I Woke Up at the Altar and Said No to the Mob Heir Who Let Me Die, but He Remembers Too novel · Chapter 24 of 40

Chapter 24: The Container

I held on to his hand.

I didn't decide to. My hand did it.

"Talk," I said. "Keep talking. Last time it was so quiet."

"I'm here."

"Say something else."

"Your hand's bleeding."

"It's his blood."

"Good," he said.

I laughed, a terrible sound in the steel dark.

He took off his belt and felt for the door seam and wedged the buckle into the crack, so a line of gray light came through.

It was the width of a thread.

I could see the shape of his shoulder. That was all.

"Sit," he said. "Off the floor. The floor takes it out of you fastest."

He knew. He'd read whatever there was to read about how I died.

There were pallets at the back. We sat on them, side by side, not touching.

He had no coat. He was in his shirtsleeves.

I took off my coat and held it out in the dark.

"No."

"Take half or I'll throw it at you."

We put it over both of us.

Around noon, the bar rattled outside.

Music came through the steel. A car stereo, turned all the way up.

My father's ballad tape. A man singing about a parting glass.

Senan's voice came over it.

"Lovely song, sweetheart. Your da sang it at every christening in Southie. Where's the other one?"

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