Chapter 6 Kieran
Kieran
“The ghastly extremes of agony are endured by man the unit, and never by man the mass.” Edgar Allan Poe
She winces.
It’s small, almost fleeting, just a slight tightening at the corners of her eyes, a subtle furrow of her brow, but I see it.
It’s a harsh reminder of everything she has been through, like a damn knife to my ribs.
I immediately straighten, my fingers twitching at my sides. “That’s enough for now,” I say, my voice low but firm. “You need to rest.”
Deirdre exhales, barely rolling her eyes before looking at me with that familiar, teasing glint. “It’s just a small headache, Kieran. I’m fine.”
Fine.
The word is a fucking lie, and we both know it. There’s nothing fine about this, about her lying in a hospital bed, about the dark bruising along her temple, the quiet exhaustion lining her face. But I say nothing, pressing my lips together in frustration.
A sly, knowing curve plays on her lips, like she’s about to tip the world off its axis.
“Are you ever going to kiss me, Professor?’
I break.
It’s a slow, steady unraveling, like a fraying rope finally snapping after too much strain. I don’t think because all I want, all I’ve wanted for days, is to touch her. To hold her. To feel that she’s real and here and not just another ghost haunting me.
But when I move, I hesitate.
My fingers hover near her wrist, over the delicate IV taped against her skin. She’s too pale, too weak, and for the first time since I’ve known her, I’m afraid to touch her.
Deirdre sees it.
Her eyes soften.
And then, as if she knows exactly what I need, she lifts a trembling hand and brushes her fingers along my jaw.
That’s all it takes.
I lean in, tilting my head down, exhaling shakily as I press my lips to hers.
The kiss is timid. Unlike us.
But I don’t trust myself to give her anything more.
I can feel the oxygen tubing against my cheek, the distant hum of the monitors tracking her heartbeat. She still smells like antiseptic and clean hospital linens, but beneath it, there’s her, a faint trace of lavender, unmistakably Deirdre.
I drink her in, savoring the warmth of her lips, the subtle sigh that leaves her as I pull away.
Her eyes flutter open, tired but bright, and she whispers, “That was barely a kiss, McKnight.”
I huff a laugh at the way she says my last name. My forehead drops gently to hers.
“You’ll have to forgive me, Miss Ravencroft,” I murmur against her skin. “I’m still recovering from the heart attack you gave me.”
“Dramatic, are we? You? I never would’ve guessed.”
I huff another breath, shaking my head. She shouldn’t be making me laugh. She should be resting. But she’s here. Breathing. And I’m selfish enough to want to keep hearing her voice.
I pull back just enough to meet her gaze. “Get some sleep,” I say, grazing my fingers over her cheek. “We can argue about my kissing skills when you’re stronger.”
Her smirk lingers, but her body betrays her. Her eyes are already growing heavier, her fingers loosening against my shirt.
I don’t move until I know she’s asleep.
And even then, I stay close, just watching her breathe.
Deirdre’s breathing has just evened out. Her hand is still loosely tangled in mine.
Finally.
I exhale, resting my forehead against the edge of the bed. She needs sleep. She needs rest. And for the first time in days, my heart isn’t trying to claw its way out of my chest, knowing she’s at least comfortable.
Then, of course, the door swings open.
“Good evening!” a chipper voice rings out in the silence of the room.
I scowl.
I should know better than to think she’d get any rest in a hospital.
The nurse bustles in, radiating an energy that feels offensive in the dimly lit ICU room. She’s young, maybe mid-twenties, just slightly older than Deirdre, with her hair pulled into a high ponytail and a clipboard clutched in her hands.
Deirdre stirs at the noise, her fingers twitching against mine. Then, with a slight jolt, her eyes flutter open, still heavy with fatigue.
“Sorry, sweetie,” the nurse coos, completely unbothered. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Just need to check your vitals.”
Deirdre blinks groggily, her gaze sluggishly dragging toward the nurse as the blood pressure cuff inflates around her arm. I watch her, every flicker of emotion that crosses her face. The residual confusion. The exhaustion. The quiet fear she tries to bury.
“Your vitals are looking good,” the nurse continues, charting something on her clipboard. “And tomorrow, we’re going to start early mobilization to help get your strength back.”
I feel Deirdre’s fingers twitch against mine again.
“Depending on your progress,” the nurse rattles on, “we’ll be able to move you out of the ICU to either a step-down unit or a regular room. Then, once you’re stable enough, the goal will be discharge.”
Deirdre freezes.
It’s small, just a quick flicker of tightness in her expression, but I see it. I feel it radiating off of her.
Because I know what she’s thinking.
The man who did this to her is still out there.
He could come back.
My jaw clenches. I lean in just enough, tightening my grip around her hand.
“You’re safe,” I murmur, only for her to hear. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I will find him.”
She exhales shakily, but I don’t let go. I will never let go of her again.
The door opens again, and this time, Claire, Gabe, and Vincent step in.
“Finally!” Claire breathes, practically vibrating with relief. “You have no idea how sick I am of only seeing these two.” She jerks her thumb at Gabe and Vincent, then gives Deirdre a teary, bright-eyed look. “I can’t wait to have my roomie back with me.”
Deirdre hesitates. Just for a second.
I watch her, the way her fingers barely curl against the blanket, the unspoken wariness behind her eyes.
I don’t need her to say it.
She doesn’t want to go back there.
Not yet.
I lean in again, my voice softer this time. “We’ll figure it out, Deirdre,” I promise. “On your terms.”
She meets my gaze, searching. Then, steadily, she nods.
The nurse finishes jotting down notes and pats Deirdre’s hand. “I’ll let you all have some time. But remember, you need to rest. We’ll be getting you up tomorrow.”
I quietly scoff at the hypocrisy, considering she just woke her up when she barged in. I know she is doing her job, but all of my focus is on Deirdre’s healing.
Once the door clicks shut behind her, I barely have a second to exhale before Vincent catches my eye.
A silent message passes between us.
“Excuse me, uhm, Mr. McKnight,” Vincent says, his tone dry but pointed. He knows about Deirdre and me, but I assume his formal acknowledgment is for the sake of being her boss and minimizing speculation for anyone else that may barge in. “Might I borrow you for a second?”
I glance at Deirdre, then squeeze her hand one last time before standing.
“Don’t go anywhere,” I murmur, attempting something close to a smile. It almost lands.
She huffs a laugh, the sound still too weak, but it’s there.
I follow Vincent to the far side of the room, out of earshot. His usual cool expression is more stern now, but something flickers in his gaze.
“Meet me at Salvation when you leave,” he says.
I frown. “Why? Is this another attempt to convince me not to go after this guy?”
Vincent exhales sharply, his jaw ticking. “Kieran, this isn’t the time or place to talk about it.”
Unease and a slight annoyance shift in my chest. He isn’t going to deter me.
But I nod once.
“I’ll be there.”
I don’t want to leave.
Every instinct in my body resists. I feel an invisible force tethering me to the space beside her bed.
The rise and fall of her breath is the only thing keeping me sane.
After days of suffocating in uncertainty, I can see her, hear her, and know that she’s here.
There’s a renewed sense of hope brewing inside me.
And now, I’m just supposed to walk away?
“Go,” Claire insists. Her arms are crossed as she levels me with a pointed look. “We need our girl time.” She waves a hand dramatically toward Deirdre. “Man-free zone.”
She makes a shooing motion out the door toward me and Gabe.
I drag my gaze away from Deirdre’s tired but amused expression, scowling at Claire. “Text me if anything changes.”
Claire huffs. “Obviously.”
I narrow my stare even more. “Miss Thompson,” I say, firmly. “Make sure she actually gets some rest.”
Claire gives me an unimpressed look. “That’s my job, Professor McKnight.”
Before I can argue, a quiet voice cuts through the conversation.
“I’m in the room, ya know,” Deirdre murmurs. “I can hear you.” A slow, teasing smirk plays at her lips, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion but still mischievous. “I can tuck myself in like a big girl and go to sleep, Daddy.”
I freeze.
Everything in me locks up.
The word is a goddamn challenge. Even in her delicate state, she knows exactly what she’s doing.
Heat licks up my spine, and for the first time in days, my lips curve into something real.
I bend over her intently, bringing my mouth close to her ear, my voice just above a whisper.
“Miss Ravencroft,” I murmur, “if circumstances were much different, that word would cause so much trouble.”
A weak giggle escapes her lips, but there’s warmth in her eyes, something alive and playful, and I cling to it.
I kiss her delicately, too delicately.
I can’t trust myself to touch her the way I want to. Not when she’s still fragile, still healing.
Her lips are warm beneath mine, a gentle press that lasts only a moment. But it’s enough.
I pull away, forcing myself to straighten.
“Get some rest,” I whisper.
Deirdre hums sleepily, eyes fluttering shut as her breathing evens out.
I don’t move until I know she’s asleep. Only then do I step back, take one last look at her peaceful face, and turn toward the door, following Gabe.
But even as I step out into the dimly lit hospital hallway, I already know I won’t be gone for long.