IT TOOK SIX DAYS FOR CAOIMHE'S BODY TO BE RELEASED BACK TO THE FAMILY, AND even then, her parents were told it would take time for the autopsy report to be finalized.

When Hugh’s babysitter returned to Old Hall House, it was in a brown coffin that had to remain closed because of the damage caused to her body while in the river.

The whole town showed up to the wake to pay their respects to the family, and there had been a steady flow of traffic coming and going from the house all day. She would spend her last night in her family's home, surrounded by the people who loved her most.

When tomorrow came, on what should have been her nineteenth birthday, Caoimhe Young would be laid to rest after twelve oclock mass, in the adjoining graveyard of St. Patrick's Church.

Forever eighteen.

Hugh hadn't left your side for a moment until today, when he had to go to town with Mam to get measured for a suit for the funeral. When he got back to your house a couple of hours later, he found you exactly where he left you. But it wasn't Gibsie keeping you company, like he had implicitly instructed him to do.

It was Mark.

You were sitting on the tree swing, with your feet trailing in the mud, while that prick sat on the second swing we had added a few years back.

The minute Hugh saw him, he was incensed.

"Hey!" Hugh roared, climbing over the wooden fence and bolting toward you. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Mark narrowed his eyes as Hugh approached. "I'm talking to her.”

"No, you're not," Hugh countered, moving to stand between you two. "You have nothing to say that she needs to hear."

Hugh didn't want Mark anywhere near you. It had taken him six days to get you out of that bed, and he wasn’t about to let that prick upset you.

Besides, the time for talking was weeks ago.

The fact that he and Caoimhe hadn't reached out once to Hugh’s family or his in those three weeks didn't sit well with him.

If Mark was telling the truth about you having a mental breakdown-and he couldn't prove he wasn't—it meant they had kept you in that house for three fucking weeks without seeking medical intervention. Hughie knew his girlfriend. He knew how low your moods could plummet, but you weren’t dangerous.

"Actually, I'm the only one that should be speaking to her," Mark replied, glaring at him. "Because I understand her. Because I was with her that night, not you. I hate to tell ya, Biggs, but I'm the one she needs right now."

Hugh’s girlfriend proved him a liar when you sprang off the swing and dove for Hugh. Trembling, you fisted his T-shirt and buried your face in his neck.

"Oh. yeah? Well, I find that really hard to believe given the circumstances," Hugh shot back, wrapping a protective arm around you. “I mean, it’s not like you have a good record of being there when you’re needed.”