Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
I stop.
He holds me there another moment, just to be sure, and then takes his hands away slowly, like he’s not entirely convinced I won’t try again. He straightens up and gives me a long, hard look. The kind that doesn’t come with words because it doesn’t need them.
I lie back against the pillow and try to remember how to breathe.
But I don't stay down. I get about halfway up before the pain in my shoulder registers, and I go back against the pillow whether I want to or not.
“She's here. She's in the building. She's down the hall with your parents, and she's grand. Would you breathe—”
“It was a trap.” The memory is coming back in pieces, jagged and wrong, and I'm trying to sort them into order but failing. “They were there for me, Cavin. It wasn't—she was just—she was in the way. She was only there because I—” I stop. My hand finds his arm without meaning to. “Tell me she's not hurt. Tell me again.”
“She's not hurt.” His voice is different when he says it. Slower. Deliberate. “You threw yourself on top of her, apparently. Like a sack of wet concrete, is how she described it.”
I press the heel of my hand against my eyes.
“She would say that,” I manage with a half smile.
“She did say that.” He pauses. “She also didn't leave. I want you to know that. We couldn't get her to leave.” He pauses. “I tried. And the lass soaked my fuckin’ shirt, crying, when we got here.”
I don't say anything to that I can't take back. We’re on thin fucking ground here.
“Aye. Thankfully, Bridget's guards didn't listen to you when you told them you could protect her because I threatened them with bodily harm if they left her. They came out immediately, and whoever went after you disappeared. No leads yet.” He pauses. “Apparently, a girl who spent most of her childhood in hospital has some connections and knows who to talk to. She's been at your bedside since you came out of surgery.”
I grin at that, and it pulls at something in my chest that isn't just the wound.
That's my girl.
“Got my phone?” I rasp.
“Right here.” He takes it from the bedside table and hands it over. I squint at the screen. Messages from Seamus, from Colm, from Lorcan.
“Seamus let Valentina know. She said to let her know how you were doing.” Cavin's voice is carefully neutral. He's better at that than most people give him credit for.
It's about as much as I expected. We barely know each other. Why would she care if I got shot? And yet, if she were injured, I'd be razing the city to find out who did it because that would be my duty.
“Think of anyone who might have a grievance?” Cavin says.
Something moves at the back of my mind. Torin's warning. Someone already here.
I shake my head. “I had Ashland's back when he went after Crowning. Maybe that. Maybe something else.”
Cavin nods slowly. “Someone find you out in Boston?”
I shake my head. “Don’t know.”
“We'll find out who it was.”
The bitch of it all is—I can't get married to Valentina fast enough. We need what they can give us. I try to convince myself it’s true.
The door opens, and there she is—in yesterday's clothes, red eyes, with the particular look of someone who has been holding themselves together by pure stubbornness for hours. Bridget stares. I give her a smile and open my one good arm for her to come to. Fuck it all if Cavin’s here or not. She’s still my friend, isn’t she?
She crosses the room and sits on the edge of the mattress, putting her face down against the blanket near my hand, like she just needs a moment when she doesn't have to hold anything up.
“Declan. You’re awake.”
“I’ll give you two some privacy,” Cavin says, rising, then his voice lowers. “Careful, brother.”
I nod, and he leaves.
“I was so scared,” she says, her voice muffled. I bring my good hand up and run it slowly through her hair.
“I'm alright. I'm too mean to let a gunshot wound keep me down.”
She lifts her head. Her eyes are red and swollen, and she looks utterly done in, yet she's the best thing I've ever seen. “Well, thank god for the guards coming out when they did.”
“Aye. First time in my life I’m glad someone didn’t listen to me. Bollocks. The most important thing is that you're alright.”
“I'm fine,” she says, but she clearly isn't, not even close. “But you—you were fucking bleeding like a stuck pig. What the fuck does that expression even mean?”
She shakes her head, a breath of a laugh escaping.
“Something about slaughtering pigs, I guess. That's a fucking horrible thing to say to an injured man.”
“Well, appropriate.” She frowns. “Not sure what Cavin makes of all this. I didn't do anything inappropriate—you were unconscious.”