The thought made my stomach clench as I glanced toward the window to Mum’s room.

“How close are yer neighbors?” Patrick asked menacingly.

“We don’t have time for this, Patrick,” I replied softly. “Just make him leave, okay?”

He stared at me silently for a long time, taking in my long dreadlocks and the summer dress I was wearing, before nodding and turning back to Kevie.

“Yer already a dead man,” Patrick said calmly, before swinging his arm out. Kevie’s body bounced as he hit the hard-packed dirt.

“Are you just going to leave him there?”

“No, I’m gonna tie his arse up and let him lay in de fuckin’ sun all day in de back of me pickup. De fuckin’ prick.” He spit on Kevie’s unconscious form then raised his eyes to me. “Ye got a rope?”

“What did you just do?” I asked, stepping backward as he moved toward me.

His eyes met mine, and he wrapped his fingers around my hips as he stopped on the bottom step of the porch. “I just slayed a dragon,” he said seriously.

I sobbed once, and my shoulders relaxed as he reached up to brush his thumb across my cheek. “My hero,” I whispered back.

“Always,” he replied, squeezing my hip before stepping around me.

He called someone from his cell phone as soon as he’d led me into the house, and I walked away as he spoke to whoever was on the other line. It made me nervous, having Kevie passed out and tied up in my front yard, but I wasn’t stupid.

Patrick wasn’t an accountant. He’d been a part of an outlaw motorcycle club for the past fifteen years. I knew he would take care of everything, and I was willing to let him do it.

As I sat back down next to Mum’s sleeping form, I tried to decide how I felt about the scene I’d just witnessed outside. Patrick was going to kill him—I knew that with absolute certainty. The way he’d moved, the tone of his voice, the way his eyes had met mine afterward… I knew that Kevie would never make it back to Ireland. The fact that I had no overwhelming feelings of horror or fear made me pause in my chair, considering the scene in my mind once more.

No, I still didn’t feel anything.

I’m not sure if it was because I had no room for anything outside of the fear I had about Peg’s death, or if it was because I trusted Patrick to handle it… but I felt nothing about Kevie’s impending demise, or even the matter in which he died.

The man had gone on to reside over his own parish, for God’s sake. He’d ignored his psychopath brother torturing me and had gone on to live as if he was without sin, as if he was worthy of the trust his parishioners placed in him. It made me sick to think of all the women Malcolm may have hurt, while their priest advised them to say nothing. No, I didn’t feel anything but relief that Kevie was going to die, and if that was wrong, I didn’t care.

Because Kevie never returning to Ireland meant that there was no way he could tell Malcolm where I was.

And Patrick…well, obviously nothing would end my love for him. After all the things he’d done, killing the man outside seemed insignificant.

“Dere will be men here soon to pick him up,” he whispered in my ear as he stopped behind my chair. “Ignore dere presence—dey’ll not come into de house.”

I nodded, “Are—are you sure he won’t wake up?” My hands were shaking slightly from the altercation, and I breathed deeply in order to get control of my emotions. I wasn’t in Ireland and Malcolm wasn’t in Texas. I knew there was nothing to be afraid of, even as my stomach twisted.

“Yer safe, me love,” Patrick whispered back, making me jolt. He leaned his face into mine until our cheeks were touching. “I’ll never let anot’er t’ing happen to ye. But, know dis—we will be discussin’ de t’ings ye left out all dose years ago.”

That wasn’t a conversation I was prepared to have, but I wasn’t about to argue. I nodded again, and let him kiss my cheek before reaching out to brush Peg’s wispy hair from her face.

“Mum, it’s time to wake up,” I called gently. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Patrick was silent as Peg gradually woke from her drug-induced nap, but his hand reached out to grip the back of my shirt as she opened her eyes and turned toward my voice.

She was so much worse than the last time he’d seen her—and I wished I had told him before he got there that the tumor in her brain had completely taken her vision.

“Amy?” She asked, gripping my hand.

“Hey, Mum. I brought you a surprise.”

“My handsome grandson?”

I smiled as tears filled my eyes, “Nope, your handsome son.”

“Patrick?” her hand reached out in front of her, and I covered my mouth with my palm as Patrick stepped around me so she could reach him.

“Hello, beautiful,” he said softly, raising her hand to his lips to kiss it.

“Oh, I’m so glad yer here.” Her accent had gotten deeper after the first week without her sight, and I wondered if it was because without seeing where she was, she simply forgot.

“I missed ye,” he said, his eyes shut tight in pain.

“Ach, I missed ye, too. Always too busy for yer mum.”

“Never.” He leaned forward to kiss her forehead, and I dropped my face into my hands, unable to watch any longer.

“Amy?”

“Yeah, Mum?” I wiped at my face frantically even though she couldn’t see me, and cleared my throat.