Like a Horse Made of Air
Chapter Ten: Ready (Steady) GoThe only reason Wren doesn't complain about her forced bed rest is because it's plain to see how worried everyone has been about her.
She shouldn't have panicked.
If she'd kept her head after the gun went off she would have known the shot wasn't fatal. Wouldn't have spent weeks believing she'd killed him. Wouldn't have left him tearing himself apart while he looked for her. But she hadn't.
However, as Rosie is fond of saying: you can only live in one direction.
She tries to sink herself into the work Tommy had finally consented to let her do, the books for her business and some for the shop spread around her. She's only been herself for a few days but she's restless, unused to idleness. Her mind drifts to ways to convince Tommy to at least allow her to sit downstairs.
As if summoned by her thoughts the man himself appears.
He has a tray balanced in his hands and a cigarette between his lips—unlit. He's been paranoid about any smoke near her, won't light up in the bedroom at all. She still feels ridiculous for what happened. She knows that people can get sick from the smoke from the chimneys. Has read about different remedies for the ailments the ash can cause. And yet she's never bothered to take precautions when she's gone on the rooftops. She'd been asking to get ill. She's just grateful it hasn't killed her.
She knows what that would do to him, there are shadows in his eyes that speak volumes.
She offers him a smile, "lunch time already?"
"So the clock says," he smiles back at her as he sets the tray aside to give her a kiss.
She tucks the cigarette behind his ear and cups his face in her palms to hold him there, desperately grateful she still has this. He readily indulges her, wrapping her in his arms and pressing soft kisses to her lips.
She hates as the building itch in her chest makes her turn away.
"Don't fight the cough," he chides her. "It's what pushes the bad air out of your chest."
"Who's the nurse?" she grumbles before succumbing.
She spits the disgusting phlegm in the cup he gives her, and sighs as she leans back against the headboard. She aches, and her breath comes short, everything tastes like ash, and she doesn't dare kiss Tommy properly. He sets the cup aside and grabs the wide shallow bowl and sets it into her lap. She tilts her head back as he grabs the kettle and pours the hot water before measuring the medicinal powder and mixing it in. The water turns milky and the steam smells sharp and bitter.
She doesn't fight him when he drapes the towel over her and the bowl saying, "five minutes of deep breathing."
She forces herself to lean over the bowl a bit and take the deepest breaths she can. It doesn't' ache so much as outright hurt as the medicine pushes into the raw spaces in her chest and loosens the clinging ash. By the time the five minutes are up she's choking on mucus, but Tommy holds her steady as the coughs rack her and she spits up mouthful after mouthful of black yuck. He gives her a bit of whiskey to clean her mouth out with and then removes the bowl and towel from her space.
And just like that she's exhausted.
He gives her long moments as he rubs soothing circles along her back. They'd learned the hard way that food has to come well after the medicine, or she won't be able to keep it down. At least he's heeded her request to feed her primarily cornmeal porridge. She wasn't the fondest of the dish—would rather have any other kind of porridge really—which means when she inevitably can't eat it once she's better it won't be much of a loss.
Her hands are shaking too badly to feed herself, but Tommy lets her feign some dignity and wraps his hand over hers as he helps her eat.
Once the ordeal is over with, she sinks tiredly into his hold.
"You don't have to be here every time," she whispers into the quiet. "It's going to be weeks if not months of this."
"I'd rather be here," he tells her simply.
Polly had told her he'd sat beside Greta Jurossi's bedside for three months, despite the infectious illness and the misery of watching her waste away. When Tommy cares, he gives everything, no matter the toll it takes from him. Nothing she says will convince him to be anywhere but beside her. She's guilty grateful even while she wishes he'd spare himself.
It's some time later when he asks, "think you're up for getting out of the house?"
She perks up before she can check the impulse and he smiles.
"Really?" She asks as she looks up at him.
"I'll have to carry you," Tommy warns her, "but I've a surprise for you."
She does her best not to squirm like an excited child as she says, "please?"
He huffs a laugh as he helps her get around to go out. It'll be a short trip, she knows. Tommy won't want her exposed to too much ash and smoke, and she'll have to be home in time for her next round of treatment. She's still happy to be moved. He descends the stairs with her balanced carefully in his arms and they are met with exclamations of surprise and joy as the people about see her.
Tommy sets her in a chair to let everyone fuss.
Arthur bends over to press a kiss to her hair, "Good to see ya, Birdy."
"It's good to see you too, Scruffy," she grins at the man.
She opens her arms to Finn when she notices the boy about, and he eagerly climbs in her lap. He chatters about school and his friends and enjoying the warming weather, looking forward to summer though it's yet a few months away. Before scurrying off excitedly for something or other after getting a bit of affection from Tommy.
"Ada's working," Polly tells her as the woman breezes through. "She's determined to do her part keeping the business afloat while you get back on your feet."
"I'll thank her as soon as I see her," she tells Polly. "But it wouldn't go amiss if you can pass me thanks on beforehand."
"Sleeping Beauty's awake," John teases as he jogs through. "Look alive boys! The Queen's up!"
There's a full voiced cheer from the shop followed by laughter and Wren grins to hear it.
Charlie walks in from the front room then and Tommy steps aside to talk to him a moment, before both men return to her.
"Hello, Charlie," she greets warmly.
"'Ello, Dear," Charlie smiles.
"Come on then," Tommy tells her as he hefts her back up. "Your surprise is waiting."
"I think your more excited than I am," she laughs.
"If only because you've not seen it yet," Tommy allows as Charlie holds the door open for them.
"Here he is," Tommy smiles before he angles their approach.
Not far from the front door of Number Six, Curly stands with a lead rope in hand. Standing beside him is black stallion and she's struck with a wondering awe.
"He's beautiful," she whispers.
"Just got him back from training," Tommy tells her as he carries her closer. "Meet Monaghan Boy."
The name strikes that something and leaves her head ringing for a moment: can just see Tommy astride the horse bareback as a young woman blows red powder in the stallion's face. Then she's left blinking the heaviness from her eyes.
"You're going to race him?" She asks slowly.
"Aye, I have plans for him," Tommy's smile turns sharp for a moment, "but for now, he's here to give us a ride."
She whips her head to look at him and refuses to let the dizziness interfere with her meeting his eyes.
"You're serious?" She studies him with rising hope.
"Those old rules don't apply anymore," Tommy reminds her gently. "If you want to go for a ride, or just hang about in the stables at Charlie's Yard you're more than welcome to."
Tears spring to her eyes and she kisses him hard, "It's been so long, I just. I stopped letting myself think about it. I—thank you."
He watches her with soft eyes as he says, "you're welcome. Ready to go up?"
She nods, still a bit teary, and he helps her up and onto the stallions back. Monaghan has just a pad secured to his back, no saddle or stirrups, and his bridle. She's a feeling the pad is for her benefit as it has straps sewn for hand holds near where a pommel would be. She holds the reigns in her hands as Tommy swings up behind her. She thinks to pass them to him once he's settled but he wraps his arms about her and makes a show of tucking away his hands.
"Go ahead and take the lead off, Curly," Tommy tells the man. "We'll only be a tick if you want to wait in the house for us to get back."
"Ye-es, yes," The man agrees, "To-o-ommy."
"I'll be off back to the Yard," Charlie tells them. "Ye enjoy your ride."
"Thank you, Curly," she tells the men. "Thank you, Charlie."
"His head is yours," Tommy tells her.
And so for the first time in nearly fifteen years she clicks her tongue and taps her heels to the horse's sides as she gently tugs him around. The stallion responds easily, turning smoothly beneath them and setting off. She's no particular destination in mind, doesn't even think about anything faster than a walk. She just enjoys the half-forgotten rhythm of the horse's movements and Tommy's arms around her.
People call out greetings as they meander on through, and she waves back but doesn't stop to chat.
"You said you have plans for him?" She asks.
"Aye," Tommy agrees. "It's called the powder trick. There's a girl the Chinese have that people believe can tell fortunes. I'll pay them off to meet me in the street with the girl and she'll blow some powder in his face. Tell the people in the street his name and not to share what they've seen, and it'll be spread all across Birmingham by sundown."
"They'll think she spelled him to win races," she offers. "The magic horse."
"He'll win the first race," Tommy agrees. "And his second. Then when all of Birmingham is betting on the magic horse—a thousand quid bet—he'll lose. And we'll win."
"You're fixing the races," she realizes then asks even though she knows the answer, "You finally got a hold of Kimber?"
"No," Tommy sighs. "But Kimber's empire is crumbling. His men are on the take while the Lees, and several others are robbing him blind."
"Might just mean he'll come out swinging as a show of force when he finds out you fixed the races," She tells him.
"The fairs are starting back up," Tommy tells her. "And an old friend Johnny Dogs is traveling with the Lees. I'll meet with him and pick a fight. Nothing like having a common enemy to bind unlikely allies."
She's quiet a moment then starts slowly as she says, "you don't intend to make an ally of Kimber though. You want to take his place, don't you?"
Tommy doesn't even hesitate before he admits, "I do."
"So, why not make allies of the Lees?" She asks him. "Get them on board with the plan. Make it look like you're enemies to sell your deal with Kimber, while you have the Lees waiting to help you turn him over when the time comes. Less chance of the conflict getting out of hand, if there isn't actually any conflict."
Tommy goes quiet while he turns her suggestion over, "risk of someone saying something they shouldn't."
"A better risk then having black-blood gypsies willing to fling curses and bullets at your door," she counters.
"I'll think on it," he promises.
"That's all I ask," she tells him.
They ride for several more minutes in easy silence.
"Time to head back," Tommy whispers in her ear.
She knows they can't be gone long. She can already feel the heaviness in her chest. But she can't help the disappointment. He gives her a gentle squeeze as she turns them around.
"We'll do more of this," he tells her. "We'll get you a horse of your own and we'll ride out into the countryside, eh? Take time at the stables, just looking after them."
"I'd like that," she tells him as she leans back into him.
It's later that night as she's watching him get around for bed that he pauses and looks at her with something clearly on his mind.
"What is it?" She asks.
"I forgot I haven't told you," he admits slowly.
She waits patiently as he settles on the bed beside her.
"There was a…a mistake," He tells her. "With a routine pick-up."
"I'm starting to think we should ban that term," She tells him wryly even as that something stirs again inside her. "the moment we start calling something routine it tends to blow up."
He huffs a laugh, "might do, after this,"
"What'd they grab?" she asks.
"Meant to get four motorcycles for our buyer," Tommy tells her. "Grabbed crates of guns bound for Libya instead."
"Bound for," She sees in her mind stacks of crates with weapons, a man in a bowler hat standing above a grave with a Lewis gun in his hands. "We stole guns from the government."
"Seems we did," he agrees.
"This's going to attract attention from the Crown," she tells him seriously. "They'll send in some Inspector, with men and with spies. We've a lot of communist activity, and a hold out of IRA just up the road. Things are going to get loud and messy. They'll see the Blinders as the least of the threats and either try to knock us out of the way or recruit us to smoke the other two out. The shift in power is fairly new, they'll go for Arthur first."
"What do you want me to do?" He asks to her surprise.
She pauses to think about it.
"Well," she muses slowly. "There's two main roads ahead of us, as I see it. First we wait for the Crown's man to show and then dump the guns where he can find them. We don't want anyone else getting their hands on the damn things or it'll be violence in the streets."
He nods to show he's listening.
"Or, we wait for this man of the Crown's, and we use the guns as leverage. We'd have to be very, very careful. In where we hide the guns. In regard to whom knows what. In whom we allow to get close to ours. They're going to send in spies, likely a few of them women. Whatever plan we come up with will have to be fast paced. The longer we take to make our moves, the longer he'll have to find what he's looking for."
"Lot of risk," he says slowly. "But no risk, no reward."
"I'm with you no matter the road," She tells him.
"I know," he tells her as he presses a kiss to the side of her head.
She doesn't know what makes her think to ask but, the next day she's sitting with Tommy after she's eaten she turns to him.
"Does Arthur and John know you're going to do the trick?" She asks.
She watches as he blink once before realizing what she's talking about then he says, "I've only told you."
"Why?" She continues. "You think they'll vote against it?"
"Polly will," Tommy sighs. "And if she gets them to agree with her, that'll be that."
"You're sure?"
"It's one of Pol's rules," he tells her. "Don't punch above your weight."
"That's…oddly idealistic," she says in surprise. "In something like boxing I suppose you can stick to something like that. But in life? Life doesn't care what you weigh or what you want. You either fight or you get rolled over."
"Not me you have to convince," Tommy points out.
"Polly's the worst of you stubborn lot," she sighs
He just shrugs.
"The thing about having a system like your family does," she tells him, "is that the moment someone decides to bypass the vote they're made out to be the villain. It immediately becomes a problem. But once the family votes, everyone agrees—even if they don't actually agree."
"You don't like getting a vote?" He teases.
"I've always thought parliament is inefficient," she admits wryly. "But I rather meant rigging the system."
"How so?"
"I can talk to Arthur and John," she offers. "See where their heads are at. I know Ada will vote with me."
"You want to fix the race, eh?" He grins.
"If they think they had a say, it'll be less grief further down the road," she shrugs.
"Alright then," he laughs as he shakes his head. "Need anything from me in this plan?"
"Depends on your brothers," she muses. "Might need you to have an aside before we call the vote. Not that I expect much trouble. John will float the path of least resistance; he won't have a personal stake either way. With Ada voting our way John is likely too as well to prevent a deadlock. But if we can get Arthur too, then Polly becomes a single voice and is much less likely to gain traction to cause problems later on."
"Let me know then," he allows.
She comes to deeply resent her body's current weakness, as she tries to pin down the people she wants to talk to. Ada at least seeks her out regularly and sharing the "secret" of Tommy's desire to buy Arthur his pub gets the younger woman readily on board.
Arthur too has reason to seek her out, and she decides the best route would be for Tommy to have an aside with the man. Arthur craves acceptance and recognition, but it will mean more coming from his brother than from Wren. A few words to Tommy and she leaves him to it.
It's the man she's thought would be the simplest that turns out to be the most difficult.
It isn't until she's trying to have a conversation with John that she realizes how little time she actually spends with him. Of course they eat most meals together, and John can be counted on to be in the shop in a way neither Tommy nor Arthur could claim. But that's all in a group setting.
Add on John's tendency to deflect with humor, and she's almost convinced the man doesn't like her by the time she pins him down.
"You know," she tells him as sits at the table beside him. "I don't think we've ever had a conversation one on one."
He snorts a laugh at her, "the way you run about, I'm amazed you manage one on one with anybody."
"Not doing much running these days," she admits wryly as she rubs at the perpetual ache in her chest.
Rather than getting uncomfortable or fussing John just tips a nod and says, "suppose not. How you liking your forced vacation?"
"Oh, I'm well over it," she sighs, and he flicks an amused look at her.
"So, is this boredom or business?" He asks easily.
"Must it be one or the other?" She asks curiously.
"It's almost always business with you," John winks. "You're well matched to Tommy that way. But, you've been stuck in the house, so."
Deciding to simply be honest she admits, "it'll be business then."
"Of course it is," John shakes his head. "Stuck in the house and you still manage to have a finger in all the pies. What're we about then?"
"Tommy wants to pull a trick, but he's certain Polly won't like it," she tells him bluntly.
"So you want to secure me vote," He muses as he leans back and sips from his flask.
"Right in one," she agrees.
He chews idly on his toothpick a moment before he says, "I'll promise me vote, if you'll promise me yours."
"You have something you want to bring to the table?" She asks curiously.
"Aye, I do. Want to ask Tommy for his blessing to marry Keeva," John admits.
"Oh," Wren breaths as she smiles warmly. "Doing that well is she?"
"She's something else," John smiles down at the table. "Kids love her, and well… she puts up with me, faults and all."
"She's good people," Wren tells him. "You have me support with or without your vote. You deserve to be happy, and she does too."
"Thank you," John tells her. "But that's bad business, isn't it? You're supposed to be pinning me down aren't you?"
She rolls her eyes, "somethings are more important."
"Never thought I'd hear something like that out of you," John admits. "And anyway, you have me vote so I suppose that's that."
"Well, actually," she grins at him. "Since, I have you. How many embarrassing stories can you tell me about Tommy? Or Arthur? Both?"
John laughs freely and then leans in with a wicked smirk.
They pass a very pleasant few hours laughing at the elder Shelby brothers.
Later that night she leans against Tommy's shoulder as they lie in bed.
"You're clear to call the vote," she tells him. "And I'll give you a heads up that John is looking for your blessing to marry Keeva and they have me support."
"That so?"
"Mhm."
"Well, I best give me blessing then," he mock sighs.
She presses a kiss to his cheek then buries her face in his shoulder and confesses, "I miss being able to kiss you properly."
He rubs a hand along her spine and tells her, "this'll pass."
"You tellin' me you don't miss what we'd normally get up to if we were both awake at this hour?"
He scoffs lightly, "if you were better, I'd gladly fuck you out of your head. But you aren't so it's a moot point."
She sighs, "sorry."
"Don't be," He tells her easily. "I know you're frustrated, and I also know that you won't risk setting your health back any more than I will."
"Being ill is awful," she whines.
He rolls his eyes at her and kisses the side of her head, "go to sleep."
"Yes, sir. Mr. Shelby, sir," she sasses, and he swats her arse.
They call the vote the next day.
Tommy stands behind the chair Wren sits in as seems to have become normal for this setting. John is lounging against a wall, while Ada takes the chair to Wren's right and Arthur takes the seat at the head of the table with Polly to his right.
"I've called for this meeting," Tommy begins easily, "to discuss a plan. It'll make us a lot of money, but it does come with some risk."
You'd never guess that everyone, but Polly knew what this meeting was about already with all eyes on Tommy.
"And what's this plan then," Arthur gruffs before Polly can.
"The powder trick," Tommy says simply. "Monaghan Boy is back from the trainer and ready to race."
"You're talking about fixing races," Polly jumps in, tone full of censure. "Does Billy Kimber know you're going to be fixing races?"
"He doesn't currently see a reason to meet with us," Tommy tells his aunt. "This we'll give him reason to."
"Aye to put a bullet in your head," Polly snaps. "You know the rules! Don't punch above your weight."
"That's your rule, Pol," Tommy agrees. "But life doesn't care about what we 'weigh'. If we keep on as we are then five years from now we're going to be exactly where we are. No growth, no change, just us marching in place. I'd like for me children to be born to better opportunities than I did. I'd like me brothers' kids to have those opportunities, me sister's."
"Better alive in Small Heath, than dead in a ditch," Polly counters.
"Not just your choice, Pol," Arthur speaks up.
"We all get a vote," Ada agrees.
"Let's vote then," the older woman agrees. "All in favor?"
Every hand but Polly's goes up. Sometimes she wonders if Polly's simply afraid of change, the way she gets so worked up about things. Like this moment right now, as Wren watches the eldest Shelby look around the room with displeasure.
"Near a full hand," John quips from his place and Ada giggles.
"Votes had," Arthur says as he slaps his hand down on the table. "Plans a go, Tommy."
"I'll get us going then, brother," Tommy affirms. "Anything else we want to bring to the table?"
John meets her eyes, and she gives a careful tilt of her head.
"Aye," John says as he straightens and stands behind Ada's chair. "I do."
"What you got for us John?" Arthur asks with clear surprise.
"I'd like to ask for me families blessing to marry Keeva Macintyre," John says with surprising formality.
"Your nanny?" Polly asks with surprise.
"She's a good woman," John defends. "The kids love her, and they need a mother. While I need a woman in me life."
"Your sure?" Tommy asks steadily.
"I am," John declares.
"You have me blessing," Tommy agrees and John's face beams back at him.
"And mine," Wren smiles.
"And mine," Arthur agrees readily.
"Me too!" Ada squeals in excitement.
"Mine as well it seems," Polly waves off easily.
"Time to plan a wedding," Ada exclaims happily.
Over the next few days Polly makes her displeasure known, but it does nothing to dissuade the rest of them.
Fortunately the wedding planning takes up a fair portion of the woman's attention. While Ada's over the moon going on about dresses and dancing. You'd think it was the young woman tying the knot, the way she carries on. Lucky for all of them, Keeva is a fucking saint and manages the two Shelby women's meddling with poise and an iron hand.
Wren doesn't envy her situation even as she admires the gleaming steel of Keeva's spine.
Then Tommy is riding out to the Chinese Quarter and the die is cast.
She's still struggling under the weight in her chest, but she convinces John to help her find a spot to watch Tommy ride through. He looks like a king astride the black, the ease of his command apparent as the crowds part around him. She's glad for her influence amongst the Peaky men—she rather thinks it's as much shame at what happened regarding her house as it is fondness—as she lifts the camera they'd gotten for her and snaps a few pictures. John doesn't even bother to disguise what he thinks of her as he laughs in her face.
"Just because I can't do anything about it," She grouses at the man, "doesn't mean I can't appreciate what I see."
He shakes his head at her and gets her back home.
They hardly have the time to prepare for Monaghan's first race before the other shoe finally drops and they get word of Crown's man's impending arrival, Inspector Chester Campbell.
The name alone sends a thread of icy fury through her, puts an itch in her trigger finger.
She manages to convince Tommy to let her spend some time at Rosie's and begins a furious bit of information gathering.
Inspector Campbell hardly spends a few days in the city before targeting Arthur. When the eldest brother gets brought in bloody and beaten, Wren does what she can to help, even as she meets her man's eyes meaningfully when he comes in. He nods subtly to show his understanding.
The stocking of the cupboards is off though, what with Wren unable to do the shopping.
"I'll grab something from the Garrison," Tommy says when they realize they're out of alcohol altogether.
She stops him on his way out and reminds him, "clear liquor for wounds. And also get an accounting of any new faces at our pubs, especially the Garrison. People who drink, talk. The pubs will be the first places he'll try to get his spies into, and everyone knows the Shelby's favor the Garrison."
"I'll get word out," Tommy agrees. "And you won't strain yourself. Arthur's survived worse than this, he'll manage even if you can't do everything you'd like to. Honestly, you probably shouldn't be out of bed yet."
She frowns but nods reluctantly, hoping her capitulation will keep him from bring back the forced bed rest. He looks at her like he knows what she's about before shaking his head and pressing a kiss to her forehead on his way out.
When Tommy returns there's a focused look on his face, he meets her eyes again and she knows he'll tell her later.
"What did this Inspector want then?" Polly asks when they're all at the table again.
Wren passes over cleaning up the man's cuts when Tommy reaches for the rag and settles in a chair.
"Says there's been a robbery," Arthur shares, "of National Importance. Says he thinks it was either Commies or Fenians. Wants us to help smoke 'em out."
"And what did you say?" Tommy asks him as he dabs an alcohol-soaked rag over his brother's temple.
"I said I'd bring it to the table for a vote," Arthur hisses.
Tommy's lips turn down before straightening out again.
"Well why not then?" Arthur exclaims. "We fought for Crown and Country. We've no truck with Commies or Fenians."
Wren notices Ada wringing her hands worriedly at this statement, a frown on her face.
"Doesn't make any difference to me," John shrugs.
"Aye," Tommy agrees in a low thoughtful tone. "Why not, indeed."
Ada turns her back to the gathering at the table, but not before Wren sees the shaking in her hands.
Wren gets up and steps carefully to the young woman's side.
"You need to say something," she whispers to her.
Ada's eyes jump to her face, clearly ready to deny any such thing, but Wren stares her down.
"They'll cut him," she whispers back, face worried.
"Either he loves you enough to face your brothers," Wren tells her, "Or he doesn't love you at all, and he's just trying to get you over."
"He's not like that," Ada hisses.
"Then why are we whispering?" Wren asks calmly.
Ada has no response to that, but neither does she speak up.
It's later that night as she's watching Tommy getting around for bed as she shares what she's learned.
"Campbell comes from Belfast, where he led a slaughter of the IRA. I'm not talking arrests and executions; I mean raids at all hours and bodies floating in the canal. He claims to be a principled, godly man but I've been talking with a few women who have family in Belfast, and they say he holds no stock in giving his word. That he'll promise clemency and once you've given what he wants he'll slit your throat all the same. He can't be trusted. Funnily enough, for all his clear comfort with violence he bought out of going to France."
Tommy nods in acknowledgement before he offers, "there's a new barmaid at the Garrison. Young, blonde, and Irish. Name's Grace. I caught up with Harry and he says she insisted repeatedly on taking the job, even came with references."
"There's our spy, then," she says even as the sight of a blonde woman with blood on her hands fills her eyes. Something terrible bites at her from that knowing, a vicious thing that whispers. She shudders.
"Aye," Tommy agrees as he joins her in bed.
"Did you finish burying the decoys?" She asks him.
"Aye," he answers. "The grave is dug. The real guns already sit in the old clunker. Nobody will guess the boat can move, never mind that something valuable is aboard."
"Can it move?" She asks curiously
"The motor won't work unless you have the part I removed," Tommy says. "They could use a pole, but that's slow going, plus I tied a noise trap. Someone tries to budge it they'll think it's goin' to come apart under them. Unlikely anyone would go through the trouble of all it would take to get it in the water."
She nods and says, "I wouldn't have thought of putting a trap like that. What about if you try to move it?"
"I know it's there," Tommy replies easily. "I know how it's anchored and how to get it up."
She hums her understanding and for a moment quiet settles.
"I've news you won't like," she sighs.
"Let's have it then," Tommy sighs as well.
"I know what Ada's up to," she tells him.
He lifts a brow when she hesitates.
"I gave her a contraceptive, so if she's smart she's being careful," Wren admits.
"Who is it?" He scowls.
"This is the part you're really not going to like," she tells him.
"Worse than knowing me sister is fucking around?" He scoffs.
"People would say I'm fucking around," she points out neutrally.
Tommy's smart enough to not actually say what she can see crosses his mind.
"It's not different, and you can't hold her to a double standard," Wren shakes her head. "She's too much a stubborn Shelby for that to do more than insure she'll do it just to spite you."
He scrubs a hand over his face and automatically reaches for his pack of cigarettes before he catches himself and throws them back down. She wants to tell him it's fine but knows he won't hear it.
"I want to marry you," he says suddenly, voice hoarse.
"Tommy, it's al—"
"I do," he says firmly, and she falls silent. "But, I have a plan for Kimber. He's a man who married a brunette and spends his time fucking blondes. His grip on his business is slipping, and by all accounts he's more interested in getting his dick wet than shoring up his defenses. So, when I get his attention, when I go to the races… I'll take a blonde."
He stares at the far wall before scoffing, "maybe we can get some use out of our spy."
"But, I don't," Tommy pauses and swallows. "When I ask you to marry me. When I get the chance to put that ring on your finger, I'll wear mine too. Everyday. When I make those vows, I want them to be sacred. I want them to mean everything."
He finally looks at her, "I don't want anyone to believe I'd step out on me wife; I don't want you to have to deal with that. So, even though you'd know she wasn't for me, I can't ask yet. After Kimber takes the bait, after the deal is struck. Just not yet."
She gently cups his cheek and presses a kiss to his lips, and in turn he wraps her up in his arms.
She tucks herself along his side and says, "even if you never offered me a ring, I'd follow you for the rest of me days. But, when you ask…When you ask you'll already know me answer."
"You know," Tommy says suddenly as they get around for the day, "you never told me the man's name."
She blinks as she realizes that she hadn't, "that would be your fault. You derailed the conversation very thoroughly."
He looks at her making it perfectly clear he's neither ashamed nor repentant.
"She's never admitted it," Wren tells him, "But I'm as sure as I can be that she's seeing Freddie Thorne."
Tommy instantly darkens, "the hell is she doing with a fucking Bolshevik? There's no future with a man like that."
"I think he's convinced her he'll face her brothers for her," Wren muses. "Face you. And in the meantime, well."
Tommy scoffs, "why am I only hearing this now then? Why from anyone but the two in question?"
"That's what I told her last night, but," Wren sighs. "I don't think she wants to hear it."