Chapter 8 Declan
DECLAN
The door clicks shut behind us, and I blow out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. My palms are still warm from being in my pockets, and there’s a jitter running through my limbs like I’ve just walked off a riptide.
“Well now,” I murmur, low enough not to carry, “that was…unexpected.”
Sean’s jaw is set, his shoulders squared like he’s already bracing for a fight. Rowan stays rigid, coat hanging straight, every line of him controlled. The air between us is tight as wire.
“Come on, lads,” I say, closing the small space so we’re eye to eye. “We can’t pretend that was just another patient.”
Rowan cuts me a sharp look, dark eyes locking on mine. “We’re not pretending anything,” he says. His voice is calm, but there’s a blade under it. “We’re deciding what happens next.”
Sean glances back toward the closed door, then at Rowan, then at me. His expression is stone. “We recuse ourselves from her primary care. All three of us.”
I blink. “That’s it? We just…walk away?”
“That’s protocol,” Sean says, voice low but certain. “Conflict of interest. We all know her. We all have…history.”
History. That’s one way to put it. I let a half smile pull at my mouth. “You make it sound like we shared a semester in med school instead of—”
Rowan’s look slices me off mid-sentence. “This isn’t funny, Declan.”
“I’m not joking.” I lift my hands, palms out. “I’m just saying we can be professional. I can, at least.”
Sean exhales slowly through his nose, the kind of controlled breath you take before you punch a wall. “Professional doesn’t mean impartial. She’s high-risk. The last thing she needs is us second-guessing each other every time her name comes up.”
A couple of nurses pass by, chatting quietly, and Rowan keeps his voice down, murmuring low, “I wouldn’t second-guess myself.”
Sean gives him a withering look. “We have rules for a reason. By the time you realize all the mistakes you’ve made because of emotion, it’s too late.”
I back up Rowan, saying, “I get it, mate, I do. But she was referred to us. That means we’re the best—end of.”
Neither of them argues right away, which says more than any agreement could.
Sean glances down the hall toward the imaging suite, then folds his arms. “We’ll talk to admin and get her reassigned. It isn’t safe.”
I tilt my head, studying him. “You’re talking like she’s a threat.”
“I’m talking like she’s in danger,” Sean says flatly.
That gets Rowan’s attention. He turns his head slightly toward me, and a flicker of agreement passes through us like a flame.
He says sharply, “Those babies could belong to one of us. If they’re mine, I want them to have the best care possible.
Do you really trust some eejit with their care?
Someone like Dr. Warner?” He spits out the name of a doctor we know, catching a stray bullet in the name of his righteousness.
Just a man, no more no less. A perfectly grand doctor.
But Rowan wants more than perfectly fine.
I cut in quickly, “I have an idea. How about we just ask her? We don’t even know whether or not this is a problem for us.”
I don’t wait for the answer, my mind already made, the electricity of anticipation already zapping under my skin. I pull the door open and wave Sean and Rowan in before me. “Nicole, could you get the discharge packet and prenatal program information for Miss Abel?
Nicole nods and offers Willow a prim smile and a light hand on her arm, saying, “Be back in a jiff,” before walking out of the room.
I keep my voice even. “Willow,” I say gently, tucking her chart under my arm.
“Doctors,” she returns with a wry smile, but then I see a moment where she braces herself, her eyes closing and her smile freezing. I hate that I’m the reason.
Sean steps forward one pace, no closer than the foot of the bed. He looks at me, then Rowan, then back to Willow. His face turns solemn in a way most people never see. When he speaks, it’s the only question that matters. “Willow…who do they belong to?”
In the echoing silence, Willow doesn’t look away from him or the weight of his question. Her chin lifts higher and she admits, “I don’t know.”
“Are they one of ours?” Rowan insists, his dark eyes stormy.
She shrugs and says, “I think so.”
My chest tilts, settling into a terrible kind of balance. I look over at Rowan to see if it will change his mind that she doesn’t know, that those triplets might belong to someone else entirely, but all I see is a tenderness that’s almost unrecognizable coming from him.
I glance to Sean, and see something flicker in his gaze—a realization, a decision. Suddenly, it’s clear to me. We aren’t letting her go.
Nurse Nicole knocks at the door and enters the room again, the discharge packet and prenatal program information in her hand and a smile on her face. She operates just like Sean—confident and calm, but with that special thing that only women can share between each other.
“Nurse Nicole, Miss Abel is going to come back in two weeks for a viability and growth scan. Can you walk her through her next steps?” I ask her, taking an initiative that I can tell makes everyone but Nurse Nicole tense. She nods with a bright smile directed to Willow, and I thank her.
When we exit the room, Sean snaps at me, “Why did you tell her to come back? You know as well as I do that we need to talk to admin.”
“She’ll be back, will she not? It might not be with us, but she needs another appointment regardless,” I snap back, and that shuts him up.
We take the long way toward the staff lounge, shoes quiet on the polished floor.
The hallway narrows here, lined with black-and-white portraits of the hospital’s founders—men in stiff collars and women in starched uniforms. I’ve passed them a hundred times without seeing.
Tonight they feel like judges, watching us file past with our mouths shut.
Rowan’s stride is clipped, his jaw tight. Sean’s slower, but his hands are gripping the chart so hard, his pen in his mouth and his eyes on her bloodwork, that I half expect the muscle to tear through his sleeves.
I break the silence when we get in the elevator. “Okay, I’ll start,” I say, pitching my voice low. “What bothers me is we keep talking like protocol’s the point. Like recusal is the answer. But that’s not what’s in your heads.”
Neither answers. Rowan keeps his eyes glued to the doors like he could make the elevator move faster with his mind. I lean forward and knock the chart out of Sean’s hands so it clatters onto the floor noisily. “Ah now, what the feck?” he croons, bending down to pick up the sheets.
“Say it,” I press. “Say what we’re all thinking.”
Sean’s eyes flash. “That we can’t treat her—”
“No,” I cut in. “Not the polite version. The truth.”
Rowan turns, his gaze dark, steady. “The truth is those babies could be mine,” he says, voice rough. “And I’ll be damned if I hand them over to a stranger with a chart.”
Sean swears under his breath, raking a hand through his hair. “Christ.” It’s not an admission exactly, but for Sean, it is.
“She deserves the best care she can get,” I say again, needling him, staring into his eyes like I can brainwash him. “That’s us. Whether admin likes it or not. Whether she likes it or not.”
The elevator dings, and the doors open with a flourish into the hall in front of the lounge. Sean nods. “I don’t want to walk away,” he finally admits.
“Neither do I. Rowan?” I look to Rowan, who doesn’t say anything but shakes his head, his thumbnail between his teeth.
“So there it is,” I finish. “None of us is done with her. None of us is willing to walk away. You can dress it up in ethics or rules, but when it comes down to it, we’ve already made the decision.”
Sean exhales, the fight still in his shoulders but the truth hanging heavy between us now.
Neither of them argues, and that’s as close to a handshake as we’re going to get.