My Groom Never Showed, So I Cursed Him for Eleven Months novel · Chapter 13 of 24

Chapter 13: What Cormac Wrote

Donal's POV

Dahlia's knees went, and I took her weight before she reached the clay.

She did not scream.

I have watched men take news of a death a dozen ways, and I had never seen anyone go quiet and clear and then stand up again.

"I'm all right," she said into my coat.

"You're not."

"No." She pushed back far enough to look at the trunk. "But I'm standing."

I kept one arm around her and looked at what lay against the spare tire.

I had called this man a thief for eleven months.

I had said it to my men, to my lawyer and to Brendan Finnegan across his own bar, and I had put out word on the waterfront that I would put Cormac Faye in the harbor.

I had driven past that hill and never once thought to look under it.

I sat in the first pew that morning and told myself he was late.

Cormac was never late.

Then Ambrose came in with wet cuffs, and I believed him, because a thief was easier to hate than a question.

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