Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
I kiss his cheek. “Shh. Put it down now. It’s over.”
The pain medication is in his nightstand. I grab water from the bathroom and shake out pills for both of us.
“Here.”
We swallow them, then collapse back onto the bed. The sheets are ruined with blood, but neither of us cares.
He pulls me against his chest, careful of our injuries, and his arm comes around me. I rest my head on his chest, on the one spot that doesn't seem to hurt.
“Cavin.”
“Hmm?”
“I love you. And I'm sorry. So fucking sorry for everything that happened. For my father, the debt—”
“Stop.” His hand comes up, his fingers threading through my damp hair. “You've shown loyalty to me and to my family. You've nothing to apologize for.”
“He used me,” I say, my voice shaking. “Here I was, thinking my mam was the villain.”
“He did use you, and your father made his choices. He'll answer for them.”
I sigh.
“Your father will be leaving Dublin for good.”
The words should hurt more than they do, but all I feel is relief, and then… shame for feeling relieved.
“Where?”
“Don't know. And he won't get to tell you.” His thumb brushes my cheekbone. “He won't get to hurt you again.”
“Cavin—”
“Sleep, love. We've got a long day tomorrow.”
Tomorrow, we meet with Dr. Rosenberg at St. Vincent’s.
Morning comes too soon, gray light filtering through the windows of Ballyhock. I'm moving like I'm fucking ninety years old. Everything hurts.
“I've arranged something,” Cavin says over a cup of tea. “For Bridget.”
“What's that?”
“Dr. Rosenberg’s waiting to see us at St. Vincent’s, with Bridget.”
“Is she okay?”
“She’s grand, but the hospital is a better place for her to see him.”
“Right.” I squeeze his hand. “Thank you.”
We take Cavin's car to St. Vincent's. Every bump in the road is agony, and the pain meds barely touch it, but neither of us complains. It's worse for him than for me.
The hospital is busy—morning rounds, visiting hours just starting. A nurse directs us to a private room where Bridget's been moved.
There, standing beside her bed, is Dr. Rosenberg.
“Miss Kavanagh—ah, excuse me,” he says with a smile. “Mrs. McCarthy. Pleased to see you again.” He takes a look at Cavin. “Seems like you may need some medical attention as well.”
“I'm fine.”
“Hmm. You sure about that?”
“He's not, sir,” I say. “But I think he'll listen to reason after you see my sister.”
Cavin's hand squeezes mine. It hurts, but I welcome it.
“Take care of Bridget,” Cavin says. “Please.”
Dr. Rosenberg studies him for a moment. “Very well. Family first. I respect that.”
Bridget looks worse than I remembered. Her skin's got that translucent quality, with purple shadows under her eyes. But when she sees me, she smiles.
“Erin.”
“Hey, Bridget.” I cross to her, take her hand. It feels so small, so fragile. “How are you feeling, love?”
“Like shite,” she says weakly. “But better now that you're here. Christ, what happened to you two?”
“Oh, it's a fucking long story,” Cavin says. “Bridget, meet Dr. Rosenberg.”
The doctor clears his throat and smiles kindly. “Pleased to meet you. I specialize in cases like yours. Your sister's gone to considerable trouble to arrange this consultation, and I'm here to help. If you'll permit me, I'd like to review your case and determine the best course of treatment.”
Bridget's eyes widen. “You’re the doctor from Glasgow?”
“The same.” He pulls up a chair beside her bed, then opens a tablet. “Now then, let's see what we're up against, shall we?”
I watch from the corner as Dr. Rosenberg starts his examination, asking questions in that calm, clinical voice. Bridget answers as best she can, though she's clearly exhausted.
“I’m sorry about all the… drama,” I say to the doctor.
He waves a hand. “Been friends with the McCarthys for years. I know how things go.”
I nod. “If there’s anything I can do—”
The doctor smiles up at me. “As a matter of fact, there is.”
I wait expectantly as he tips his head at me. “I hear you knit these bulletproof hats…”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Cavin
Erin hasn't left her sister's side. She's holding Bridget's hand like it's the only thing anchoring her to earth.
“The disease is aggressive,” Dr. Rosenberg says after reviewing her charts.
“Can you help her?” Erin's voice is small. Desperate.
He looks up and smiles. “Oh, yes. I believe I can.”
The relief on Erin's face nearly breaks me.
“It won't be easy,” he continues. “The treatment I'm proposing is experimental. Aggressive. We have a long road ahead of us, and it will make her feel worse before she feels better. But the success rate for cases like hers is encouraging. Approximately seventy percent achieve full remission.”
“Seventy percent…” Bridget breathes.
“Those are good odds, given where we're starting.” Dr. Rosenberg closes his tablet. “I'll need to run additional tests today. Bloodwork and the like. Then we can begin treatment tomorrow, if you're willing.”
“I'm willing,” Bridget says immediately.
“Eager, good.” Dr. Rosenberg stands and winks at her. “That fighting spirit will serve you well. Now, let me coordinate with the hospital staff. I'll need specific equipment brought in.” He pauses at the door. “Oh, and Mr. McCarthy?”