The Last Time I Cried Your Name novel Chapter 575

Jay's expression darkened completely.

Cavanaugh's parting words were essentially calling Franco mentally ill to his face. Did the man have a death wish?

Ultimately, Franco gave the order to have Cavanaugh thrown out.

Franco stood by the window, his gaze dark and obscure as he stared toward the club's entrance.

Minimize contact with her?

Was Cavanaugh's advice for Petty's sake, for his own sake, or for the sake of both of them?

A black sedan pulled up. It was the car he used to take Manley out, complete with a child safety seat in the back.

Petty pushed the driver's side door open and walked toward Cavanaugh.

Hans slowly climbed out of the backseat, holding Manley's little hat. He leaned casually against the car door, wearing a black face mask. His gaze seemed careless, but it landed softly on Petty.

"Get in. We're taking you to eat," Petty told Cavanaugh.

Cavanaugh shoved his hands in his pockets. Cabinda was freezing. He shivered. "I'm your primary physician. Aren't you worried I might have gotten beaten up?"

Petty handed the car keys to Hans, paused for a moment, and said quietly, "He wouldn't."

"Oh?"

Cavanaugh raised an eyebrow.

Petty got into the backseat next to Manley. Once Cavanaugh was settled in the passenger seat, she spoke up. "That outfit doesn't look like your style."

She had seen Cavanaugh countless times. They had traveled together, crossing mountains and rivers, and he almost exclusively wore hoodies and t-shirts—whatever was simplest.

But today, he was wearing a black leather jacket that clashed entirely with his usual vibe.

"It's Hans's," Cavanaugh replied, looking down at his phone.

That made sense. Her first thought was that it looked exactly like something Hans would wear.

Hans paused while buckling his seatbelt, glancing back at Petty's knowing eyes. He scoffed. "Wipe whatever messy thoughts are running through your head. He lost his luggage again."

After leaving Misty Vale last night, Hans had taken Cavanaugh to one of his private properties.

He had plenty of real estate, and it made more sense for Cavanaugh to stay at his place rather than a hotel. It was clean, sanitary, and guaranteed absolute privacy.

"Baby, say hi to the nice man."

Manley tilted his head, studying Cavanaugh, and called out in a crisp, sweet voice, "Unca!"

"Hello there. I'm Ian Cavanaugh." Saying that, he reached into his pocket.

He dug around.

And dug some more.

Manley blinked, his gaze shifting from pure curiosity to bright anticipation.

Just as Hans was starting to think Cavanaugh had managed to lose whatever gift he had prepared for Manley, Cavanaugh suddenly pulled his hand out, crossing his thumb and index finger into a cheesy finger heart.

It made Manley giggle in absolute delight.

His eyes were clear and bright, flawless—a pure, untainted soul.

Cavanaugh kept his expression perfectly neutral, but inwardly he mused how two incredibly psychologically damaged people had somehow managed to create a perfect angel of a baby.