My head spins, and I’m one fucking second away from losing my shit when the O'Callaghans show up next. I guess Bronx called them, too. Or maybe the hospital personnel did.
Who the fuck knows. Either way, they’re here now and I'msurrounded by family.
Cormac storms through the doors like he owns the hospital, and his wife, Fiona, hurries behind him with two younger women I recognize from the wedding as Livvie's sisters.
I move to a seat near the window, not in the mood to talk. My mind is too fogged up with horrific images of Livvie at that pier to give a damn about anything else.
"Where is she?" Cormac demands, coming up behind me.
"Surgery." I don't get up from my chair. Don't look at him.
"This is your fault," he spits. "If you hadn't screwed with the Tribunal?—"
I'm on my feet and in his face before he can finish the sentence. "Finish that thought and I'll put you through that window."
"Cormac," Fiona says sharply. "Not here. Not now."
Cormac backs down, but his eyes promise that the conversation isn't over. Fine by me. I have plenty to say to the bastard who let his daughter get dragged into this mess.
Livvie's sisters hover near their mother, whispering back and forth, their red eyes wet with tears. Livvie didn’t really talk much about them. Since the wedding, it’s been the two of us, like the rest of our lives kind of fizzled to white noise around us.
No family dinners or parties. It’s just been the two of us in our marital bubble. And I fucking like it better that way.
The younger sister, Siobhan, or whatever, keeps staring at me like I'm some kind of monster. Maybe I am. Maybe monsters are the only thing that can protect the people they love.
"How long has she been in surgery?" Fiona asks me when Cormac prowls away to make a phone call.
"Three hours."
"And the doctors said what, exactly?"
I repeat what Dr. Chen told me, watching her face go pale when I mention the nerve damage. She knows what that means for Livvie. Knows what music means to her daughter.
"She'll adapt," Fiona says, but her voice wavers. "She's strong."
"She shouldn't have to adapt. This shouldn't have happened."
Fiona studies me for a long moment. "You love her."
"More than my own life."
"Then you understand why I called ya,” she whispered, giving the room a sweep with worried eyes. “Why I broke thirty years of silence about my husband's business."
I look at her, face carefully made up, hair perfectly in place. But her gaze holds a fear that chills my bones.
"You could have lost everything," I say. "If Cormac finds out you warned me?—"
"Let him find out. I've been a good wife for long enough. Kept my mouth shut, played my part. But I won't watch my daughter die for his ego. You did everything you could to save her and I will always be grateful to ya for that."
Across the waiting room, Cormac and my father are involved in some heated conversation, probably about territory and responsibility and who's to blame for this shit show.
"Tell me about her," Fiona says. "How is she? Really?"
The question catchesme off guard. "What do you mean?"
"I haven't seen my daughter since the wedding and have barely spoken to her. How is she handling this arrangement?"
"She plays violin every morning. Makes coffee that's too weak. Argues with me about everything."
