But he only sighed. Deeply. Heavily. And rested his face in my hands.
“Have you slept?”
“It’s been a busy night.”
“Ronan—”
“I thought we’d have more time,” he whispered. And it was only because he was so tired that he would say that. Reveal that. He was exhausted and there was a clock ticking in his head. But still, his words wrapped around me. A comfort he wouldn’t like giving me, but I took all the same.
“How about you take a nap and I’ll dye my hair.”
He reached up and pulled on a blond curl hanging over my shoulder. “I wish I could see it red. The way it’s supposed to be.”
“Maybe you will,” I said, trying to sound both reassuring and flirtatious.
“No. I won’t.” And then he stood, his hands on my face, and kissed me. Kissed me like it was a battle he needed to win, and I could not surrender fast enough. He was heavy against me, and I knew this kiss was something he’d regret later.
I was tired of regrets.
“Come on,” I said, leading him off the wall and toward the cottage.
Sinead was putting on her coat when we walked in. “I brought you some more food,” she said. “Put clean sheets on the bed. I’ll be back—”
“We will be gone tomorrow,” I said.
“Oh,” Sinead went still. “That’s good, I suppose.”
“You’ll want to stay away a few more days,” Ronan said, and he pulled out a stack of bills from his wallet. I could see American dollars, British pounds, and even euros. He could bribe his way across Europe if he had to. “Just to be safe.”
“Are you safe?” Sinead asked quietly, like she didn’t want me to hear her.
“As safe as I’ve ever been.” Which was his way of saying—not much at all.
Sinead pursed her lips at him and then she was gone. Starting up her old car and driving down the dirt road toward town. Ronan scrubbed at his face, pushed his hands in his hair, looked for all the world like a man at the end of his rope.
“You need to dye your hair, Poppy, so we can take a picture and send it.” He reached for more coffee, but I put my hand on his arm, stopping him.
“And you need to get some sleep, or you’ll be no good to anyone.”
He didn’t argue with me but turned to the chair, where he’d been sleeping what little he slept in the three nights we’d been here. “No,” I urged. “Go to the bedroom. The sheets are clean.” He looked like he might fight me, but I started to push him toward the bedroom. He didn’t fight me, which told me just how exhausted he was.
“You’re no good to anyone like this. Least of all me. And I’m expecting you to keep me safe.”
“Are ya?”
“I am. So you need at least an hour’s sleep. I’ll hold down the fort.”
“And dye your hair.”
“All of it. I’ll do all of it. You just get some rest.”
He sat on the side of the bed and picked up the blue file folder I’d found last night from the bedside table. It was burnt a little, so I’d seen that picture of him as a kid. He’d been arrested for stealing a car, which must have been what sent him to St. Brigid’s.
“Did you read this?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Only the first page. When I realized what it was, I shut it. I was going to talk to you about it, but I fell asleep.”
“Not much to talk about.” He held the folder in his hand like he was weighing it.
“It’s . . . it’s your whole life, Ronan. How can you say that?”
“Because I haven’t had much of a life.”
“That’s not true,” I whispered.
“I’ve been a criminal and killer. I’ve been a tool used by rich people to keep their rich world in order. I’ve—”
“You saved my life.”
“That might be the one good thing I’ve done.”
He thinks he’s going to die. Because of me.
My stomach rolled over, sick and slimy.
“You still have a lot of life left,” I told him. “There’s a chance for you to change things.”
He looked at me, his eyes dark with exhaustion and resignation. And pity for me, like my hope was just ridiculous. “Monsters like me don’t get a happy ending, Poppy.”
I touched his face, his shoulder. But he was cold and still and a million miles away.
“You’re not a monster, Ronan. You’re not—”
“My birth certificate’s in there.” He interrupted me like the subject of his being a monster was closed.
“Did you look?” I remembered he didn’t know his mother. Or where he’d been born. “You should look. Let’s look.”
“Doesn’t change anything,” he said and tossed the file down on the side of the bed. Finally, he lay down, his eyes shut. Like he just couldn’t fight it anymore. Sleep and everything that followed were inevitable.