Chapter 14 #2
He's reassuring me, soothing me, even though I can tell he's in agony. His face is pale, and his hand trembles.
“Stay with me, Declan. Stay here. You're okay. You're right here.”
A car comes flying down the street and screeches to a halt. The men stand taller as Cavin slams the door, and sirens blare in the distance.
“Fucking weapons away. Leave us here. Back to the house, now!”
Cavin takes one look at Declan on the ground and at me, covered in blood, and his eyes go murderous.
“Bridget.” He crosses the pavement in three strides, and his men scatter before the police arrive. “Are you alright?”
“Fine,” I manage to whisper.
“You're fuckin’ covered in blood.”
“I know. I know. It's not—it's not mine.” I press down harder on the wound. “We just came for ice cream. We just came, and then someone pushed me, and Declan told him to stop. It was a setup, Cavin. They were set up. They were watching us. They knew we were here.”
Cavin's expression shifts into something very still and dangerous. He says something into his phone I can't follow just as the ambulance and police arrive.
“It's okay,” Cavin says, as the paramedics move Declan toward the ambulance. “I’m right behind you.”
“I'm getting in with him.”
“Ma'am, we're going to need you to step outside the vehicle,” one of the paramedics says, already moving.
“No. I'm going with him.”
“She's going with me.” Declan's voice, from the back of the car—thinner than it should be, but it’s still him.
I climb in beside him and take his hand.
“Why did they come for you?” I ask, because I can't not ask. “What happened?”
“Don’t know.”
“Please don't make him talk,” a paramedic says in a tone that makes it very clear he’s not too pleased with me.
Declan looks at me and shrugs his good shoulder—just barely—and even that costs him. “I have lots of enemies, Bridget. Who knows.”
I squeeze his hand. “You've got that going for you now, haven't you?”
He gives me the ghost of a grin, the son of a bitch.
We get to the hospital in record time.
Now is not the time to think about the way I feel when I see that familiar stretch of concrete or that smell I swear I will never forget. But my body knows before my brain does. My shoulders go up to my ears, my jaw locks, and some part of me goes very small and still.
“You're going to have to step aside. It’s very urgent, miss. We need to get him into the operating room straightaway.” The EMT pauses. “Are you his wife?”
I swallow. Shake my head. “We're just friends.”
The EMTs exchange a look I don't have the time or the energy to decipher as they race down the hall with Declan.
The waiting room doors open behind me, and Cavin is already there. I don’t know how he extricated himself from Ballyhock’s finest and got here so quickly, but the man has connections.
He takes one look at my face and pulls me in without a word, no questions, no careful distance, just his arms around me and his hand at the back of my head.
I press my face into his shoulder. Something in my chest cracks open, and I let it, just for a moment, just here where no one who matters can see.
I cry into Cavin’s shoulder until I’m spent.
“Shh. I know it’s scary. You did good calling me. Got in touch with Seamus,” he says quietly.
“They're bringing him into the operating room now.”
I let him go. He stands close, his brow furrowed in concern. His overprotectiveness might drive me mad, but I never knew I needed a brother like this before.
I don't know, I want to say. But I nod.
“You did the right thing.”
“Declan told the guards to stay, Cavin. God, I’m so glad they didn’t. If they hadn’t been there—”
“Aye,” Cavin says. “May have told them I'd rip their arms off and beat them to death with them if they let you go with anyone but me.” He says this the way Cavin says most things—completely matter-of-fact.
“Well, that's unnecessarily violent.”
“Effective though?” He smiles, then guides me toward the nearest chair and straightens. He looks at the floor for a moment and scratches his chin. “Should probably call his fiancée.”
I say nothing. There’s nothing to say. She’ll come, or she won’t, and either way, he’ll still be hers on paper, and I’ll still be sitting in this chair.
“Right,” says Cavin, as he turns and walks away. “I’ll check in and see what’s going on here. See if we got any leads.”
I’m sitting in the hospital chair when my phone vibrates with a text. I expect to see Erin or Bronwyn, or somebody checking on Declan—but I'm not even sure who knows yet.
I blink in surprise when I see it’s Dr. Rosenberg.
Dr. R
So sorry for the late hour, but I'm in a different time zone and I've only just had a chance to see these messages.
I thought you weren't going to be back in the office for a couple of weeks?
Dr. R
Haha I’m not. But when a McCarthy is asking something of me, nothing else matter.
I frown at the screen.
Which McCarthy reached out to you?
Dr. R:
Cavin and Declan. But it’s fine, Bridget. Tell me what’s going on.
I swallow the lump in my throat.
I’m really sorry to bother you.
Dr. R
Don't be. The McCarthys compensate me very well, I assure you. Now please tell me your symptoms. How are you feeling right now?
I’m nervous I'm having a flare-up. I’ve been nauseous. An emotional wreck. I'm vomiting a lot.
Dr. R
Are your breasts tender? Any trouble sleeping? Food aversions?
I answer yes to all three, my fingers moving faster than my thoughts.
He replies quickly.
Dr. R
Any unexplained bleeding or bruising?
Only a little but less than I'd expect with a flare, honestly
Dr. R
Any heightened sensitivity to smells? Fatigue beyond your usual baseline?
Yes, and yes.
A pause. Longer than his usual response time.
Dr. R
Your latest labs show no concern whatsoever meaning the chances of a potential flare-up are slim. When was the date of your last period?
I blink at the screen. Date of my last period? What does that have to do with anything?
April 29th
Dr. R
All right. This is not typically the way I like to diagnose anyone, but we could put a great many of your fears to rest with a very simple test. I want you to do something for me before we go any further. I want you to get a test from a pharmacy. A pregnancy test. Can you do that today?
I stare at the screen. I’ve been blinded. I’ve been so fucking blinded by fears of a relapse that I didn’t even see the obvious signs in front of my own face.
Pregnant?
I swallow hard. The memory of Declan surfaces immediately.
I’m on birth control though?
Dr. R
I know. Humor me.
I put my phone down and sit in the waiting room. Just sit until I shiver with cold and my fingers go numb.
I finally reply.
Yes. I will
Eventually, I look up the local pharmacies. They're all closed.
But I know this hospital like the back of my hand. I know exactly where the maternity unit is. I know which nurses work the night shift and which ones won't ask questions if a woman they recognize walks in looking like she needs something from the supply cupboard.
Now I'm the one sitting on a toilet in a hospital bathroom, the test balanced on the edge of the sink, staring at it like it might bite me.
The good news: I’m not flaring up. Like Dr. Rosenberg says, I’m fine.
The bad news: I’m pregnant with Declan McCarthy’s baby.