I’ve never seen a man look so hungry.
Or so at war with himself.
The scan shows improvement of the blood clot, which makes Dr. Callahan glow with relief. I’m taken back to my room and given a meal of Jell-O, applesauce, and white rice. I tell the nurse’s assistant who brings it that I still have my teeth and my colon and ask her to take the tray away.
Then I wait for Declan to return.
He never does.
For the rest of that day, I’m left alone with only the occasional visit from Nancy checking my vitals to keep me company. I try to distract myself from thoughts of Declan by reading, napping, and watching TV, but nothing helps. He’s installed himself inside my head like a tumor.
The next morning, there’s another CT scan. The results are so good, the doctor says I can go home.
Home. Like I know where that is anymore. My apartment in Tahoe? In New York City with Natalie? At Declan’s impersonal bachelor pad?
He kidnapped me and cut me off from my life, leaving me drifting aimlessly in an inflatable raft with no paddles. I don’t feel like myself anymore. I have a curious sense that all it would take is one big wave to come crashing over me, and I’ll sink.
When I’m released from the hospital that evening, it’s Kieran who drives me. I ask where his boss is, but all I get is a shrug.
Something about that shrug unsettles me. The feeling grows stronger as we take a turn off the highway and start to drive in the opposite direction from where Declan lives in the city center.
Looking at the suburbs passing by, I say, “Where are we going?”
When he answers, his voice is grim. “Yer bein’ picked up by yer mate.”
I turn to him, heart pounding. “My mate? You mean Natalie? What’s happening?”
“Yer goin’ home, lass. That’s all I know.”
I stare at his tense profile, feeling like someone pulled a rug out from under me. “So Declan’s making you take out the trash, huh? You’re the lucky one who gets to clean up the mess he made?”
He glances at me and says gently, “Don’t be sore. I could tell he wasn’t happy about it.”
“Wasn’t happy? Well, god forbid the grand pooh-bah isn’t happy. Is that even a thing that ever happens, him being happy? I thought resting bitch face was the default mode for his entire personality!”
I realize my voice is too high. I also realize I’m shaking.
I’m so angry, I’m about to explode.
I’m being discarded. Without so much as a goodbye, Declan is discarding me.
Kieran wisely remains silent. For the next thirty minutes, I seethe next to him in the passenger seat as we drive farther on, out of the suburbs and into the country, until finally we pull to a stop off the side of a dirt road.
Kieran puts the SUV into Park but leaves the engine running. Without a word, he gets out and goes around to the back. He opens the rear door, removes several bags, slams the door shut, and walks down the dark road.
As soon as he’s out of range of the headlights, another pair of headlights turn on a few hundred feet away. I now see we’ve parked on one side of a wooden bridge that connects the dirt road. A stream runs beneath the bridge. A car waits on the other side.
My hand tightens around the door handle. My heart throbs like a jungle drum inside my chest.
Kieran returns. He settles himself into the driver’s seat. Without looking at me, he says, “Off you go.”
“What was in those bags?”
“Yer clothes.”
The clothes Declan bought me, he means. The clothes I asked him for, he bought me, and I barely got to wear before I went into the hospital.
I can’t imagine why he bothered.
My voice heated, I say, “I want you to tell him something for me. Tell him—”
“You can tell him yerself,” Kieran says quietly, nodding at my window.
When I look over, I see a figure materialize out of the shadows of the trees lining the road. The figure is tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing a black suit. A lit cigarette burns orange against the night, glowing brighter when the figure lifts it to his lips for a drag.
It’s Declan. Without even being able to see his face, I know it’s him.
What is this feeling?
Don’t name it. Don’t you dare.
I open the door and hop out. Before I close it, I say, “It was nice knowing you, Kieran. Thank you for taking care of me. Tell Spider I said goodbye. I hope you both have a good life.”
He looks at me and smiles. He says something in Gaelic that I choose to believe is a farewell.
I close the door and walk toward Declan. When I’m a few feet away, I stop. Neither one of us speaks for a moment. Then I say, “I didn’t know you smoke.”
“I quit a while ago. I’ve recently taken it up again.” His voice is quiet. Steady. As unreadable as his eyes.
“So this is goodbye.”
He takes a long drag on his cigarette. “Aye.”
“Great. I can’t wait to never see you again.”
Smoke billows out his nostrils like a dragon. He gazes at me, silent, cool as a cat.
I hate cats.
“Okay. Good talk, as always, gangster. I guess I’ll see you around.”
When I turn to leave, he says, “Wait.”
He moves closer. Pulling a cell phone from his coat pocket, he says gruffly, “Here.”
“What’s this?”
“A cell phone.”
“You have no idea how much I’d like to put out that cigarette on your eyeball.”
“Your cell phone, lass. The one I gave you that has my number programmed in.”
I take it from him, suddenly unsure. “Why are you giving this to me?”
There’s an odd pause. He glances away. “You never know when you might need to hurl scathing insults at someone. Might as well be me. Considering you’re so good at it.”
I peer at him through the shadows. There’s something strange in his voice. Something that’s making my heart trip all over itself.
“Who’s waiting for me on the other side of that bridge, Declan?”
He smokes. Tilts his head back and blows perfect smoke rings into the air. His silence is infuriating.
“Answer me, dammit.”
As if on cue, the driver’s door of the other car opens. Someone gets out and lifts a hand over their eyes, shading it from the SUV’s headlights, and I’m introduced for the second time in five minutes to a skill I never knew I had: identifying people solely by their silhouette.
“Stavros?” I whisper in horror. I whirl on Declan and demand, “You called Stavros to pick me up? Isn’t he your enemy?”
Gazing at me with those unreadable eyes, he says, “The word has gained a new flexibility for me of late. And who better than the father of your child to rescue you from the nightmare you’ve been living?”
The father of your child.
Oh my god. He left the hospital without talking to the doctor about my other test results. He doesn’t know about the IgA.
He doesn’t know I’m not pregnant.
I can’t recall the last time I was this angry. Honestly, I think I never have been.
I step toward him, shaking all over. “You arrogant, idiotic man. You think you know what’s best for everyone, but you don’t even know what’s best for yourself.”