23. Finn
TWENTY-THREE
Finn
PRESENT
“We begin site visits in two weeks,” Shea informs me as everyone from their group gathers in the conference room to provide an update.
I try to stay focused, but I’m running on just four hours of sleep and three cups of coffee. I can’t remember the last time I had an actual meal. This week has been hell, and it doesn’t help that the woman next to me won’t even look at me.
I should have gone after her that night at the pub.
I should have explained.
Instead, I talked myself into keeping my distance, and now our shaky relationship has turned downright turbulent.
“Lovely,” I reply, noticing she’s standing there, waiting for a response. “So how will these visits be split up?”
“Well, right now, we’re concentrating on locations within Dublin, so we’ve arranged for those to be fun nights out for the team.”
“On the company credit card,” I add.
“Well, of course.” Shea beams. “But feel free to join us since you’re paying and all.”
I roll my eyes, concealing the awkward feeling that always arises whenever someone refers to the company as mine. It’s not mine. Or, at least, it doesn’t feel like it because I never earned it. I’m just the bloke who happened to have the right last name when my father collapsed during a board meeting and never came back. “Just be responsible. Your goal is to assess the consumer experience, not your personal one. So, while you’re there, try to put yourself in someone else’s shoes. For those of you who have never been to these places, it might be a bit easier.”
I avoid looking at Ash and instead focus my attention on Damien, since he’s the only foreigner in the room who doesn’t want my bollocks in a blender.
“I’ve purposely avoided a lot of these places on purpose, knowing we would be headed there.”
“Brilliant.”
They begin outlining their plans—a speakeasy, an art gallery, a ghost tour. The list continues. They’ve considered everything, and I’m eager to see what they ultimately recommend for the tour package.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore it. I prefer to seem physically present in meetings—even if I’ve mentally checked out for the day.
I sneak a glance at Ash, and she has that notebook in front of her again—the one she always brings to meetings but never uses. I don’t know why she carries it, but I find it endearing as hell.
Nora begins to ask a question about the art gallery when I feel my phone vibrating again. I reach for it, curious about who is so intent on reaching me when I see my mam’s name flash across the screen.
She never calls me during the day.
She never really calls me at all, actually.
“I need to take this,” I manage to say as I stumble out of my seat and head for the door.
“Ma.” I’ve barely made it two feet down the hallway.
“Finney.” Her voice is thin and shaky, and its sound sweeps all the air right out of my lungs. The last time I heard her say my name like that…
“Da?”
“He had another stroke.”
Another one? Can he survive another one? He barely made it through the first one.
It feels like an eternity passes before I can find my voice and ask, “Is he?—”
“He’s alive. But?—”
Alive, but for how long? My chest tightens as her words fade from my ears. I feel the phone slip from my hand. It’s just too much.
“Finn?”
It’s too fucking much.
“Shit, Finn—” Warm hands cradle my face. “Look at me.” Brilliant blue eyes lock onto mine.
“Mo chroí?” I whisper, making her breath falter.
She stares at me for a moment, then another, before leaning down to pick up the phone that slipped from my hand. She hands it to me.
Reality comes rushing back.
I glance down at the lit screen; my mom still hasn’t hung up. I can hear her faint, panicked voice calling out for me. Fuck. I nervously lick my lips, feeling like this is the worst case of déjà vu; only this time I know what to expect, and I don’t want to face it.
I begin to lift the phone to my ear, but Aisling swiftly snatches it back from my hand.
What the fuck?
“Mrs. O’Connell? Hi, this is Aisling. I’m a friend of Finn’s.” She turns her back to me and begins pacing the small hallway as she speaks to my mother. What is she saying? Why did she do that? “Yes, okay. Where?” Another pause. “Um, yes. Of course. Okay, bye.”
She turns, hands me my phone, and then gives me a warm smile. “Come on, let’s go.
“What?”
“We’re going to the hospital,” she explains, as if that explains anything. “Your mom gave me all the info, so I know where to go. Do you need to grab anything out of your office before we leave?”
We. She’s going with me?
I swallow, unable to believe the words coming from her mouth. Just five minutes ago, she wouldn’t even look at me. Now, she’s going with me to see my father in the hospital.
“N-no,” I reply. “I’m ready.” I’m not at all ready.
“Okay.” She gives a nod, and we both head toward the elevator. She makes a quick stop by her desk and grabs her purse, which earns us a few odd looks from the staff. When we get downstairs, she asks Penny at the front desk to call a cab for us.
I stare at her like she’s an alien.
She’s definitely acting like she’s been abducted by one.
The cab arrives, and we travel to the hospital mostly in silence. I feel her eyes on me occasionally, as if she’s conducting a timed check-in on my mental state.
I guess I did go a little mental in the hallway for a bit.
When we arrive at the hospital, I feel like a trained dog, just following his master. I have no idea what floor or room my father is in since I wasn’t the one who spoke to my mother. Although, I’m not sure I would have remembered, considering the state I’m in.
We step off the elevator when Ash suddenly stops me. “I know your dad has had a stroke before,” she says, her eyes searching mine. “But he’s in critical care, so there will be wires and tubes. You need to prepare for that if you’ve never seen it before.”
I swallow and nod, a wave of guilt washing over me because of the complexity of my relationship with my father. I’m not what I’m feeling right now.
But I know it’s not love.
As we head toward the critical care unit, I look around for my mother but don’t spot her. She’s either in the room with him or has stepped out to make more phone calls.
We arrive at the desk, and the nurse asks for the patient’s name. “Craig O’Connell,” I croak out.
She types away at the computer. “He’s in critical care, so only kin will be allowed back.”
“He’s my father,” I tell her, and then because I can’t stomach the idea of going back there alone, I add, “And this is my wife.”
If the nurse notices our bare ring fingers, she stays quiet and leads us back.
“So, am I Mrs. Larkin or Mrs. O’Connell?” Ash teases under her breath. I reach for her hand, my thumb brushing over the Claddagh ring she always wears. She may think I’m just trying to sell my marriage story to the nurse, but I couldn’t care less about appearances. I just need her. “I need to know so I can make the stationery.”
“Ladies’ choice.” A faint smile tugs at my lips as I appreciate her distraction tactics. Imagining her with my last name—either one—is something I’ve fantasized about more than I’d like to admit. “Legally, my name includes both since neither of my parents wanted to relinquish their prestigious family names, but I’ve always been partial to Larkin since it’s my mother’s and—” I don’t hate her.
And just like that, I’ve brought the mood plummeting back down again.
“Here we are,” the nurse announces. Her words make me come to an abrupt halt as I stare at the imposing door that separates me from my father. My body feels frozen to the floor, and I can’t move a step further. I glance at the nurse and then at Aisling, feeling panic rise in my chest.
“Can you give us a minute?” Ash asks politely. The nurse nods and walks away, or at least I think she does. My gaze is fixed on the door in front of me.
Ash softly cradles my chin and shifts my head. “Tell me what you’re thinking. I’ve been in your shoes before. Maybe I can help.”
God, she’s so good. Too good.
I shake my head. “I don’t want to be here.”
“I know it’s hard to see a parent like?—”
“No, you don’t understand.” I give her a pleading look. “It’s not the same with me, Ash. I don’t—” I let out a breath. “We have a complicated relationship. I don’t know how to do the father-son thing.”
Understanding blooms, and I see her nod. “Who says you have to? No one else is here but you and me. If you want to go in and see him, then I’ll be right there with you. But if it’s too much, we can just turn around and find your mom, and that can be your focus for the day. You don’t need to explain yourself to me, Finn.”
“Why are you doing this? Why did you come with me today?”
She squeezes my hand, and a faint smile tugs at her lips. “Because you needed me,” she says simply, then adds with a wink, “And your mom might have asked me to.”
“She was probably just so surprised to hear a woman answering my phone that she just had to see if you were real.”
“You really weren’t lying about not dating, were you?” she teases.
“No.” I give her a meaningful look. How could I date anyone else after I met you? “I wasn’t.”
“Finney!” I turn at the sound of my mother’s voice, but not before I catch Aisling mouth, “ Finney” with a smirk. I roll my eyes as I’m engulfed in a tight hug.
“Hi, Mam,” I say, wrapping my arms around her petite frame.
“I went to get a coffee and then couldn’t find my way back. This hospital is horrible, it is. Hallways going absolutely nowhere, and no one around to offer any help.”
I eye Ash over the top of my mam’s head. The roots in her hair are even worse than the last time I saw her, and it looks like it hasn’t seen a brush in at least a day or two. I don’t recall a day in my life when she had hair out of place or stepped out of the house in anything less than Chanel.
“Have you been drinking, Mam?” I ask, catching a whiff of whiskey in the air.
She pushes back, her eyes blazing. “Well, how was I supposed to know your father would have a stroke today? It’s not like I planned to spend my day wandering around a hospital.”
Jesus, it is barely three in the afternoon, and my mom is completely legless.
“Why don’t we get you home, yeah?”
“We?” She turns, seemingly noticing Ash for the first time. She scans her up and down, and it’s as if her entire demeanor shifts. Her face brightens, and her posture straightens. “Hello, dear.” She extends a hand. “I’m Margaret Larkin-O’Connell. But you can just call me Maggie.”
Ash blushes as she takes my ma’s hand. “Hi, Maggie. I’m Aisling, but you can call me Ash. We spoke on the phone.”
“Yes, I remember. You’re a friend of my son’s?” Her eyes regard me as if hoping for a hint about the meaning of “friend.” I keep my mouth firmly shut.
“Um, yes. We work together.”
“Well, you must be a very good friend to accompany him to the hospital.” Well, you kind of made her. She turns to me. “Have you been in yet? I can try and find that forsaken coffee cart again if you haven’t.”
I find it interesting that she isn’t offering to go in with me, but I just shake my head. “Uh, no, that’s okay. We were just wrapping up, weren’t we, Ash?”
She nods with a bit too much enthusiasm. That girl can’t lie worth shit. “Yes, all done.”
“You both went in?”
I realize my mistake and wince. “I might have told the nurse that Aisling was my wife so I wouldn’t have to go in alone.”
I swear she gets heart-eyes at the mere thought. “Oh, well, a little white lie never hurt anyone. Besides, it’s not that hard to imagine, is it? You’d make a fine couple.”
I let that go and grab hold of my mother’s arm. “Come on, let’s get you home so you can rest. It’s been a long day.”
“It has, yeah.”
“Do you want to say goodbye to him before we go?”
I sense her flinch. “No, love. I’m grand. I’ll pop by in the morning when I’m feeling a bit more myself.”
Although I don’t want to, I turn to thank Ash for her help and tell her I can handle it from here, but my mom intercedes. “Come on, love,” she says, pulling her along. “It’s been ages since I chatted with an American. Are you all truly obsessed with Target and Taylor Swift?”
Fucking hell.