“Can I fuck you? Please?” Conall gave me a lopsided grin. “I’d really love to be inside you.”
If heat spread across my cheeks, I wouldn’t admit it. Instead, I laughed deeply and kissed his hand again. I needed my lips on him. Love drove a knife deep into my heart. He was so sick and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. If I lost him...No, I wasn’t going to think about that. I won’t. I refused to let him go. “We’ll talk about it later, Pet. I promise.”
Conall’s head rolled back on his pillow and fear struck me, a heaviness pressing down on my chest, before he righted himself. He stared behind me, eyes widening slightly. “He’s here.”
I gave a brief glance where he was looking, even though logically I knew no one was there. “Who, Pet? Who’s here?”
He grimaced. “He’s dead. He can’t be here.” Whatever color he had left in his face drained from his cheeks. “Dad. He’s here, but Terrance blew his brains out. He’sdead.”
The machine beside Conall beeped loudly. Goodheart hurriedly opened a drawer near him and pulled out a needle. Before I could ask him what was happening, he turned to me. “I’m going to give him some lorazepam. It’ll help to calm him down and stop his heart rate and blood pressure from skyrocketing.”
My throat closed up. All I could manage was a curt nod. I gnashed my teeth, and my nostrils flared as I forced air out of my nose. Calm. That’s what I always taught Fionn. How was I supposed to keep my emotions in check when the person I loved was unraveling? Why couldn’t I make Conall’s illness go away with a snap of my fingers?
I brushed my palm over Conall’s forehead and shushed him softly. “He’s not here, Pet. You’re right. He’s dead. Terrance handled him, didn’t he? He’s six feet under and if he wasn’t, I’d make sure he was. Do you trust me to keep you safe?”
He nodded with wide eyes. “Yes, Boss.”
“Good, because I will take care of you. Always.”
Tension bled from his shoulders and he smiled. “I love you, Sloan.”
“I love you, too, Pet.” My words came out in a rasp—broken and barely audible even though I was talking into the speaker of my headphones.
He settled down, and I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Whatever happened, I’d make sure he was okay. Better than okay. That he was my Conall again.
Goodheart monitored him until we arrived at EK Memorial, where other doctors and nurses were waiting. They wheeled Conall out of the helicopter and into the building, and I was at his side with no intention of leaving it. They put him in a VIP room before I was bombarded by a doctor and a bunch of medical jargon, but my head pounded and clearly he could see because he repeated it in a way I’d understand. Conall neededblood work and a spinal tap because they believed he had meningitis, but needed to confirm both the diagnosis and what kind he had. Once they had their results and figured out if they were right, they’d start him with antifungal medications. They needed to be sure first.
“Meningitis? But how? How would he have gotten that?” I asked Goodheart.
“Meningitis exposures can happen in a few different ways, sir. Has Mr. Morrissey had any medical treatments recently?”
“No.” I straightened as someone stabbed Conall with an IV needle, and my head pounded with fury even though I knew it was for his health. “He broke his arm a few months ago, but Rory put a cast on it. There were no operations or anything.”
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Conall. Didn’t want to. Everything inside of me ached as I watched him, wishing I could touch him and make him better.
“If that’s the case, it could have spread from other infections?—”
“He hasn’t been sick.” The words spilled from me in a harsh tone and I spun to glare at him.
Goodheart nodded and turned toward Conall, giving me a closer look at the collection of scars across his cheek, jaw, and temple. He wasn’t fazed by my anger. “Then, I suspect it could have come from spores. They’re usually in the environment, in soil and such.”
My gaze shot back to Conall and I took in his pale, sweating face. His sad moan ripped through me as a nurse drew blood from him. Helplessness flooded me, drowning me in a sorrow I couldn’t remember feeling before. It felt worse than when I lost my brother to the Reyes Cartel. I lunged toward him, toward the nurse, but Goodheart grabbed me and yanked me back.
“Don’t fucking touch me, Goodheart,” I growled out, and the doctor winced but held me away from Conall. I should tear out his lungs for putting his hands on me.
“Sir, please. We can’t help him if you’re hindering us.”
I shook him off with a grunt. He was right and I hated that he was right.
“Could it have come from a greenhouse?” I forced a calmness I didn’t feel into my voice and tracked Conall with my eyes, taking in the beads of sweat that skated down his temple.
“Yes, sir, it could have. We’ll do what we can for him. We’ll need to do a spinal tap. Do you give me permission?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Do whatever is necessary to get him healthy again, Goodheart. Make it happen.”
He inclined his head toward me, and then he was gone, striding over to the bed.
I exhaled. The greenhouse—that was a problem Icoulddeal with; although, it would have to wait until later. I wasn’t going anywhere until Conall could leave this hospital with me.
