Chapter 14 Deirdre
Deirdre
“For the question is of will, and not, as the insanity of logic has assumed of power.” Edgar Allan Poe
Iwake before my alarm goes off.
The light peering in from the blinds cuts across the room and casts shadows on the floor.
I blink in succession, trying to let my eyes adjust. Looking over at Kieran, I take in the steady rise and fall of his chest beside me.
One arm is tucked under his head, the other curled protectively around my waist, holding me like I might vanish in my sleep.
I shift just slightly to face him, my nose brushing his collarbone. He stirs, breath catching, before his eyes flutter open and settle on mine.
“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he says, voice low and rough with sleep.
“Hey.” I glance at the clock. “We’ve got an hour.”
He nods but doesn’t move to get up. His thumb strokes along my side beneath the sheets, a soothing motion that feels almost too tender for the energy humming beneath my skin.
I press my face into his shoulder. “I feel good today. Really good.”
His lips curve up into a smile. “I can tell.”
He’s still careful with me, though. Even now, after all these nights lying beside each other, even after countless innocent showers, even after every stolen kiss that left us both breathless and aching, he never lets himself go too far.
Not until I’m cleared. Not until a doctor confirms what I already feel in my bones.
“Think today’s the day?” he asks, his voice quieter now, like he’s afraid of jinxing it.
“I think I’ll finally get the all-clear.” I pull back just enough to look into his eyes. “And then you’re in trouble, McKnight.”
His mouth quirks at the corners. “Yeah?”
“You have no idea.”
He leans in like he’s going to kiss me but pauses just before our lips meet. I can feel the hesitation in his breath, the way his hand stills on my hip.
“Deirdre…”
My name on his lips is a sigh and a prayer all at once.
I touch his jaw gently, coaxing his gaze back to mine. “I know you’re scared. But I’m not made of glass.”
“I know.” He closes the last inch between us and kisses me, slow and hungry, a way he doesn’t let himself indulge in for long. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine, our breaths mingling in the quiet space between us.
“Let’s get this appointment over with,” I whisper, “so I can finally stop dreaming about what comes next.”
His jaw tightens. “You’ve been dreaming about it too?”
“Every night.”
His hand slides to the small of my back, fingers spreading, possessive and reverent all at once. “Then yeah,” he says, “we need to get moving before I lose every last shred of my self-control.”
I laugh and toss back the blankets, suddenly more energized than I’ve felt in weeks. This is it. This is the day.
One last hurdle before I take back every part of my life, including the one I’ve been dying to share with him.
I sit on the exam table in the crinkly paper gown that sticks to the back of my thighs every time I shift.
I think the gown is highly unnecessary. I feel like I’m here for a pap smear versus physical clearance, but the nurse was insistent.
The room smells like antiseptic and lemon disinfectant, and the fluorescent lights are too bright.
Kieran sits in the corner with his legs crossed and his hands steepled in front of his mouth like he’s trying to meditate through a storm.
He hasn’t said much since we checked in. Just a few timid smiles when he glances in my direction.
It’s the quietest he’s been in days.
My ribs barely ache. I haven’t needed pain meds in over a week. I’m walking longer distances, keeping up with the therapy. My dizziness is gone, and my sleep is, for the most part, restful. I feel ready.
So why do I feel like I’m about to throw up?
The door opens, and Dr. Adler walks in with his tablet, smiling like the bearer of good news.
“Well,” he says, scrolling with his thumb, “I’ve gotta say, Miss Ravencroft…this is the kind of recovery I wish I could bottle up and give to every patient.”
I exhale, almost too quickly. “So I’m cleared?”
He chuckles. “Let’s go over a few things.”
Kieran shifts in his seat. I shoot him a glance. He’s leaning forward, watching the doctor like a hawk.
“Your scans look great. Rib fractures have healed well. You’ve gained back your baseline stamina. Reflexes are sharp, and your balance is restored. I’m confident you can resume normal activity as long as you listen to your body.”
I blink. “You mean I can…?”
“Yes, you’re cleared to return to classes tomorrow. Moderate physical activity. Work, within reason. Just pace yourself. No marathons, no heavy lifting. And keep up your therapy, physical and emotional. We want to treat the whole picture.”
Kieran finally exhales like he’s been holding his breath for a year.
The doctor glances between us. “Any questions?”
I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. “When you say normal activity…” I look at Kieran and raise an eyebrow.
Dr. Adler’s mouth twitches. “Yes, Miss Ravencroft. That includes all activities. Intimacy included, if you feel ready. Just…be gentle with yourself.”
Kieran clears his throat and looks down at his shoes.
I grin. “Oh, I will.”
Dr. Adler chuckles and stands. “See me in four weeks for a follow-up, but on my end, you have the green light.”
He pats my shoulder and leaves us in the silence of the exam room.
I look over at Kieran. His head’s still bowed, but there’s a red flush creeping up his neck.
I lean toward him. “Did you hear that, Professor?”
He looks up, with a heat in his eyes that he barely restrains. “I heard.”
I hop down from the table, the paper gown rustling against my skin. “Then I guess tonight’s not just about healing anymore.”
He stands and walks toward me, brushing my hair behind my ear. His voice is barely above a whisper. “I’ve waited so long to touch you without fear.”
I step into him, nose almost touching his. “Then let’s not wait any longer.”
We’re all gathered in mine and Claire’s dorm room, more like crammed in the tiny space. Gabe showed up with more takeout from, of course, The Rolling Tortilla, to celebrate my victory lap, as he called it.
Claire’s got her legs flung over Gabe’s lap on the floor, flipping through one of my poetry textbooks like it’s a tabloid. Kieran’s half-sitting on my desk, arms crossed, doing that broody thing he does when he’s pretending not to eavesdrop but is definitely listening to every word.
Vincent is leaning against the window, sipping his drink, watching the chaos with the permanent smirk of someone who enjoys being in the company of unhinged people but refuses to admit it.
“So let me get this straight,” Claire says, raising a finger like she’s cross-examining me. “You’re officially cleared. As in, back to normal. As in, no more doctor-mandated celibacy.”
I narrow my eyes. “Claire…”
She holds up a hand. “No, no, I’m just saying. The drought is over.”
Gabe chokes on his drink. “Oh my God.”
Vincent snorts. “I need Tequila for this conversation.”
Claire leans toward me, stage-whispering loud enough for the next building to hear. “So? What’s the game plan? You’ve got a six-foot-two, emotionally tortured Ivy League professor with serious hand fixation waiting to worship you like you’re his religion.”
I shoot her a half-amused look, half Claire, I swear to God.
Kieran clears his throat from across the room. “I can hear everything, you know.”
“Good!” Claire beams. “I hope you do hear everything. Deirdre deserves fireworks. Champagne. A playlist.”
“Oh my God,“ I groan, hiding my flushing cheeks with my hands.
Gabe’s cracking up. “McKnight, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blush.”
Vincent raises a brow, adding playfully, “I’d recommend low lighting and a firm mattress.”
“Vincent!” Kieran glares.
Vincent shrugs. “What? I’ve been through physical therapy. Ribs are sensitive.”
I drop my head to my knees, laughing so hard it actually does make my ribs twinge. “I can’t believe this is my life.”
Claire scoots closer, nudging me with her shoulder. “You love us.”
I smile despite myself. “Unfortunately.”
Kieran finally gives up trying to look serious. He walks over, brushing my hair off my forehead and leaning down to kiss the top of my head. “Ignore them.”
“They’re right,” I murmur, tilting my face up toward him. “This is kind of a celebration.”
He looks down at me, eyes flicking to my lips. “Later.”
I grin mischievously, deciding to add to the chaos.
I whisper seductively, “Take me to church, Professor.”
Heat instantly flashes in his eyes, and he clears his throat.
Apparently, I didn’t whisper enough because Claire fans herself. “Ugh, someone open a window in here.”
Vincent raises his drink. “To Deirdre’s triumph.”
Gabe lifts his cup. “And to the fall of celibacy.”
Kieran groans, and I burst into laughter all over again.
The laughter dies down as the evening wears on.
Gabe, Vincent, and Claire continue with their banter back and forth, but my mind keeps drifting back to Kieran, who hasn’t left my side since he sat down next to me earlier.
The noise around us feels distant now, as though the rest of the world is muted, leaving only the two of us in focus.
I glance at him from the corner of my eye, and I catch him watching me, his lips curling into the faintest of smiles. He seems antsy, as if he is trying to pretend he isn’t waiting for the moment when everyone leaves.
After a while, Claire stands up and announces she’s going to take a shower before she and Gabe leave for work. Vincent decides that’s his cue to leave to oversee the shift at Salvation.
“I’ll see you all at the club this evening? It’s Friday,” he coaxes. Looking at me, he grins, “Have Kieran show you the upgrades to room seven, D.” He winks as he begins to walk toward the door.
Curious, I side-eye Kieran, “What upgrades?”
“You’ll just have to be patient, Miss Ravencroft.”
“I’ve been patient long enough, Professor.”