Scythe & Sparrow (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #3)(82)

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

Fionn doesn’t answer this time. He just shakes his head, his eyes still pinned on me, all the light within them gone. My throat threatens to close around a painful knot. My nose stings. But I will the sudden tears away. Maybe he can see the struggle in my face, because Fionn’s gaze finally shifts from mine and he heads toward the kitchen. I trail after him.

“What happened?” I ask, stopping on the other side of the island. Fionn takes a glass from one of the shelves and the bottle of Weller’s Special Reserve bourbon I got specifically for his visit because I know it’s his favorite. He cracks the lid and pours himself half a glass, knocking it back in a single hit. “Fionn? What happened?”

“I fixed it. Like I said I would.”

“I would have helped you. I still can, if you’ll let me.”

“Help?” he says, holding me in a stare I wish I could break away from. It slices through flesh and bone, not stopping until it hits my heart. “‘Help’ is what got us here in the first place.”

I shake my head. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

Fionn sighs, pouring another glass of bourbon, draining it as fast as it fills. “I took it too far.”




His gaze falls to my leg, where the scar cuts a jagged line down the side of my calf. A memory smacks me in the face. One of Fionn, a halo of light behind him. I was lying on the floor of his exam room. His beautiful eyes were full of concern. I recall the faint sound of his voice pulling me from darkness, imploring me to wake up. I remember now. Help, I’d said before I fell back into a dreamless sleep.

I started it. I started it all.

My hand raises to my heart as though it could ever stop it from incinerating. It aches beneath my bones. “What happened?” I whisper.

“I can’t tell you, Rose. Please stop asking.”

I refuse to balk at his sharp tone. Shoulders back. Spine straight. I deserve some answers. “Are the police involved?”

“No. They’re not.”

The relief I feel is fleeting, too brief to be captured for more than an unsteady heartbeat. “Then why do you have to go?”

“Because I have to. Because look at what we’ve done together.” Fionn gestures toward the windows behind me and the city beyond the panes of glass. “I killed someone. And there are consequences for that. We can’t avoid them this time. I can’t. We have to stop this.”

Everything he leaves unsaid hangs in the air.

The tears blur my vision. I try my hardest to blink them away. It’s so difficult under his cold, remote stare. “Is this the conversation you wanted to have with me earlier?”

“No. But it’s the one we should have had.”

We stand unmoving, watching each other. If there’s any pain or regret in Fionn, I don’t see it. It’s just a clinical detachment. A decision made, ready to be executed with the precision of a blade.

Don’t you fucking cry, Rose Evans. Not this time.

I force a weak smile that disappears as fast as it comes. “Yeah. You’re probably right. I, um …” My voice cracks and I clear my throat. Even the threat of an impending breakdown doesn’t sway Fionn. He just watches, that hard and unforgiving expression still etched on his face. “I should probably skip town too. Take the mayhem back to the circus, you know? I’ll catch up with Silveria. Time to get back on the road.”

I take a step backward. Then another. “For what it’s worth, Fionn,” I say, and I think I see the tiniest of cracks in his facade before his brow smooths, “I’m very sorry. I’ll miss you. So much. But I understand.”

I don’t wait to see what his reaction might be. I don’t think there’s anything I’d want to see in it anyway.

I stride away, my head lowered, the tears falling freely as soon as my back is turned. When I get to my bedroom, I lean against the door, sliding to the floor. My chest feels like it’s splitting open. Like I’m crumbling apart. Blowing away like ash in the wind.

And I cry.

I don’t stop until long after Fionn goes to his own room. His footfalls slow as they pass my door. But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t knock or say anything through the wood that separates us. He just continues walking and with a quiet tick, he closes his door. It seals us in silence. An apartment that suddenly feels like a tomb.

“I have to get out of here,” I whisper to myself, just to hear something other than the oppressive quiet that surrounds me.

When I rise, I pull my phone from the pocket of my robe and text José.




Hi José. Sorry to text so late. I changed my mind about staying in Boston. I’d like to come home. Can I meet up with you tomorrow and get Dorothy back?



I’m both surprised and relieved when the three dots immediately start flickering with his impending reply.

Of course. We’ll be arriving at Fan Pier about 1PM. See you tomorrow.



And then, a moment later,

Love you, peque?o gorrión.



A fresh wave of tears wells in my eyes. On one hand, I’m grateful for the love. I’m craving the comfort of familiar sights and sounds. I want to be wrapped in José’s hug. I miss Baz’s laugh. I need to fly through the cage with the twins. But on the other hand, I’m already mourning something I wanted but never had. I was just starting to take steps in a new direction. I don’t want to go backward now. But there’s no other choice.