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 dry her off quickly, efficiently, then help her dress. She's moving on autopilot now, the shock setting in. I grab my coat and keys, and we're out the door in under five minutes.
The drive to St. Vincent's feels like it takes a lifetime and no time at all. Erin sits rigid in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead, her hands twisted together in her lap so tightly I'm worried she'll break her own fingers.
“Breathe, love,” I murmur, reaching over to take one of her hands. “Just breathe.”
“I should have visited her yesterday. I was going to, but then we got caught up with the files, and I thought—I thought I had time.” Her voice cracks. “What if I don't get to say goodbye?”
“You'll get to say goodbye. Or better yet, you'll get to tell her to stop being dramatic and get well.”
She lets out a sound that's half laugh, half sob. “She is dramatic. Always has been. Mam says she got all the personality, and I got all the brains.”
“You've got plenty of personality, lass. Trust me.”
That makes her giggle, which feels like a huge win right now.
She squeezes my hand. “Will you come in with me?”
I squeeze her hand back. “Try and stop me.”
We pull up to the hospital, and I find a spot near the emergency entrance. Erin's out of the car before I've even turned off the engine, running toward the doors. I follow close behind, catching up to her in the lobby.
Her mother is there, looking a decade older than she did at our wedding. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her hair disheveled.
“Erin, thank god.” She pulls Erin into her arms. “She's stable for now, but the doctors want to talk to us. Your father's already in with them.”
Erin nods, swallowing hard. She glances back at me.
“Go,” I say quietly. “I'll be right here.”
She hesitates for just a second, then follows her mother down the corridor.
I sink into one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs and pull out my phone. Dr. Rosenberg answers on the second ring.
“McCarthy. Bit early for a social call.”
“I need a favor,” I say without preamble. “A big one.”
“I'm listening.”
“I’m told you know about aplastic anemia, and you’re renowned for the treatments you provide.”
“Aye,” he says hesitantly. “It’s my specialty.”
“Name your price.”
Another pause, longer this time. “This have anything to do with the Kavanagh girl?”
“Aye. And her sister is dying.”
“Ah.” I can hear the understanding in his voice. “I’ve got surgeries booked until… that’s a full month out, but let me see—”
“We don’t have a month.”
He sighs. “Right. Alright, let me see. I can… I’ll have to cancel the trip with my wife. You’ll have to pay for the divorce, McCarthy.” He laughs dryly.
“I’ll pay for an all-inclusive, anywhere in the world.”
“I may take you up on that. Alright. I can come to Ballyhock next weekend.”
“That’s bloody brilliant. Thank you.”
“Don't thank me yet. Sometimes things are too far gone, and even I can’t do anything to help. But I’ll do my best. In the meantime, have her on continuous transfusion support and keep her in isolation. No visitors except immediate family—her immune system can't fight off a cold right now, never mind something worse.”
“On it.”
I hang up and lean back in the chair, closing my eyes. The tribute deadline is in six days. I can’t pay before or after.
But when I think about Erin's face in the club, the way she looked when her mother called—
There's no choice at all.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Erin
When we walk in the room, Mam scowls at Cavin, and then at me. Turns out Cavin had a backup bag in the car with my signature uniform—yoga pants and an oversized jumper with “Cork City FC” on it. It’s Cavin’s.
“You’re a respectable member of the McCarthy family now,” my mother says. “Cavin, for Christ’s sake, you let her walk around like that.”
Cavin draws himself up to his full height. “That's my wife you're talking about. She married me for you lot, and she's beautiful in whatever she chooses to wear. Now, you'll bite your tongue about what she says and how she looks, or you'll find yourself not welcome in her presence. We clear on that?”
My mother stares, and her jaw drops a little bit.
“You wouldn’t dare—”
“Try me,” he says, hard. “I know what you’re going through is difficult, Mrs. Kavanagh.” His nostrils flare, and his knuckles turn white with the fist he’s holding. “But you’ll not be taking out your temper on Erin, never again, ma’am. Do you understand?”
She purses her lips at him and stares. “Fine. Wear whatever you want. I’m getting a cup of coffee.”
“Go then,” he says. “Text me before you come back in the room, will you?”
“Excuse me?” She turns on her heel.
“I'm with Erin. And you wind her up,” he says. “Unless you learn to treat her properly, you'll be needing my say-so before you're allowed near her again.”