“We’ll find one,” Doc repeated.
He wasn’t a man to waste words, so the fact that he didn’t have a clear action plan sent another wave of nausea through me.
“Breeda, he’s turning green,” Cara observed.
My mother’s jade green eyes turned to me. “Oh, sit down, lad. We can’t have you fallin’ now.”
I locked my knees and tipped my chin up. “I’m grand.”
It was a lie, and everyone knew it. But if Da could be the unshakable force, then I could put on just as stern a front. I was his blood after all.
“And we can’t have your cousins finding out about this,” Ma added, snapping my focus.
My voice was gravel. “Why?”
Ma pursed her lips. “They’re a hungry lot. They scent blood, they’ll try to take the crown from you, laddy.”
They could try.
Johny already hated me for killing his brother. That was an active threat I was monitoring. Kevin? The idiot accountant with a stupid patch of fuzz on his lip? He couldn’t hurt me if he tried. And he wouldn’t. There wasn’t good reason. The rest of thecousins were equally incapable. I was the strongest McDonagh. Just like Da.
But I was raised better than to argue with my mother. “Yes, ma’am.”
Ma nodded.
“I’ll call Angelo now?” Doc asked my parents. “We can deal with the other matter?”
They nodded.
My gut twisted. “Who’s that?”
Doc cleared his throat. “Plastics. Doctor Angelo Fuentes is here doing work for some other patients, but he’s based out of Phoenix.”
My response snapped through the room. “No.”
Cara planted her hands on her hips. “Watch that tone.”
“Liam, lad, it’s just a consult. Doc called in a favor, and—”
I cut my mother off. “I said, no.”
“Don’t be takin’ that tone with my wife, lad,” Da thundered. “Apologize. Now.”
Not one of these souls—these people who had been ever-present figures in my life—realized the bomb they’d just dropped. Or maybe they did. This was their plan to trick me into seeing a surgeon about cleaning up the mess the bomb in one of our pubs created. They thought they’d distract me with the news of my father’s illness.
Maybe he’s not even sick.
Still, that thought wasn’t comforting. My shoulders shifted with a terrible weight.
“Ma, I’m sorry,” I said, packing as much sincerity as I could muster into the words. “I mean no disrespect, but I’m not going under the knife.”
My mother wrung her hands, squeezing and tugging on those tiny, delicate bones with enough force to rip them off. “If you just talked to the surgeon.”
“Not happening.” I brushed my gloved hand over the half mask. “This is me now.”
Cara harrumphed through her nose. “That thing has to itch.”
“Like the devil.” I gave her a vicious grin.
