44. Kieran
Chapter 44
Kieran
Five days later …
T he relentless beeping of machines seems to punctuate the pounding in my head as I try to open my heavy eyes. A dull numb ache radiates down the length of my body, and when I try to move, my limbs don’t. Instead, a surge of pain makes me grunt.
My vision is hazy at first. Blurred white walls and bright fluorescent lights overhead. Slowly, the room comes into focus. A clutter of medical equipment is lined up on one side of me, and I shift my gaze from the digital display of numbers along the tubes running into my nose and stabbed into my arms.
Muted blue curtains are drawn shut, making it impossible to tell if it’s day or night. How long have I been?—
Aoife. My mind flashes to the video played before me. Her sweet smile beaming as she chased the wind, trying to get her kite in the air.
And Summer. The devastation on her face as she witnessed Riku beating me, and her screams that faded into nothing as I lost consciousness.
I need to get out of here.
Attempting to shift, the beeping on the machine grows closer together and my chest feels constricted and tight. Why is each breath a labored effort?
Memories come back in patchy fragments and disjointed flashes. The sharp pain, the cold ground, Summer’s screams, and then—nothing.
The beeping continues to get louder and, in a burst, doctors and nurses stream into the room. Expressions concerned, they poke at the machine and prod at the IV in my arm.
“Mr. O’Donnell? Can you hear me?” Their voices are muffled, but I can hear them.
I nod.
“Good,” a nurse coos. “Go back to sleep. Rest.” She adjusts something at the blob of machines, and warmth spreads through my body.
Rest? I don’t want to rest. I need to find Aoife. Is she okay? I need?—
A humming noise fills my head, lapping like the steady whirring of a spinning fan. It’s the last thing I remember hearing before everything goes black. Again.
* * *
The scraping of a chair across the floor beckons me awake. This time the pain is constant. Groggily, I shift, reaching for my face. There’s something on my nose.
“Whoa now, Boss. Don’t do that.”
I blink at what sounds like Cormac’s voice and then attempt to sit up, failing when searing pain in my chest burns like fire.
“Can’t do that, either,” he says, closer now.
Slowly, I allow my face to fall to the side, looking at him.
He’s worn down. Dark circles along with puffy eyelids—the man has no doubt missed significant sleep. What’s worse is the way he looks at me. Like I’m broken. I’ve been injured before, boxing made sure of that, but I have a strong feeling the damage done to me and the reasons I’m lying in this hospital bed make this the worst I’ve ever had.
There is a dryness in my throat, and it doesn’t stop there. My lips are rough, the cracks stinging as I lick my lips.
“Aoife …” It’s the only word I get out. My daughter. I need to know if she’s okay. The idea that Salvatore would use my little girl … I’m going to vomit. The queasiness in my stomach hits me like a truck, and I swallow down the bile.
“She’s safe,” Cormac says quickly. “After speaking with Allie and the guards, we felt it was best to keep them there for the time being, or until ye woke up. Everyone thought it best if Aoife didn’t see ye unresponsive.” He drags a hand through his damp hair. “There was no sign of Salvatore’s men when the guards inspected the perimeter. The property is secure. We figure when Salvatore didn’t give any further instructions, they left.”
If Aoife is safe, then …
“Summer.” I croak out her name, but all I want to do is scream it. If Aoife is safe, then Salvatore took her. He probably has her in a secure location waiting to hand her off to the Cartel for his own personal agenda.
A plan forms in my head. I’ll call Luka and demand he use his strings in the alliance for me. I don’t care how busy he is, he’ll do it. We’re stretched thin right now, I’m sure, but I’ll take any available men and go get her. We’ll need supplies and weapons. It’s better to fight the Cosa Nostra than the Cartel, but bleeding hell, I’ll go to war with nations to get her back.
I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got?—
Pushing up, I groan out in pain but am able to pull into a sitting position. The insistent beeping begins again, and from the corner of my eye Cormac bolts up, examining the machine.
“Hey, hey, Kieran. She’s fine. Summer’s fine, ye damn eejit.”
I freeze, clutching those words. She’s fine, she’s fine.
Sinking back into the uncomfortable bed, I stare at him, trying to not let the exhale I make tremble too much. Safe. Fine.
“Tell me,” I demand.
* * *
I blink. Unbelief has a way of rendering me stupid, and I can’t help but bask in the story Cormac just told me. Summer’s deal with Marco—I should be mad … furious even. And I’d be lying if my hand didn’t twitch with thoughts of us in the bedroom—yes, I’d punish her that way.
But for the first time since I woke up yesterday, my lungs are full and my chest swells with the notion that Summer kicked ass.
But … she must be struggling. I’m sure she is. She shot her father. Cormac told me reports said he was barely alive when he was dragged out by Marco and his men, but then again, it was said two days later he passed. She’s responsible, and I can’t help the awe beaming inside me at her choice to defend us. Me. The Irish.
A satisfied smile creeps over my face and Cormac returns it. “Ye’re a lucky man, O’Donnell. She’s been beside herself the past six days. Came into the hospital a blubbering mess with Finn while ye were in surgery and refused to leave. We had to drag her back to the house and tell her she couldn’t come back until she’d showered, changed, and got something to eat. She’s FaceTimed with Allie and Aoife every day, giving them updates.”
I shake my head, then reach for the water the nurse brought in while Cormac was filling me in. “And Riku?”
“Marco said the Cosa Nostra would handle him before his group went back to New York. Even Callum is running scared. And, get this, Luka called several times to check in on how ye’re doing and happened to mention the alliance between the Cosa Nostra and Bratva has been dissolved.”
I sit up straighter, fighting the urge to rub the bandages over my set nose. “What?”
He nods. “Apparently, since the alliance was made with Salvatore who is no longer the boss—add in the fact Marco’s always been opposed to the idea, they both agreed. It was dissolved yesterday in peace. Both organizations will be operating out of New York.”
I snort. “Started with the oldest Buscetta and ended with the youngest.”
Glancing around the room, the curtains are drawn shut, but it doesn’t stop the gray daylight from floating in. Cormac is in the lone chair, and I look for evidence that Summer may be here but see none.
“She was here. We were caught in the rain and ended up soaked, her more than me. Finn took her, though she was reluctant, back to the house to change. Should be back any minute.” He smirks at me, knowing all too well what I was searching for.
The nurse and doctor come in to check my chest wound and explain how lucky I was.
The bullet missed my heart, a through and through right below my shoulder. And although I lost a lot of blood, they only had to repair minor damage and have given me six to eight weeks of recovery. My broken nose is already looking better, apparently when I came in the purple and red bruising spread over my nose, under both cheeks, and around up to my temples. During surgery, they fixed the deviated septum and have given me around a three-week recovery for that.
“Lucky,” Cormac had said again before leaving to hunt for some food.
They’d brought me some baked chicken with a side of mashed potatoes that taste like sewer water, and green beans that weren’t cooked. Even the prepacked Jell-O has seen better days. You’d think with the private wing Cormac secured for recovery, we could manipulate some better food, but no. I’m seriously contemplating calling the chef from O’Brien’s.
Not that I could eat much anyway. Hospitals make me sick. It’s the antiseptic chemicals that smell like they’re only a beat away from cleaning up death.
I fumble for the hospital tray I shoved out of the way to gather my phone and dial Allie.
“Hello?” Allie answers, and I detect the hint of confusion in her voice.
“It’s me.”
“Oh, Mr. O’Donnell! We were so worried.”
“Daddy? Is that Daddy?” Aoife shrieks in the background.
“I’m so glad you’re okay, Mr. O’Donnell. Let me put Aoife on before she climbs me like a tree for the phone.”
I chuckle.
“Daddy?” Aoife says.
I sigh hearing her voice. If anything would’ve happened to her … I don’t know how I’d survive. “Hi, little love. I love ye. Do ye know that?”
She giggles. “I know. I love you, too. Nanny Allie said you are hurt. Are you going to be okay?”
“I’ll be fine. Almost as good as new.” I lift my arm with the IV poking out of it. Okay, so it’s a bit of an exaggeration, but I already feel better, and while I try not to lie to Aoife, telling her would just cause her to be scared. “Tell me about yer time at the cottage.”
She launches into a play-by-play of how she spends most of her days. Swimming with Allie in the lake. Baking cookies, pies, and other desserts—which she makes sure to tell me she’s been sending Summer photos of all the delicious baked goods. That puts a smile on my face.
Their relationship has become so special, and I can’t imagine anyone else loving Aoife the way Summer does.
Aoife continues on, telling me all about learning to fly her kite, which sours the two bites of potatoes in my stomach when I think about how close Salvatore’s men came to getting their hands on her. But toward the end of our conversation, my heart is whole and happy.
I tell her she’ll be home soon, and with the prospect of being discharged in a couple of days, it won’t be long.
When I hang up, I move over to the voicemail on my phone and pull up that message I can’t seem to delete.
“Hello, Mr. O’Donnell. My name is Summer Smith. I’m Aoife’s preschool teacher at Ardenbrook Academy. We had field trip permission slips due today and Aoife did not submit hers. I know she is looking forward to the Boston Aquarium, and since we have a policy about nannies …”
Instead of the annoyance I felt that day, nothing but a racing heart remains. The pull to protect her, make her happy, love her—her presence in my life has made everything better, adding to the ordinary moments. I thought after Laura I’d go at this life alone, but with Summer the connection is undeniable. I love her.
And I know … a made man shouldn’t be this soft, but she makes me want to be both vulnerable and strong for her all at the same time.
Rain taps against the hospital window, the rhythm contrasting with the sterile silence in my room. The droplets blur the Boston cityscape below, and the gray fog settling over the city makes this stay in the hospital more depressing.
But then I hear it, or her rather. It’s distant at first, but unmistakable. It cuts through the background hum of the machines and the quiet discussion at the nurses’ station in my private wing. If I could jump up and go to her, I would. In fact, I sit up farther, the hospital gown pulling as I stretch up. I don’t want her to see me so weak as she has the past few days. She’s been so strong for me, for Aoife, and for my men. I need to be there for her.
My pulse quickens when her raised voice slices through the room from the other side of the doorway. She’s grumbling about Finn taking forever in the rain, and he’s arguing back with her about ending up splattered on the road in an accident had he driven faster.
I can’t help the laugh that chuckles out of me when she bursts into the room all flustered. Her hair is still damp, the wet hair clinging closely to her neck above her shoulders. It’s flat and sticking together, but I want to run my hands through it anyway.
Her clenched fists drop to her sides and her shoulders relax as she takes me in, sitting up in bed. Face crumpling, she buries it into her hands, covering herself. Her shoulders shake silently for a beat before the sobs pour out of her.
I frown, seeing her so upset. “Come here, love.” I beckon her over and nod at Finn who steps out of the door, closing it behind him.
While Summer stands there, face in her hands and seemingly unaware I’ve spoken to her, I study her. She’s in a pair of navy chino shorts tucked over a white scoop neck T-shirt. I trail my inspection over her legs where bruises mar them. Two ugly ones on both her knees that twist in dark purple and blue, and I wish I knew how she got them—was there to prevent it.
“Summer.”
Her head snaps up, nose blotchy and red from her emotion, and she reaches up to wipe underneath both her eyes. “Sorry,” she says. “I just … I was so scared you wouldn’t wake up. When they told me you’d woken after I left yesterday, I wanted to come back, but Cormac said to wait, and he’d come with me in the morning. Then the stupid rain … and I had to change. Then Finn being him and—what?”
I grin at her. “I love ye. Do ye know that?”
She blinks, moving over in her squeaky flip-flops, until she bumps into the side of the bed. Quickly, she shucks off her shoes and climbs up, crawling over my legs and tucking herself into my side. She’s so gentle, too gentle because I can barely feel her. I wrap an arm around her waist as she curls her legs up. Her hand moves to my chest wound and hovers featherlight over the bandage hidden by my hospital gown.
She glances up at me. Her face is puffy and free of makeup, and I wish I could dive into her head and relieve all the worry, guilt, and fear I see there.
“I was so scared, Kieran,” she whispers.
“I know. I’m so sorry I put ye through this.”
Her lips curl slightly. “I love you, too, you know. So much. You and Aoife.”
I stare at her, assessing her lips and wondering how bad it would hurt to kiss her with my nose. But damn it all to hell, I don’t care.
Leaning down, I reach over to tilt her chin with my free hand and graze my lips over hers. It’s not much of a kiss with my lips dry and irritated, but the tentative brush of her lips on mine sends ripples of satisfaction down my spine.
When I pull away, she shudders, nuzzling into me.
“I’m sorry about yer father. I wish ye didn’t have to do that.” I don’t know how she’s coping with it—if there’s guilt there or regret. All I know is I’ll support her through it as best I can.
She shakes her head. “He threatened Aoife, and I made a deal with Marco. He wasn’t going to stop, but it still hurts.” More tears stream down her face. “I killed him, Kieran. I killed my father. I’m a monster.”
Her sobs come out faster, and her lungs heave. All I can do is hold her tight and soothe the raging in her mind that tells her she’s a terrible person. Because she isn’t. She’s the most selfless person I’ve met. A far cry from that young Buscetta I heard stories about years ago.
So selfless, in fact, she blackened a part of her own soul for the sake of me and Aoife. Our family. How do I ever repay that?
Her tears calm, and she inhales a deep breath. “I’d burn the world for you, Mr. O’Donnell. You’ve got me so utterly helpless in love. You told me that Aoife and I are your world; well, you’re mine.”
This woman. To echo Cormac’s words, how did I get so lucky?
Fate: you wickedly wonderful thing, you.