Page 76 of Wicked Ruin

“I'll think about your idea,” I say as Cavin and Erin continue their staring match. He's obviously not pleased. “I'll have a look around.”

And just for the hell of it, I open the app store and download the top three. Highest star ratings. Most popular. I'm not exactly the most eligible bachelorette in Ballyhock, but it can't hurt to try.

My phone vibrates with a text. I stand up and let Erin deal with her husband. I feel a little bad for her, but I suspect that if I waded in right now, it wouldn't help her case much anyway.

I check my messages.

The text isn't from the one person I both hope and dread to hear from, but from Dr. Rosenberg.

Dr. R

I'm back in the UK. I need to see you as soon as possible. We need to go over the particular prenatal care you'll require while in remission, Bridget. You'll be fine, but we do need to make our choices deliberately. When can you come in?

My work is flexible. Whenever you want me in.

Dr. R

How is tomorrow afternoon? Three o'clock?

Excellent. See you then. Anything I need to know in the meantime?

Dr. R

No, just the usual. No alcohol, no recreational drugs, don't do anything a pregnant woman wouldn't do in ordinary circumstances. We want to check your hormone levels, and I have a colleague I'm going to recommend for your prenatal care. Do you know, roughly, the date of conception?

Rough date? Ha. As if there were multiple opportunities to confuse. No. I know the exact night, of course, because I’ll never forget that night. Through all of this, I'm not even quite sure I regret it now.

If I could push a button and undo it, I don't think I would. I've tried to examine that honestly, and I keep arriving at the same answer. The thought of a baby with his eyes…

Maybe I'm romanticizing things again. But for now, I have a job to do.

I'm going to see Dr. Rosenberg. I'm going to be sensible and present and fine.

I am absolutely not going to think about the hospital. About the way he looked at me before he kissed me.

The nerve of him, after everything. The nerve of me, for letting him.

I'm going to forget it ever happened.

I'm grand.

Chapter Eighteen

DECLAN

“Are you sure you're okay to be here?” Seamus asks, giving me that look. I know it like the back of my hand—I spent enough of my youth on the receiving end of it. He was always the grown-up in the room, even before he had any business being one. I can still see him knocking heads together: mine, Cavin's, Ashland's.

“No.” I shake my head. “I won't be an eejit about it. I'll take care of what I need to. But I had to get out of that fuckin’ hospital room.”

After giving me a long look, he nods. “Understood, brother. Just don't overdo it. Are you still going to New York?”

“Looks like,” I say, trying to school my features.

Seamus studies me for a moment, then sets his hands flat on the desk. “I know you made this promise to me, Declan, but I have to tell you—I'll never take it for granted. I'm very grateful for what you've done.”

Praise from Seamus is a sparing thing, and it holds weight accordingly. “Aye. Thank you.”

“And I have good news.”