A bed, that was what we needed.
I rushed in, throwing back the covers just in time for Davin to slide my father onto the sheets and immediately pull the covers back in place over him. Then he put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me down until I was sitting on the bed.
I shook my head. “No, I can’t—I have to go get?—”
“I’ll go get some broth for him. You stay with him. Just breathe, mo chroí. Take care of your da. I’ll be back with food.” He turned and headed for the door, pausing in the doorway long enough to put a hand on Sexton’s shoulder and say something quiet, before leaving us all there.
Sexton gave Davin a tiny smile as he left, then joined us.
Poor Paul was still hovering back in the hallway, clearly uncertain of what the hell he was supposed to do now. Militarytraining helped with the crisis, but not as much with the aftermath, I supposed.
So I waved him inside. It was hard to talk, because I still wasn’t breathing quite right, but I did my best. “You can...sit. Sorry.” I tried to get another breath all the way in, but it wasn’t fucking working, and?—
Sexton’s hand came down on the shoulder opposite where Twist was perched, and he squeezed tight. “It’s fine. He’s alive, and I can feel him. If you calm down, you could feel it too. He’s strong. So strong. Maybe stronger than when I last saw him.” Then he turned to Paul and also motioned him inside the room, then waved at a chair. “This may take a bit of time, I’m afraid, but feel free to make yourself comfortable while we handle it.”
“I’m sorry,” Paul offered, even as he hesitantly did as we’d said and came into the room, hovering his way around to a chair and then sitting lightly on the edge of it, like he’d prefer to still be on guard for possible enemies. “Is he...you said he’s okay. Is he someone you know? He looks...”
“He’s Flynn’s father,” Sexton explained, simple and artless as usual, as he started to squeeze my shoulder rhythmically like he was giving me half a shoulder massage. “And he’s going to be fine.”
Shit.
My father.
Not Sexton’s father, who had also been missing for years.
I whipped my head around so fast that Sexton had to hold on tight to keep me from tipping over, and Twist’s little claws dug through my jacket right into the meat of my shoulder trying to keep from sliding off.
She was clearly quite worried, as she leaned in to shove her cheek against mine once more. “Are you well Father? Your father is injured, but I believe that he will survive. You are a good father. You can protect him for now.”
“Sexton, I?—”
“It’s fine, Flynn. There’s nothing we can do right now. But...maybe...” He bit his lip, then glanced down at his feet. “I never imagined before, that he might still be alive. I never even looked. I just assumed when he didn’t come back?—”
He closed his eyes, and wetness slid down his cheeks as he took one deep breath, then another.
He felt guilty.
“You were a kid, Sexton. What the hell were you supposed to do? Do you think I should feel bad for not finding my father?”
His eyes flew open, and I could see the thought process there. The urge to dismiss that I had any culpability, which led immediately to the fact that clearly he didn’t either, then searching for some other reason his situation should be his fault but my situation wasn’t mine.
I cut that part off, reaching up to grab his hand. “We’ll look. As soon as we get my father well enough to be on his own, we’ll look. We’ll find out if Darragh is still alive.”
He swallowed hard, then gave me a little nod. “I would appreciate the help.”
“It was never in question. You have it. Windmills are my specialty, remember?” He gave a wet laugh that sounded almost like a sob, and crumpled to the bed next to me. Then, slowly, he reached out and put a hand on my father’s cheek. “He’s real. I can’t...I can’t believe it.”
And then my cousin and I sat there together, crying.
Because my father was alive.
And just maybe, his could be too.
CHAPTER 11
The first real problem came when Davin returned with a mug of warmed broth. It was probably a better choice than the chicken soup I’d been planning on, but I wasn’t surprised he’d had a good idea.
The problem was that it was hard to feed someone who was asleep. But it was clear that my father needed not just rest, but dozens of meals.
