Twice. I made her laugh twice. Sometimes it happens without me even trying. My chest loosens just a fraction.
I walk to the door with my head held high, shoulders back, chin up. People don't bother you when you look like you know where you're going.
Mygod, it reeks in here. Who the fuck decided that cabbage was a good idea for dinner? In ahospital?
I tug my cardigan tighter, pressing my lips into a hard line.
Outside Bridget’s room, leaning against the wall, arms crossed like some eternal sentinel, stands the ever-watchful shadow I can’t shake.
“Evening, Miss Erin.”
Darragh smiles and straightens, broad as a doorframe. He's been with us for years—long enough to know why he's really here. Not just to protect us from outside threats, but to keep Bridget hidden when she’s here. To make sure no one sees her wheeled to radiation appointments, no one asks why Padraic Kavanagh's youngest daughter hasn't been seen in public for months.
Can't let people know the golden child is tarnished.
“Have you been standing here the whole time?” I arch a brow.
“Where else would I be?” he says.
I sigh and push past him toward the door.
“I don’t need a watchdog, you know.”
“Good thing I’m not a dog, then.” His gaze flicks to the swinging hospital doors. “Your da pays me to make sure you don’t end up dead. That’s my job.”
“What about Bridget? Aren’t you gonna stay with her?”
“Her guard’s enough. Your da doesn’t like you out and about alone.”
Don’t I know it.
I roll my eyes and tuck my mobile deeper into my coat pocket, fingers tapping it four times. Just to be sure.
Keys too.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
The motion steadies me, but I feel his eyes catch the rhythm.
“I’m fetching a sausage roll for Bridget. The food in this hospital’s shite.”
“Aye,” he grunts. Just that.
He falls into step beside me as I stride down the hall. His boots thud, low and soft. My flats hit harder, sharper. Sounds echo in the hospital corridors.
Outside, the air is damp and cool, the kind that sneaks into your bones and stays there. I wince at the city noise—traffic, voices, that messy pulse that never stops.
Darragh scans the streets like a soldier.
The bakery on the corner smells like butter and sugar, but the moment I step inside, the heat and chatter hit me like a wall.
Too loud. Too hot. Too many fucking people.
Uncomfortable, I shift my weight, then tap my thigh. Fingernails in threes this time. A different rhythm… a quieter one.
“Miss Erin,” Darragh mutters beside me. “Want me to queue for you?”
“No,” I say, sharper than I mean to. “Thank you. I’m fine. I’m not some helpless little lass who can’t handle a line.”
