I scuff my heel against the concrete and pace, needing to move but not wanting to go too far. A war rages in my chest. Half of me wants to go with my mother, kick her ass right out. Run her out of London. At the very least, give her a God damned piece of my mind!
But I need to go to Delaney. She’d been barely conscious on that stretcher, mumbling and gagging periodically. I cup my mouth to stop myself from throwing up myself in pure, roiling rage and disgust. Even as she was being wheeled away, Delaney was saying something repeatedly. . .
Don’t be sorry.What the fuck did she mean by that?
“Baron,” The tentative, deep call stiffens my muscles, and my head whips up. Tom stands at the bottom of the steps to the hotel, worry etched deep into his face. “You need to go. I’ll keep an eye on the door and make sure she doesn’t come back. You go to the hospital.”
“No, I need to- to–” I trail off as my heart throbs fiercely against my ribs, and I clutch my chest. Fisting my shirt, I bluster a hot sigh that does nothing to cool the sweat dripping down the side of my face and under my arms. Tom closes the distance between us to grab my shoulders, and I watch in slow motion as he spreads his palms to clap my face between them firmly. The shock sends a violent shudder down my spine, and the lump in my throat dislodges suddenly.
“I’ll take care of everything here, Baron. Hell, I might as well accept that the general manager job is my job at this point. Leave the hotel to me, and go be with her. You want me to call you a car?” Tom’s palms fall from my face, leaving a sharp stinging that clears my eyes and mind. I nod, gripping his shoulder in thanks as he whips out his phone. “Delaney needs you. There’s only one of her, but Jennifer and I can hold down the fort for a day. It’s not like we haven’t done it before.”
“I’ll give you a huge raise and- and,” I stammer, unable to form a complete thought before Tom glances up from his phone to grin at me. “This. . . isn’t what I had in mind when I brought on Jennifer’s trial by fire.”
“But now, you can never fire us no matter what a shitty job we do,” Tom jokes half-heartedly, and I bark a wheeze of a laugh. “And I fully intend to book a room with expensive hookers and tons of cocaine, and make loud noise, and you can’t stop me.”
“I have to go to Delaney’s flat,” Faintly, I remember Delaney mentioning going to the hospital after being attacked. It was just last night, in her room, where she had this- this dinky, thin, sad little pillow. An elderly nurse had given it to her; it was a comfort item. “Yeah. I have to stop at her place and get that.”
“Doesn’t she have a brother? You should call him and let him know.” Tom suggests, and I nod firmly. Fumbling with my pocket, I look dazed into the distance as I try to get control of my hands. My fingers are numb and stiff, and I hold the device in one hand and pointer-finger my way across the screen before realization sneaks up on me.
I don’t have Bran’s cell number. My eyelid twitches as I viciously plow through my memories of last night. Delaney has the number on a sticky note on the mirror in her bedroom. Staring blankly at my phone screen as it darkens and goes black, a grimace twists my lips.
How long until the car’s here? I don’t- but Delaney has her purse with her, and she was conscious. She might’ve asked one of the paramedics to phone her brother for her,” I say hopefully, and Tom shrugs and ducks his head in acknowledgment. Relief slumps my shoulders and sucks the moisture from my mouth. “I’ll go get some things for her. . . and. . . Ah! I should’ve gone with her in the ambulance, damnit! Why’d I stay behind!”
* * *
Rubbing my face with both my hands, I sweep back my hair before buckling up. “Fuck. Fuck. . . I had such a good feeling about today.” I grumble before glancing over at the driver. “I have to stop before heading for St. Bartholomew Hospital. I have the address.
“You don’t want to go straight to the hospital?” He asks, and I glance over at him with a blank expression. I unlock my phone, but my hands shake too much and I accidentally open my texts to the last picture Delaney had sent me of herself in Switzerland. “That’s your wife, right?”
“No. . . not yet,” I admit as we take off towards the highway on ramp. Delaney, my wife? Hah! I’d be lucky if she let me breathe in her general direction from a hundred miles away again. “I want to stop at her flat first.” I repeat myself before the car pulls off the curb to the robotic voice of my GPS.
I lean my head against the window and pray to God Delaney will hear me out. That she’ll at least let me attempt to explain. Even if she sends me away afterwards.
The drive through middle London is over in the blink of an eye, and I point out the windshield before the driver pulls over sharply. Climbing out of the passenger seat, I glance down either side of the street. Delaney’s flat keys were in her purse, which was with her at the hospital. Before I can even make a thought, the front door swings open, and a man I don’t recognize stands at the top of the stairs.
“I’m telling you, Bran, it’s not here. Let’s just go meet Keeva at the hospital and,” The man pauses when he sees me, frowning antagonistically. “You lost, buddy?” He’s an American, I realize, and my heart drops into my stomach. “Hey, I asked you a question, man.”
“Who’re you talking to, Theo?” Bran looks just like Delaney. . . or is it Delaney that looks like her brother? His eyes flash with realization as he shoulders his way past his friend. “What’re you doing here?”
“I came to get Delaney some things. Why’s Keeva here? Who’s that? Does that mean Eamon is here as well?” I fling questions at Bran knowing I have no right to ask. It’s fucking obvious, anyway. They’re Irish mafia. “Did Delaney call you from the ambulance, Bran?”
“Aye, she told me to wait here for you and bring you to the hospital. She said not to take ‘no’ for an answer,” Bran reveals, and a war rages in my chest. Delaney’s awake. And talking. And. . . she wants to see me. Dread gnaws deep into my gut. “Where were you, Baron? What was more important than going to the hospital with her?”
Bran’s tone is confused, not particularly confrontational, but it sets me on guard anyway. My gaze slides to Theo suspiciously, and Bran clears his throat. Of course, Bran knows the troubles Delaney has with her siblings much more than me, and Theo must be high up. He’s an American here in London. He must be Eamon’s direct subordinate or something.
“Theo, you stay here and watch the flat. I’ll take Baron to the hospital,” Bran demands, and Theo opens his mouth to protest only to be glared at. The older man snaps his mouth shut and nods, turning to reenter Delaney’s flat. Stepping back as Bran takes the stairs, I open the back door of my car to gesture him in. “Tell me everything that happened since Delaney left for Switzerland, Baron. I won’t judge you, but clearly. . . something went awry somewhere since.”
CHAPTER16
DELANEY
“Ican hold the water meself, aye?” I snatch the plastic cup hastily before Keeva can stop me, and she huffs and puffs, crossing her arms over her chest. Sticking out my tongue, I smile as I wrap my lips around the straw and take a small sip. The icy cold water shocks my teeth and tongue, and goosebumps sweep down my arms and chest. “You’re flittering around like I’ll crack another rib if I breathe.”
“It’s unacceptable that you cracked your rib in the first place, Delaney. How’d you manage to fall over a bench in a wide, open dining room, eh?” She chides, and my smile fades. Lying to Keeva gives me a bad taste in my mouth. . . but I refuse to tell her or anyone else the truth. Even Bran doesn’t know exactly what happened or why. Keeva takes the blankets around my waist and pulls them up some, smiling sympathetically as she cups my cheek. “You sure you don’t want Aspirin or something, Delaney? That’s a mighty bruise. Cannae imagine how your insides must feel.”
“It doesn’t hurt that much when I’m still,” I answer; lying gets easier over time, and discomfort knots on either side of my spine. Keeva watches me with light skepticism before accepting my answer, and I breathe a discreet sigh of relief through my nose. Honestly, though. . . my side is on fire. Oh, I desperately want something to control this fierce, hot ache that rips through my muscles, but I can’t. Not in front of Keeva or anyone else, because no one knows I’m pregnant, and I want it to stay that way. “You’re worrying about it more than I am, Keeva. Calm down.”
“Calm d- calm down? I haven’t seen you in months, and you won’t return my calls or texts, and the day I land in Ireland, you end up in the hospital. . . and you’re telling me to calm down?” She sputters, and I can hear her hurt behind her exaggerated, joky tone.
