Chapter 13 #2
The thermometer beeped and Rory’s eyebrows dipped low. He shot me a concerned look before he offered Conall a smile. “Have you been feeling weird in any other way? Vomiting? Nausea?”
Conall pressed his lips together in thought and rubbed his arms, like he was cold. I dragged him against my chest, offering myself as his personal blanket. I laid a kiss on his temple.
“Pet, you need to tell us. I’m worried about you.”
“I don’t know,” he whispered in a way I wasn’t used to hearing from him.
His voice shook and he sounded so small and confused.
This wasn’t him. “My eyes hurt in the light, sometimes. And I do feel sick. I don’t think I’ve puked?
” The hesitancy in his tone had my spine stiffening. I needed to get him help and fast.
Rory nodded and pulled out his stethoscope. He went to work on his examination while I held and comforted Conall.
“When did this start?” Rory asked.
“When?” Conall frowned. “When what?”
“When did you start feeling ill, sir?” He tried again.
“I . . . What month is it?” Conall glanced up at me in confusion. “You were just in jail. But now you’re out.”
Rory’s eyebrows dipped in concern and he sent me a wide-eyed look. He continued to talk to Conall, but Conall’s answers came out in nothing but a tangle of nonsensical words, as if he didn’t understand what he was being asked.
Finally, the whopping sounds of helicopter blades sliced through the air, loud and unforgiving, and I rose with another kiss on Conall’s cheek before I left the greenhouse.
The helicopter landed on the large expanse of my backyard.
As the doors slid open, Dr. Goodheart jumped out and ran over with his head down to escape the whooshing air of the blades.
“Sir, we’re here to take Mr. Morrissey to the EK Memorial.”
I held up a hand and marched back to the greenhouse.
Conall tipped his chin toward me and I shushed him gently as I hooked my arm under his knees and around his back, lifting him.
He whimpered in pain, and I held back a wince.
I fucking hated when he was hurt. How was I supposed to keep him safe if I was away from him?
Rory and Ronan followed me as I carried Conall toward the chopper. Rory rushed in front of us so he could talk to the doctor and the two exchanged words I couldn’t hear before Rory passed Goodheart a piece of paper.
Conall groaned. “I’m fine. Sloan, tell them it’s okay. I don’t need this shit. I just want sleep.”
I tightened my hold on him, not willing to let go. Not yet. Maybe not ever. How could I have let this happen? “Pet, you’re going to the hospital. You won’t argue with me. Let’s go.”
He peeked up at me from beneath those long lashes I loved so much. “Will you come with me?”
Warmth spread through me and settled low in my stomach.
I pressed my forehead against his clammy one.
Love for him pummeled me until I was breathless.
How did I ever exist without Conall Morrissey?
Having a pet was once about having power and owning someone, but Conall had changed the entire meaning for me.
He belonged to me, but I was his, too. “I’ll always be at your side, Pet.
You’re mine, remember? I’m not going anywhere. ”
Goodheart sidled up beside us, his lips thinned in determination. “Sir, we need to get you on the helicopter. Please follow me.”
I didn’t give Conall a chance to argue. There was no time for anything but action, but when Goodheart looked like he was going to grab Conall from me, I bared my teeth.
“No, I’ll do it.” I shoved past the doctor. Despite knowing he was trying to help, anger weaved flames of molten lava through me, leaving my skin heated and fury driving to the surface. The power to keep my emotions in check was fraying, nothing more than a worn thread ready to snap.
I laid Conall on a stretcher in the helicopter and the team secured him.
“Sir, sit down and belt up.” Goodheart handed me radio headphones with an attached speaker before slotting a pair over Conall’s ears, too. “This’ll make it easier to talk to us and block out the sound.” His strong voice came through the speakers beside my ears.
“You’re still here.” Conall’s words came out soft, but confused, and my worry kicked up the fear building inside me.
I shifted forward and brought his hand to my lips before laying a kiss on it. “I told you I’m not going anywhere, Pet.”
He gave me a dazed smile. “I like that. Pet. I’m your pet.”
“You are.” Bile rose in my throat and a weird sensation clamped around my stomach. I couldn’t fix whatever plagued Conall and I’d probably made it worse by fucking him. What kind of partner was I if I couldn’t take out whatever was hurting him? I’d finally been released from jail to be useless.
“Sloan,” Conall murmured, barely loud enough for me to hear under the crackle of the headset. He tightened his grip on my hand.
“Yes, Pet?” I leaned as close as my seat belt would allow.
“Can I fuck you? Please?” Conall gave me a lopsided grin. “I’d really love to be inside you.”
If heat spread across my cheeks, I wouldn’t admit it.
Instead, I laughed deeply and kissed his hand again.
I needed my lips on him. Love drove a knife deep into my heart.
He was so sick and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
If I lost him . . . No, I wasn’t going to think about that.
I won’t. I refused to let him go. “We’ll talk about it later, Pet. I promise.”
Conall’s head rolled back on his pillow and fear struck me, a heaviness pressing down on my chest, before he righted himself. He stared behind me, eyes widening slightly. “He’s here.”
I gave a brief glance where he was looking, even though logically I knew no one was there. “Who, Pet? Who’s here?”
He grimaced. “He’s dead. He can’t be here.” Whatever color he had left in his face drained from his cheeks. “Dad. He’s here, but Terrance blew his brains out. He’s dead.”
The machine beside Conall beeped loudly.
Goodheart hurriedly opened a drawer near him and pulled out a needle.
Before I could ask him what was happening, he turned to me.
“I’m going to give him some lorazepam. It’ll help to calm him down and stop his heart rate and blood pressure from skyrocketing. ”
My throat closed up. All I could manage was a curt nod.
I gnashed my teeth, and my nostrils flared as I forced air out of my nose.
Calm. That’s what I always taught Fionn.
How was I supposed to keep my emotions in check when the person I loved was unraveling?
Why couldn’t I make Conall’s illness go away with a snap of my fingers?
I brushed my palm over Conall’s forehead and shushed him softly. “He’s not here, Pet. You’re right. He’s dead. Terrance handled him, didn’t he? He’s six feet under and if he wasn’t, I’d make sure he was. Do you trust me to keep you safe?”
He nodded with wide eyes. “Yes, Boss.”
“Good, because I will take care of you. Always.”
Tension bled from his shoulders and he smiled. “I love you, Sloan.”
“I love you, too, Pet.” My words came out in a rasp—broken and barely audible even though I was talking into the speaker of my headphones.
He settled down, and I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Whatever happened, I’d make sure he was okay. Better than okay. That he was my Conall again.
Goodheart monitored him until we arrived at EK Memorial, where other doctors and nurses were waiting.
They wheeled Conall out of the helicopter and into the building, and I was at his side with no intention of leaving it.
They put him in a VIP room before I was bombarded by a doctor and a bunch of medical jargon, but my head pounded and clearly he could see because he repeated it in a way I’d understand.
Conall needed blood work and a spinal tap because they believed he had meningitis, but needed to confirm both the diagnosis and what kind he had.
Once they had their results and figured out if they were right, they’d start him with antifungal medications. They needed to be sure first.
“Meningitis? But how? How would he have gotten that?” I asked Goodheart.
“Meningitis exposures can happen in a few different ways, sir. Has Mr. Morrissey had any medical treatments recently?”
“No.” I straightened as someone stabbed Conall with an IV needle, and my head pounded with fury even though I knew it was for his health. “He broke his arm a few months ago, but Rory put a cast on it. There were no operations or anything.”
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Conall. Didn’t want to. Everything inside of me ached as I watched him, wishing I could touch him and make him better.
“If that’s the case, it could have spread from other infections—”
“He hasn’t been sick.” The words spilled from me in a harsh tone and I spun to glare at him.
Goodheart nodded and turned toward Conall, giving me a closer look at the collection of scars across his cheek, jaw, and temple. He wasn’t fazed by my anger. “Then, I suspect it could have come from spores. They’re usually in the environment, in soil and such.”
My gaze shot back to Conall and I took in his pale, sweating face.
His sad moan ripped through me as a nurse drew blood from him.
Helplessness flooded me, drowning me in a sorrow I couldn’t remember feeling before.
It felt worse than when I lost my brother to the Reyes Cartel.
I lunged toward him, toward the nurse, but Goodheart grabbed me and yanked me back.
“Don’t fucking touch me, Goodheart,” I growled out, and the doctor winced but held me away from Conall. I should tear out his lungs for putting his hands on me.
“Sir, please. We can’t help him if you’re hindering us.”
I shook him off with a grunt. He was right and I hated that he was right.
“Could it have come from a greenhouse?” I forced a calmness I didn’t feel into my voice and tracked Conall with my eyes, taking in the beads of sweat that skated down his temple.
“Yes, sir, it could have. We’ll do what we can for him. We’ll need to do a spinal tap. Do you give me permission?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Do whatever is necessary to get him healthy again, Goodheart. Make it happen.”
He inclined his head toward me, and then he was gone, striding over to the bed.
I exhaled. The greenhouse—that was a problem I could deal with; although, it would have to wait until later. I wasn’t going anywhere until Conall could leave this hospital with me.