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When we asked Patrick what his plan was when he returned to Ireland, he simply shrugged and said, “I guarantee no one but his usual old cronies will question, or care, where he is or what happened to him. And if any of his friends decide they want to cause a disturbance, they’ll be easy enough to take care of.”
We thanked him, his men, and Luca’s team for their help. Reassuring them that we would have never been able to do any of this without them. We are indebted to them for the rest of their lives. Patrick smiled and told us to come visit him in Ireland any time. Luca nodded and said, “I’m sure we’ll ask you to return the favor sooner than later.”
For some reason, I didn’t doubt that for a second.
Ralph also called Mac back, letting him know our visitors in the food truck had been taken care of and “relocated.”
Ronan pulls away from the curb before hitting a button on the steering wheel, dialing Harper’s number. She answers on the first ring, “Is it done?”
“It’s done, Baby.”
“You’re safe now, Pretty Girl.”
“Finn? Love . . .” My name sounds like the most perfect song as it falls from her mouth.
“I did it, Angel. I did it for you.”
Harper’s harsh breath fills the car, “Come home to me.”
“Always.” Harper is my home. She’s our home. And we’ll always come back to her.
52
Harper
Two Months Later
“Okay, I’ll see you guys soon, Honey. Love you.” Hanging up the phone, I finish applying a light coat of brown mascara to my lashes as I stand in front of my bathroom mirror in nothing but a matching bra and panty set. With the mascara wand still in my hand and my mouth hanging open in that stupid “I’m putting my mascara on my face,” my eyes stray to the small tattoo where my thigh meets my hip. Just like it always does when the skin is visible. And just like it always does, an unmistakable warmth spreads through my chest at the sight of it.
Love.
The day after they killed Declan, I told Ronan I wanted a tattoo that represented them as well. I had each guy write the first letter in their name, which Ronan tattooed in small font. The entire tattoo isn’t any bigger than a silver dollar, yet somehow, it feels so much larger.
Just like when they put my name on their necks, this is a symbol of my commitment to them. That they’ll always be with me.
Not to mention, any time they see it, they can’t help but place a soft kiss on the black ink. And without fail, it always takes my breath away. Every. Single. Time.
Feeling satisfied with my hair and makeup, I exit the bathroom and move toward the walk-in closet. Staring at the wide array of clothes I’ve accrued since I “officially” moved in, thanks to Finn, who has a box of clothes, shoes, and jewelry being delivered practically every other day, I have no idea what to wear.
Mac just called to let me know they were all on their way home from meeting with the contractor at the brownstone they bought last week. The brownstone that’s going to be a bookstore. My new bookstore.
As hard as I fought them on it, saying over and over again that it was entirely too much, they told me, over and over again, that it wasn’t nearly enough. However, as much as I protested, I’m also beyond excited. Though it won’t be the store I fell in love with reading in, the one my parents started after fleeing Ireland in hopes of a better life, or the one I created hundreds of memories in with Cece, it will be mine. They took me to at least two dozen locations and told me to pick whichever one I wanted. The moment we pulled up outside of the old brownstone, I knew it was the one without even having to step inside. It’s a few blocks from the one I lost in Greenwich Village, but just close enough that my previous customers will know I’m there. I’ll be involved with the later remodel and design plans. Still, they assured me I didn’t need to come today as they were simply discussing the logistics of completely gutting the inside of the beautiful building versus restoring it.
Mac told me they’d fill me in on the meeting later tonight, but they had somewhere they wanted to take me first. He told me to wear whatever I wanted as long as it was reasonably warm.
So, that definitely rules out any club dresses, yet still leaves endless options.
Ugh, what I would give for another one of Finn’s outfits to show up right about now.
Looking through my dresses, I find one of my favorites. A taupe sweater shift dress that hugs me just right. It hits me mid-thigh and has a turtleneck to keep me warm. Rifling through my underwear drawer, I pull out a pair of sheer black stockings and slide them on underneath a pair of over-the-knee black Saint Laurent suede boots. I pick out a rose gold watch and a matching black purse with rose gold hardware. I’m surprisingly pleased when I step up to the full-length mirror to assess my outfit. It’s casual enough that I won’t stick out like a sore thumb but just dressy enough that I won’t look like a hobo. Grabbing one of the perfumes I know all three of them love, I give myself a few good sprays.
Up until after everything went down with Declan, the four of us hadn’t had a chance to go on any actual dates besides the few times we went to Kings. So, once the dust settled, the three of them have been taking me out whenever they get the chance. Whether it be all together, with two of them, or just one-on-one. When we do go out together, I don’t miss the strange looks people give us, whether it’s because they know who Ronan, Mac, and Finn are or because I’m not afraid to give them all affection when we’re in public—or maybe it’s a little bit of both. Regardless, the guys don’t give a single fuck, and neither do I. I’ve spent too much of my life afraid to love and live a life worth living, content with just living each day as if it were another to check off the list. But they make me brave. They make me strong. And after everything I’ve been through—everything we’ve been through—I’ll be damned if I don’t love them as loud as they love me.
The guys also called Emma within a few days of Declan being gone to let her know she could come home. However, much to my amusement and much to Ronan and Mac’s horror, she said she was more than willing to extend her stay with Pascal for the foreseeable future. I make sure I poke at that whenever I get the chance.
It’s been two months of perfection.
I’m not naive enough to think that this will be how it will always be. I haven’t forgotten who the men I love are. There will be other wars to be won, enemies to be beaten, knocks at death’s door, not to mention all of the trials and tribulations regular relationships go through times three. I know this. But I also know that while it’s okay to be afraid, it’s even better to take a risk. Because without taking risks, I wouldn’t have let myself love them.
