Chapter 44 Liam
Liam
My hands tremble and sweat trickles down my temples as I burst through the clubroom doors. I sprint toward the car park, digging for my phone and pulling up Tash’s contact. The phone is pinned between my ear and shoulder as I unlock the car and drop into the driver’s seat.
The call rings out as I transfer it to speakerphone, and I slam my fist against the steering wheel.
I redial. No answer.
I redial. No answer.
I’ve often wondered how I’d react to hearing her voice again—the woman I’d planned to spend forever with.
Hell, the woman I’d planned to have more children with.
What I didn’t expect was this hollowness.
Like a part of me has been carved out. There’s not a murmur in my heart, or surge of blood.
The only emotions she conjures are hurt and a cold, settled rage.
Not for what she did to me, but for what she did to Finn.
How she walked away like he was nothing more than a piece of used furniture.
He used to ask me dozens of times what he did wrong, why his ma didn’t want him anymore.
Why she didn’t love him. And every single time, I had to look in those deep brown eyes and find a way to explain that it wasn’t his fault when I could barely fathom it myself.
Because abandoning our incredible, funny, brave little boy is something I’ll never understand. Not in a million years.
“For fuck’s sake, Tash,” I seethe, my chest heaving.
I redial.
“Liam?” Tash’s voice floats through the speaker and for a moment, I can’t breathe.
“Something’s happened to Finn,” I rush.
There’s a pause. “What’s wrong?” Her voice is detached and unaffected, and I don’t understand—Finn is a part of me. His joy, his pain, his existence—they’re in every cell of my body. How can she sound so disconnected?
My knuckles go white on the wheel as I thrust the car into drive and floor the accelerator. “He’s in hospital. Anaphylactic shock,” I manage, tearing out of the car park.
“Oh.” A pause. “Is he okay?”
Red paints my vision. “They got the EpiPen to him in time. He passed out. They’re monitoring him.”
I hear her exhale, but I don’t think it’s from relief. I think it’s because she can check this off her to-do list. “Okay. That’s good,” she says, as if it’s so simple, as if that’s it. It’s done.
I blink, increasing my speed to weave around a van. “That’s good? That’s all you have to say? You haven’t seen or spoken to our son in fucking months and that’s all you can come up with? That’s good? Jesus, Tash. What the fuck happened?”
“You’re in England, Liam. What do you expect me to do? Jump on the next flight? Just put my life on hold?”
“YES!” I bellow. Silence stretches so long I check to see if the call’s still connected. “Tash?”
“I’m pregnant, Liam.” Her voice is quiet. “Six months.”
The words impale me, twisting until everything vital inside is slashed to tatters. Six months? My mind reels: I was with her six months ago.
My throat constricts. “Is it mine or his?”
She lets out a breath that crackles through the speaker. “It’s Adam’s.”
My jaw tenses.
“Liam?”
“I heard you,” I murmur, my voice deadly quiet as I navigate the streets. “Were you going to tell us? Were you going to tell Finn?”
More silence. Of course she wasn’t. I knew I shouldn’t have fucking called. But she needed to know. As his ma, she had a right to know our son nearly died. Even if she’s proven that she doesn’t deserve that title.
“What am I supposed to tell him, Tash?” My voice cracks through the forced composure. “When he asks why his ma doesn’t visit him or call, what am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know . . .”
“No?” Bitterness drips into every word. “What about ‘Ma ran off and started a new family with Adam’? Does that work for you?”
“Liam, no, it’s not . . .” she trails off. “I love Adam.”
“What about Finn?” I croak.
“It’s complicated, Liam—”
“He could have fucking died today,” I whisper, shaking my head. “Our son… You know what? Never mind. Congratulations, Tash.”
“Wait—”
I cut her off, unable to hear whatever bullshite excuse she was about to offer. I toss the phone into the passenger seat, my entire body shaking with rage and hurt. Not for myself, but for Finn.
I press harder on the accelerator, screeching into the hospital’s street, and pulling into the first vacant spot I see. My legs shake as I book it toward the sliding doors, my heart hammering so hard it rattles in my chest.
The smell of antiseptic hits me as I barrel inside, scanning the large reception area for signs. A mousy woman at the front desk pushes a pair of thick black glasses up her nose. “Can I help you, sir?”
“Pediatric ward,” I rasp. “Finn Murphy… he was brought in not long ago.”
“Are you family?” she asks.
“I’m his da.”
Her fingers fly across the keyboard before she gives me a small smile. “He’s in room ninety-four. Up to level two, take a right out of the lifts, follow the yellow line to Tully Ward. The nurses at the station there will direct you.”
I’m already striding to the lift, jabbing the call button over and over until the doors finally slide open.
Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up.
Finn’s only ever been to hospital once before today, also for anaphylaxis.
The first time, he was only three. One of Tash’s friends gave him a bite of her peanut butter sandwich at playgroup.
Within minutes, his skin erupted in angry red hives, spreading from his face down his neck and arms. Then he developed a cough and his breathing turned tight and wheezy.
Not taking any chances, we scooped him up and rushed to the nearest A&E.
They gave him adrenaline and kept him under observation for hours.
The doctor explained that his body went into anaphylactic shock and prescribed an EpiPen, showed us how to use it, warned us to read every food label, to tell every teacher, every friend, every parent, every restaurant. That day changed my life.
Months after the scare, I’d still sneak into his room at night just to check he was still bloody breathing. Every time he coughed, every time his cheeks turned pink, my heart would stop.
The fear never really went away, but I’ve learned to live with it.
The moment I reach the second floor, I’m off, following the signs to the nurses’ station. I’m walking so fast I nearly take out a family leaving another room.
“Sorry,” I mutter over my shoulder, barely slowing down.
The nurses’ station finally comes into view and I skid to a stop in front of two nurses writing in separate files.
“Finn Murphy,” I say, bracing my palms on their desk. “My son. He came in with anaphylaxis.”
The older of the two nurses looks up, regarding me with kind eyes. “Mr. Murphy?”
I nod.
She stands, smoothing down her navy scrubs. “He’s stable. He’s in bay six, just down this corridor.” She points to an open area lined with curtained bays. “His teacher is with him. You can go right through.”
“Thanks,” I manage, pushing off the counter. I scan the numbers on each bed, counting as I pass. When I finally reach bay six, I push through the curtain to find Finn fast asleep with his little mouth open.
Anna’s tucked into the chair beside Finn’s bed. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and her mascara’s smudged. She looks wrecked. Her head snaps up and quickly she stands. “Liam.”
I step forward, cupping her head in my hands, dropping a quick kiss to her soft lips. “Hi, baby. Thank you for being here.”
Then I drop to my knees beside Finn’s bed.
My hand immediately covers his. A plastic oxygen monitor is clipped onto his index finger and an IV line is taped to the back of his hand.
His skin looks even paler and clammy under the harsh hospital lights, and I can see faint marks on his neck where the hives must have been.
“Finn,” I whisper, my thumb finding the pulse point at his wrist. I close my eyes and let the steady beat ground me.
He’s okay. He’s safe.
“He’s been asleep for about fifteen minutes,” Anna says quietly from behind me, resting her hand on my shoulder. “He’s exhausted, but he’s okay. They’ve given him antihistamines and they’ve been monitoring his vitals regularly. A nurse just took some blood to check for ongoing allergic response.”
I nod, sending her a grateful smile. “Thank you,” I say, my voice turning rough. “For everything. For saving him.”
As I stand, a doctor pushes through the curtains, tucking a clipboard under his arm.
“Afternoon,” he says with a friendly smile, adjusting his stethoscope. “I’m Doctor Thomas. I’ve been looking after Finn.”
“Doctor,” I say, stepping forward to shake his hand. “Liam Murphy, Finn’s father.”
“I’m a big fan, Mr. Murphy.” He gives me an appreciative nod before flipping through his clipboard.
“Right, Finn’s vitals are looking good. So far, there’s been no further allergic reaction.
However, given that he lost consciousness, I’d like to keep him overnight for observation to ensure he doesn’t develop what we call a biphasic reaction. ”
Anna’s brow furrows.
“Essentially a second wave of symptoms,” he explains. “It can occur anywhere from four to twelve hours after the initial reaction. We just want to be cautious.”
Anna nods, picking the skin at her fingers.
“I’ve arranged for a private room here in the pediatric ward where he’ll be more comfortable.
We’ll keep him on fluids and monitor him regularly.
” He glances at Finn’s sleeping form. “Typically, after these incidents, children are exhausted and just need to rest, which it looks like he’s got under control. ”
My heart clenches as I look at my son, so small and vulnerable in the hospital bed. Tears prick at my eyes.
I could have lost him today.
“Miss . . .” Dr. Thomas pauses as he looks at Anna.
“Oh, Anna. Just call me Anna. I’m Finn’s teacher.”
“Anna, you got to him just in time. Your quick response very likely saved his life.”
Anna’s eyes mist with fresh tears.
“A nurse will be along shortly to help move Finn to his room,” Dr. Thomas continues, tucking his clipboard away. “Do you have any questions for me?”
I clear my throat, trying to hold myself together. “No, thank you.”
With that, he gives me a firm nod. “I’ll check on him in a couple of hours. Try not to worry too much. He’s in good hands.” With that, he disappears through the curtain.
When I turn back to Anna, a tear glides down her cheek.
“Hey,” I say, my voice soft as I close the distance between us. I hold her face gently, brushing the tear away with my thumb. “It’s okay. We’re okay. He’s okay.”
“I was so scared,” she whispers, her voice wobbling. “When I saw him struggling to breathe, I—” She squeezes her eyes shut. “I’ve never been so terrified in my life.”
I pull her into my arms, holding her tightly. “It’s okay now, baby. He’s safe.”
“Roger was supposed to put the allergen signs up on the snack table for the kids—”
My blood turns to lead in my veins. I beg your fucking pardon? “What?” It comes out sharper than I intend. I pull back, searching her face. “What do you mean Roger was supposed to put them up? They didn’t have any labels?” My hands squeeze into fists, and I take measured, choppy breaths.
The delicate muscles in Anna’s neck work as she swallows hard.
“At the tournament… he told the other staff he was going to label everything. He organized the refreshment table with one of the other teachers… he knows about allergens, he knows the school’s protocols.
But today he was . . .” She shakes her head, tears spilling over.
“He was bothering me, trying to talk to me, and I should have checked. I distracted him. I should have walked over there myself and made sure everything was labeled properly, but I didn’t, and then Roger started talking to me—and then Finn—”
“Stop.” I bend to kiss her tears, forcing her to look at me. “Anna, this is not your fault. Do you hear me? You saved his life. You sprang into action. You knew exactly what to do. You’re the reason he’s still here.”
“But I could have stopped it from happening in the first place,” she says, her voice splintering. “If I’d just walked away from Roger and checked the table—”
“No.” My voice is firm. She can’t hold this burden. It isn’t hers to carry, and I won’t let her wear the weight of it on her shoulders. If she hadn’t been there… if she hadn’t taken action so quickly? God knows what might’ve happened.
It’s on the school. On fucking Roger. If he’d just done his bleedin’ job and wasn’t distracted trying to hit on my girl, we wouldn’t be here.
I push away the anger that simmers through me.
I can deal with Roger another day. Right now, I need to be here for Finn and Anna. I draw her closer, anchoring her to me.
“This isn’t on you,” I tell her. “You don’t get to take this on as some failure. Not when you’re the reason he’s here, breathing. You did that, and I’ll never forget it.”
“But I should have—”
I bring her hand to my lips, then hold it to my heart so she can feel its steady beats. “Do you know how lucky we are that you were there? You can’t focus on the what-ifs—they’ll never bring you peace. You saved my son’s life. That’s what matters. That’s what you need to remember.”
How is it that someone who’s been in our lives for barely two months cares more about Finn’s well-being than his own damn mother?
“Are you okay?” she whispers.
I pull back slightly, brushing her hair away from her face. The corner of my mouth lifts. “Yeah. I’m okay.” My eyes drift to Finn’s small form again before returning to her. “I’ve got everything I need, right here.”