Page 69 of Wicked Ruin

“Of course he did. The McCarthy men are not very accustomed to hearing no.”

“Aye. May’ve noticed.”

“Ha.” She laughs, warm and a little rueful. “No, they are not.” She pauses, stirring her own spoon idly. “Do you know what I was doing today?”

“What's that?”

“Picking out flowers. For the… wedding.” She says it carefully, with that particular steadiness that tells me she has said it to herself a few times first, testing how much it costs.

I have gotten very good at reading micro-expressions. You spend enough time in hospital rooms, and you learn to notice the small things—the way a nurse's eyes shift, the particular weight of a silence before delivered news.

Aileen McCarthy is watching me now, the way I watch doctors.

“She'll do well by him,” I say. My voice is perfectly even. I’m very proud of it. “I'm sure of it.”

Aileen looks at me for a moment longer than is quite comfortable before she says, “I never married for love, you know. I was very lucky. Cormac practically had to drag me back when I tried to run—but he caught me.” A small smile. “We made it work. Things were complicated for a while. It took some time.” She pauses. “Maybe they'll find their way too.”

“Of course they will,” I say, putting my spoon down because I have no more appetite for ice cream. “He's a good man. He'll take care of whatever is his.”

Her voice cracks, just slightly. “I just hope he finds happiness.”

My phone rings on the table between us. Cormac. Aileen snatches it up.

“He’s still out, but Doc says it’s promising,” Cormac says, loud enough to carry. “Just checking on you.”

“We’re on our way.”

Aileen is already standing. I follow.

And somewhere between the cafeteria and the lift, I make a quiet, private vow to whatever version of god is still listening to me: If Declan is alright—if he walks out of this hospital whole—then I will not burden him with a single word of this. I will raise this baby alone. I will build a life somewhere quiet, and I won’t look back. I will be fine.

I am very good at deciding to be fine.

Chapter Sixteen

DECLAN

I wake to the sound of beeping machines and the smell of antiseptic. Voices murmur in the hallway outside. I've been asleep. Is Bridget okay? Why is she back in the hospital? Was I visiting her, or—wait, no.

No, Bridget's not the patient. I am.

Bridget. Bridget!

Is she alright?

I try to open my eyes, but the lids feel too heavy, so I do a quick assessment of my body instead. I can move my fingers and toes. My mouth feels as though it’s stuffed with cotton. And my shoulder. Fuck, my shoulder feels like someone sawed it off with a rusty blade. What happened?

I have to see if she’s okay.

I manage to get one eye half open, then both. I blink against bright fluorescent lights and immediately take stock of the room. One: I’m not alone in here. There’s a recliner chair beside me that hasn’t been reset, covered in a still-rumpled blanket, as if someone kicked it off and left in a hurry.

Two: The whiteboard on the wall reads Post-Surgery Protocol.

Surgery. Why does it say surgery?

I try to sit up. There are uniformed guards outside my door, and they don’t look like McCarthys’. A nurse’s voice carries in from the hall.

“He’s been asleep. His girlfriend was with him overnight. She went down to the cafeteria to get something to eat. Yes, you can go in now.”