Seeing her like that hit harder than Danny’s fist. A clean shot, right in the gut. Guilt churned in my stomach. Blurting it out the way I had? Fuck, what the hell was I thinking? Ripping off the band-aid made sense in theory, but now it felt like we’d need more than a band-aid to fix this mess.
I sat beside her, pulling her against my chest whether she wanted it or not.
“I’ll take every hit he throws at me if that’s what it takes, O. But I won’t let him talk to you like that.”
Her voice cracked as she whispered, “He reacted exactly like I knew he would. Swing first, think later.”
“Yeah, well, you Sheehans seem to have a way with reactions,” I laughed, trying to bring lightness though the feeling in the room was anything but.
Her head snapped up like she was about to scold me and then froze. The colour drained from her face.
“Tyler. Your head. Shit, we need to get that stitched.”
She reached for me, fingertips brushing the skin just above my eye. I winced at the sting, and she gasped when her fingers came away red.
“It’s fine,” I muttered, brushing it off.
“It is not fine. It’s gaping open, Tyler.”
I knew it was, I could feel it. ?“I’ll clean it up at the hotel.”
“You will not, come on, we’re getting you sorted.”
Sitting in A&E was hell. The place stank of antiseptic and stale coffee, the waiting room packed with drunks mouthing off atsecurity and old folks who looked like they’d been there under the fluorescent lights since last Tuesday. Every chair was sticky with something I didn’t want to contemplate. A few heads turned when we walked in, and Orla tugged me into a corner like she could hide me. Hard to do when my face looked like I’d lost a bar fight with a brick wall so I just pulled my hoodie up high around my head. My eyebrow was still leaking, my head thudding, and the bruise blooming purple across my cheek made me look like a cautionary tale.
She never let go of me though. Not once. She sat there glued to my side, knee bouncing a mile a minute, her hand tight around mine like she could keep me from bleeding out just by holding on.
Thankfully, a nurse must have recognized me and clocked the curious looks and whispers of the other patients because she ushered us through quickly. By the time they called me through, Orla had gone full physio mode all professional and clipped like the first day I met her. She began rattling off what happened like I washerpatient, not her husband who’d just been done in by her brother. She hovered close, guiding me into the chair, tilting my head like she was setting up for treatment herself. While the nurse prodded at my brow, I watched Orla. Worry carved across her face, guilt sitting heavy in her eyes and still, she was the most gorgeous thing in the room.
With luck, no stitches were needed. Just a deep clean and medical glue.
“It might leave a small scar,” the nurse said, squinting as she worked. “But I’ll get it back together as best I can.”
“Hear that, O?” I drawled, lips twitching. “A husband with tattoos and a scar on his face? You’ll never keep your hands off me again.”
She tried to hold her serious face and failed miserably. An exasperated little smile broke its way on to her face. Even the nurse giggled.
As the nurse worked, I felt Orla’s hand clamp even tighter over mine, knuckles whitening. She didn’t realise she was crushing me until I hissed.
“Ow.”
“Shit, is it hurting?” she gasped, eyes wide.
“No.” I smirked. “But your death grip is.”
She broke into a nervous laugh, and she quickly let go. “Oh shit, sorry.”
I flexed my fingers, catching her gaze. “Never apologize for holding onto me that hard, baby. That’s exactly where I want you.”
When we finally made it back to the hotel suite it was almost two a.m. Orla had barely said a word, slipping into autopilot instead, pulling out her kit bag, rummaging until she found an instant ice pack, pressing it gently to my eye. Her lips were pursed tightly, her movements sharp with focus, but I could see it wasn’t just part of the job. The guilt was imprinted on her face.
She was still fussing when I caught her wrists, holding them still against my chest.
“O. I’m fine, baby. You don’t have to do all this.”
Her shoulders sagged. “I feel like it’s my fault, Tyler. For putting you in that position. In Danny’s firing line.”
“Look, O, we both knew it was coming either way. He got it out of his system. Now we just…figure out how to get him on side.”
