32. Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Two
Carys
J ay is bleeding out on my lap. Panic surges, and I try to shove it deep enough for my mind to kick into gear. “The hospital?”
“Last resort,” Finn says. “I’m a wanted fugitive as far as the world knows, and I’m not leaving you unguarded anywhere.”
Lorcan takes off his shirt, muscles rippling, and passes it to me. “Apply pressure to the wound,” he says. “A lot of pressure.” He helps me search Jay until we find the entry point that is leaking blood.
I ball up Lorcan’s shirt and press it against Jay. He groans with his lashes fluttering. He can’t die . He can’t die . My pulse pounds with the words.
Lorcan leans forward in his seat to check on Kim. “Are you all right?”
“A graze.” She glances at him over her shoulder. “A little late getting off the shot.”
“You killed the other one?” I ask.
“Yes,” she grits out. “Got him before he could deliver the kill shot. There were four of them. Another one shot at us, nicking me, and one pursued us. I’m not sure where the other went.”
I shudder at the thought of a PLA man standing over Jay, ready to finish him. Thank God, Kim and Lorcan arrived in time.
“Fucking cowards.” Finn merges onto the highway.
Jay’s breathing is labored even though he’s still unconscious. “We have to do something. I can’t—I can’t sit here and watch him die,” I cry.
Finn doesn’t meet my gaze in the rearview mirror. Instead, he seeks Lorcan. “How bad is it?”
He eyes Jay sprawled out across us. “Bad enough. At the very least, he needs stitches. Maybe blood. Hard to say.”
“He won’t wake up.” How can he only need stitches?
“They knocked him out, I reckon. Wound isn’t in a place for too much worry. Blood loss is concerning.” Lorcan goes over Jay’s body, checking for any other injuries.
“If all he needs is stitches,” Kim says from the front, “Carys, doesn’t your father have a doctor friend outside Belfast?”
“Yes.” The word escapes on an exhale.
How have I forgotten about John? I shift around to dig my phone out of my purse. Early, too early, to be calling an old family friend for a favor, but if we can’t go to a hospital, John is the best bet. He used to have a clinic attached to his house. Does he still? I search my contacts for his number. We met with him a few times when my father wanted to expand Van de Berg Ammunitions with an office outside Belfast.
His voice is groggy when he answers. “Carys?”
“John, I’m so sorry for waking you at this early hour. We have a medical emergency, and the situation is too sensitive for a hospital. We’re in Belfast. Can we come to you?”
There’s a brief pause, and there’s rustling in the background. “Of course. Do you need my address?”
“Yes. Can you text it to me?”
“No problem. I’ll meet you in the clinic. Can you give me an idea of what I’m dealing with?”
“Gunshot wound. Possibly too much blood loss. We’re not sure.”
“I’ll be ready,” he says without hesitation.
We end the call and within a few seconds, an address pings to my phone. I hit the navigate button and offer my phone to Kim in the front to help Finn navigate.
“Take the next exit,” she tells Finn.
Other than Kim reading out directions, we pass the few minutes in silence. Lorcan’s shirt is darkening with blood, and I’m praying John has enough of everything we’ll need at the clinic. Otherwise, I’ll regret the choice to avoid a hospital for the rest of my life.
Finn wheels us along a long gravel drive with trees and bushes encroaching on the vehicle. Then the path opens, and we’re at a modern building, with an older farmhouse in the distance to the left. The clinic looks newer. John must still run it. Thank God.
Finn and Lorcan maneuver Jay out of the back seat, and he moans at the swaying motion. John, a gray-haired, slim man in his sixties, meets us at the door and directs us to a back room. Finn and Lorcan lay Jay on the table, and John glances at us.
“Which of you would be best to assist?”
“Lorcan,” Finn says.
“Can I—can I come in as long as I’m not in the way?” Whether or not this goes well, I need to be there. Jay would never leave me alone to fend for myself.
“As long as you can stay out of the way,” John agrees.
As soon as I’m through the door, Lorcan and John are working in tandem as though Lorcan’s dressed a thousand bullet wounds. Maybe he has. Finn sounded certain he was the best bet for help, and in the car, he looked to his brother as the authority on Jay’s injury.
“Where am I?” Jay mumbles, and his lids flutter.
“A clinic,” I say. “You were shot. Stay still.”
“Shot?” he grumbles, trying to sit up.
John sticks a needle in Jay’s arm, and he slips back into unconsciousness. At least he woke up for a moment. I hope that means he’ll be fine once the bullet wound is taken care of.
Once they’ve dug out the bullet and dressed the wound, John runs a few other tests. He hems and haws, and then says, “The blood loss is worrying, but we’re not in the danger zone. I don’t have any of his blood type here. We’d have to go to the hospital for that.”
“If he doesn’t get it,” Lorcan says, “he’ll be weak and need a lot of rest, right? Special diet?”
A hint of a smile touches John’s lips. “You’ve been down this road before?”
“A few times,” he admits.
“Yes. With the amount of blood he’s lost, he’ll be weaker than normal for weeks. A modified diet can help get his hemoglobin levels up faster. Vitamin C is important.”
Jay stirs on the bed.
“I gave him something for the pain, so he’ll be unconscious a bit longer. He does have a head wound. A concussion is an almost certainty.”
“Should we take him to the hospital?” I grip Jay’s hand.
“I’ll send you with a care package to prevent infection and keep him comfortable—including a sheet about concussions.”
“Do you have any towels we can use to clean the SUV? Then I’ll get Finn, and we’ll load Jay back into the vehicle.” Lorcan takes the cloth and spray from John’s outstretched hand and ducks out of the examination room door.
“Spoken to your father lately?” John leans against a small desk housing a desktop computer.
A bitter laugh escapes me. “He doesn’t seem to be taking my calls. Have you spoken to him?”
“He’s busy with the European expansion project.” He waves me off. “You understand what he’s like—very singular when he’s deep in the business trenches.”
So singular he’s avoided my calls—my desperate, desperate pleas—when I worried my son might die. “Yes, I do know him.”
“Well, the grand opening of the building is supposed to be within the next week or so. After that, I’m sure he’ll be back to normal. He was here for a visit the other week.”
I want to tell him my father’s selfish, self-interested behavior is normal, but after John helped us on short notice as a favor because of my father, voicing my anger might be petty. “I appreciate you opening your doors for us this morning.”
“Of course. Of course. Your father and I have known each other a long time.”
“You said he was here the other week?” Typical for him to be in the same country as me and for me not to know about it. If anything highlights how far apart we’ve grown, this conversation with John is driving home the alienation.
“A minivacation from the expansion and the problems with your mother.” He lets out a deep sigh. “I’m sure you’re aware. I don’t need to tell you.” He gives me a sympathetic smile.
Since my parents came to see me together a few weeks ago, I wondered whether they put their differences aside. In some ways, I’m glad they haven’t. Whatever their marriage was built on to start has eroded into unhappiness. My mother might have found a measure of physical safety with my father, but she didn’t find emotional support or security.
Finn and Lorcan come into the examination room and hoist Jay into their arms. Finn’s gaze connects with mine. “He’ll be okay,” he says.
Tears spring to my eyes even though he’s right. I trail my hand down Finn’s back as they leave the room with Jay in their arms.
“Does your friend have another shirt? Being without one might make you conspicuous wherever you’re headed next,” John asks.
“We can buy one.” They dove into the SUV without any bags, didn’t they? All of us will need new clothes after the blood Jay shed. I’m afraid to look at my shirt and pants.
“Nonsense.” John opens a cupboard and riffles through things, taking out a black T-shirt emblazoned with charity information. “The clinic did a run in the village a few years ago and printed too many shirts.”
“Thank you.” I hold it up to check the size. Looks about right.
“When you see your father, tell him I said hello.”
“Sure.” I won’t. “Do you want—how can I pay you?”
“No need. You’re Charles’s daughter. He’d help one of my children if they ever found themselves in trouble.”
Once again, the urge to correct him rises to my tongue, but I hold the words back. “We’re building a hotel and casino in Cape Verde. If you ever want to come visit, let me know. Your stay will be on us.”
He puts a hand on my shoulder and smiles. “Charles raised you well.”
When I leave the office, Finn, Kim, Lorcan, and a semiconscious Jay are already in the car with Lorcan driving this time. Finn is in the rear with Jay, and my heart squeezes that he took the back to help monitor Jay’s condition or maybe to rib Jay about getting shot. In any event, when I scoot in, Finn grabs my hand and gives it a quick squeeze.
“You all right?” He peers at me with his familiar intensity.
“If Jay’s going to be fine, I’m fine too.” I scan Jay’s pained expression and dig around in the care package John gave us while Lorcan steers us along the long path again. I offer Jay pain pills, and he takes them gratefully.
Soon, he’s asleep again. I stare out at the lightening sky, thinking about how so many people know my father in so many ways, none of them quite like me.