Orla
The flight homefelt like it took three days. My stomach was in knots the entire way, twisting tighter with each hour that passed. I couldn’t even look the flight attendant in the eye when she came down the aisle with the trolley. Every time the plastic wheels rattled near my seat, I stared at the back of the headrest in front of me. I was terrified that if she so much as asked if I wanted a water, I’d start crying again, right there in 14B. Then I remembered, the poor woman had no idea I was flying home not knowing whether my dad had even made it out of surgery alive.
Thank God, there’d been a direct flight to Cork, even if the price had been insane. Tyler had flat-out refused to let me pay, and I’d protested, but I think he needed to do something, needed to help somehow. Honestly, I think he’d have been on that plane with me if I’d let him, giving it all up, just to make sure I was okay. A shameful amount of those tears had been for that alone, for the way he was willing to show up for me like he loved me.
Fuck. I wasn’t ready to admit that out loud, but I was terrified I was falling fast. I told myself it was just shock, that I wasn't thinking straight, but the weight of him was still there, pressing into my chest even from three thousand miles away.
Danny had been vague as ever when I called him before boarding. All I knew was that Dad had collapsed at the rugby club, something about a defibrillator, and surgery. I’d tried calling Malachy from the cab to the airport, but he hadn’t answered, and then I was trapped on a six-hour flight with no reception. No updates. No idea what I was walking into. Every possible scenario played on a loop until I couldn’t take it anymore.
By the time I landed, I was strung out, delirious, and running on fumes. I hadn’t slept properly since the night before Tyler’s match.
Danny was waiting for me at arrivals, all stubble, bleary eyes and shoulders slumped like the weight of the world had been pressing on him too. I just fell into his arms, clutching the back of his jacket. A sob ripped out of me before I could stop it.
“He’s fine, sis. I just spoke to Mal. He’s out of surgery.”
Relief ripped through me, making my knees weak. I had to grip his arm just to stay upright. Tears streamed down my face, and I couldn’t stop them.
Danny and I looked the most alike; we had the same dark hair and dark eyes, both of us inheriting Dad’s olive complexion. People used to joke we were twins, but today he looked older. Exhausted. He looked fragile in a way I’d never seen before, like the weight of the last few hours had aged him years.
We drove straight to the hospital, the familiar streets of Cork a grey blur outside the window. Mal and his wife, Erin, were already in the waiting room when we arrived, their faces pale under the harsh fluorescent lights.
Mal still lived in Cork with his family. He was a lawyer, sharp as a whip, and always the brain to Danny’s brawn. I like to think I was a mix of both. We were close, even if life had scattered us across the country. Secretly, I was glad Mal had stayed nearhome. The thought of Dad being completely alone would’ve eaten me alive.
“Hey, sis. Where’s the tennis star boyfriend?” Mal smirked the second he saw me.
“Oh, don’t start,” I groaned, the sound muffled as I pulled away from him.
“What? What else am I supposed to say when my baby sister’s splashed across the front pages in the arms of an elite athlete?” He was trying to lighten the mood, a classic Malachy move to keep the panic at bay, but under the teasing, his eyes were bloodshot.
I shoved him, but caught the flicker of a darker look from Danny. He didn’t say anything, but I knew that face. It was the same one he used to give lads at school when they came sniffing around me:try it, and I’ll bury you.Growing up with these two meant boyfriends were always a challenge. Mal handled potential boyfriends with mockery, Danny with silent threats. They took their duties far too seriously.
“Oh, leave her alone, Mal,” Erin said, giving him a shove while handing him a pale-looking vending machine coffee. “The poor girl’s just been dragged halfway across the world on no sleep.”
I loved Erin. She’d been with Mal since they were sixteen, childhood sweethearts who’d somehow never cracked. She’d practically been around for half my life and was more like an actual sister to me. Now she had two boys of her own and a knack for mothering anyone within reach.
The doctor came soon after we arrived and led us into Dad’s room. He’d just woken, eyes still heavy but voice as quick as ever.
“Jesus, is this what it takes for your ol’ man to get you all in the same room these days?” His thick Cork accent was ragged but the dry wit was unmistakably him.
A watery laugh escaped me.
“Ye gave us quite the scare there, Dad,” Mal said.
“Well, you know it’s not a night at the rugby club without a bit of a kerfuffle,” Dad croaked.
This was Brian Sheehan—the big, burly man who’d been the center of my world—now looking pale and fragile under thin hospital sheets. The monitors beeped with a steady, clinical rhythm, a constant reminder of how close we’d come to losing him. I had to keep telling myself he was going to be okay.
His gaze found me deliberately. “Little Orly girl,” he said, “they didn’t drag you all the way back from America, did they?”
A tear slid down my cheek. “They didn’t drag me, Dad. I was on the first flight back. No question.”
“Well, you can get on the first flight back, ye daft girl,” he chuckled, though it came out hoarse.
“Oh, thanks, Dad. Glad to see you, too.” I sniffed.
“I’m serious. Yer tennis-boy boyfriend must be missin’ you something terrible.”
Mal and Danny burst out laughing.
