Aria
* * *
She’d never known it was possible to feel so numb and so coldly furious at the same time.
Part of the cold, she knew, was the lack of her husband beside her. Brody had offered to go in his stead to notify Sean’s mother of what had happened, but Killian had refused. And as much as she’d wanted him with her, just in case the worst happened, she knew it was killing him to have to choose between duty and love.
So she’d sent him off to do his duty, no matter how deeply she ached at the loss of him. Back at home with his sister and cousin, she sat perched on a table exactly like the ones in Dr. Winters’s exam rooms. Reagan was seated on the one opposite her, her gaze a million miles away.
Neither of them even flinched when the door flew open and Dr. Winters burst through, her expression set in grim lines. But Aria caught a glimpse of fear when she took in Reagan’s bloodied clothes.
“Relax, Doc.” Her sister-in-law’s words were hoarse but hollow. “Only some of it is mine.”
“Well, that’s good. I’d hate to have to kick your ass for not going to the hospital.”
The doctor’s dry response reignited some of the light in Reagan’s dark eyes as they zeroed in on the pretty brunette. “I’d like to see you try.”
Snapping on a pair of latex gloves, Naomi smirked. “I’ve taken down bigger men than you and turned them into crying little babies on my table.”
Reagan’s lips twitched. “Babygirl, one word from me and you’d be the one begging for mercy.”
Amusement somehow blossomed in Aria’s chest as red flooded Naomi’s cheeks. It seemed… wrong to be laughing in the face of what had happened.
But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe the world needed laughter in dark moments like this, a way to remember that it wouldn’t always be death and destruction and soul-crushing loss.
Beside her, Brody chuckled. “Killian’s going to be pissed about losing the bet. He had odds on Reagan taking much longer to get her head out of her ass.”
Indeed, even as Naomi stitched up the sickening hole in her shoulder, Reagan watched her with an interest Aria hadn’t seen in her eyes before.
Good. The world needed more love.
“I’m going to refer you to a friend of mine who’s a physical therapist,” Naomi said as she finished bandaging the wound. Despite the banter and the fact that her cheeks were still flushed, she was all business now. “You will call them and you will go to all your appointments. If you don’t, I’ll know, and I’ll tattle on you to your brother.”
Unlike the previous threats, that one had Reagan’s eyes narrowing. “Thin ice, Doc.”
The color in Dr. Winters’s cheeks deepened, but to her credit she only lifted her chin, meeting Reagan’s hard gaze head-on. “I take the care of my patients very seriously, Ms. O’Rourke.”
“I can see that.” Reagan tilted her head, ever so slightly, her gaze turning speculative. “I’ll call,” she said after a long, tense silence.
If Naomi was at all unnerved by having all of Reagan’s potent attention focused on her, she did an admirable job of hiding it. “Good. I’m also emailing you and your brother a list of care instructions for that wound. I want to see you in a week to check on it, but if you notice anything odd, call me immediately.”
“Will do.”
Seemingly satisfied with Reagan’s agreement, Naomi turned, her expression shifting into more worried lines. “All right. Your turn, Aria.”
Chapter Forty-One
Aria
A terror she’d never known before gripped her as Dr. Winters approached her table. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.” She wouldn’t tell her how scared she was. Wouldn’t make her feel guilty about seeing to Reagan first, when that had been the most pressing need. “No bleeding or cramps or anything. But you know how Killian is.”
As she’d hoped, her attempt at levity did indeed bring a ghost of a smile to Naomi’s face as she set up the portable ultrasound she’d brought with her. The device fit in the palm of her hand and connected to her phone, which had Aria blinking in surprise.
At her look, Naomi grinned and shrugged. “You never know what you’re going to run into in my line of work.”
Laying back on the table, Aria stared up at the doctor, her mind churning with questions. “So do you cater to all the rich and powerful, or just the dangerous ones?”
