. “Why?”
Thewhyis too much, and it’s moments like these I wish I was the kind of parent who says, “because I said so.”
Instead, I crouch in front of them. “Listen,” I say, smoothing down Isaac’s cowlick. “It’s complicated grown-up stuff, okay? But whatever Miss Alaina says, you do. You listen to her really good, okay? Whenever I see you again, you know that I’ll love you the whole time before I do.”
Isaac frowns, biting his lip. Joshua wraps his arms around my neck so hard it almost cuts off my breathing. And I let it. I let it bruise. I let it etch into my skin so I can still feel it if I don’t make it home.
“Hey, but guess what?” I mumble into them, inhaling the scent of their kids’ watermelon shampoo.
“What?” Isaac asks, his voice thick with undropped tears.
“You’re going to get to ride in a private jet.” I widen my eyes and tug on the front of his shirt, and he widens his eyes back.
“Really?” Joshua asks, and I nod, suppressing a smile.
They high five, and I laugh out loud, dropping to the floor completely and sitting crisscross. It’s easy now that they’re still young. I won’t have to answer the harder questions until they’re older. Right now, I’m just glad all it takes is a jet.
The drive to the runway is quiet. Not tense, just…still.
Joshua has fallen asleep in his booster, mouth open, head tilted toward the window. Isaac is half-asleep beside him, arms crossed tightly over his chest like he’s bracing for turbulence that hasn’t come yet.
The sun’s low on the horizon, slanting gold over the dashboard. Declan drives like he does everything else—focused, measured, careful. He doesn’t try to fill the silence, and I’m grateful for that.
I watch the boys in the rearview mirror and keep thinking,This is it.This could be the last time I see their sleeping faces. The last time I brush hair out of their eyes or whisper promises I don’t know if I can keep. The ache behind my ribs pulses louder with every mile we get closer to the jet.
I thought I could do this. I thought I could hand them off, kiss them goodbye, and drive away. But when we reach the runway and I see the jet waiting—sleek, bright, too clean against the sky—I can’t breathe.
I unbuckle my seat belt and open the door before Declan’s even shifted into park. The gravel crunches beneath my boots. The breeze stings my face.
I walk to the back of the car and pop the trunk. The boys stir as the engine shuts off, and Declan comes around to help me pull the bags out. He stops beside me and studies my face, reading something there I haven’t said yet.
