Page 104
“No,” she says.
I say nothing.
“Absolutely not.”
The guitar keeps playing.
She glares at me, and I glance over. For one second, the fight, the rain, the blood, Eilish’s question, all of it vanishes as she tries not to laugh.
Sera shakes her head, small and defeated, as if she hates that I put that pretty smile there.
The sight of it pulls hard behind my ribs, and I tighten my grip on the steering wheel because wanting her to fight is easier than wanting that again.
“I bet you’re pleased with yourself,” she says.
“It’s a great song, that’s all.”
“Ya think you’re funny.”
“You’re the one who smiled.”
“Only because I like the song.”
“Right.”
Sera begins paying closer attention to the road. When I drive past the turn for Black Heath Stud, she twists to watch it disappear behind us, then slowly faces me.
“Where are we going?”
I keep the car steady through the next set of lights. “Home.”
“No.” Her hand goes to the door before she remembers we’re moving. “This isn’t the way to my house.”
“I know.”
“What’s going on, Fionn?”
“I’m taking you to mine.”
The change in her is instant. Her body comes forward against the seat belt, fingers bracing on the edge of the console.
“Like fuck ya are!”
“Sera.”
“Stop the car.”
“No.”
“Stop the fucking car.”
I glance at her, because there are limits to how much of that tone I can leave unanswered. “Relax.”
“Don’t tell me to relax when you’ve just announced you’re taking me to your house.”
“My parents are away for the week in Dublin, rubbing shoulders with Mick Hennessy and Tiernan Mannix.”
“Someone will see me.”
