Page 100 of Stolen Rival
“I’m coping.” There’s a smile in his voice like he’s trying to reassure her, or maybe me.
Before she can answer, a machine starts beeping. I turn to find the source of the obnoxious warning that’s piercing the night air. It’s the machine attached to the little cuff covering Patrick’s index finger.
“His pulse is dropping.” Molly practically throws the baby at Liam, who looks like he’s about to protest, but considering his brother’s life is on the line, he scowls and awkwardly clutches the baby to his chest instead.
“Shit.” Cillian and Molly swear at the same time. My gut clenches. I’m scared. Terrified. I can’t lose him.
Breathe.I squeeze my eyes closed, keeping my still-shaking fingers caressing Patrick’s face, more in an attempt to soothe myself than to bring the unconscious man any kind of peace.
The machine’s beeping gets louder, or maybe it just feels that way, like it’s punching out the final moments of Patrick’s life.
“We’re losing him.”
Chapter 47
SORCHA
“We’re losing him.”Molly doesn’t seem to be speaking to anyone in particular when she repeats herself, but my heart starts to shred at the edges. Eyes still scrunched closed, I turn so I can’t see what they’re doing and focus on my husband instead. “You can’t die, Patrick.” My whisper is the quietest part of the cacophony of chaos erupting behind me.
“Too much blood loss.”
“Can’t find the bleed.”
“More gauze.”
“Fuck, Patrick, don’t you die on my dining room table.” Cillian’s voice is laced with pain. It’s odd to hear him say Patrick’s full name instead of Ricky-boy which is what he called him at the rugby game. It’s like he only uses his forename when Patrick’s in big trouble. “Don’t do this to me.”
“Do you have a defibrillator?” Liam asks over my shoulder. No answer comes, but from the way Liam’s shoulders sag, the answer is no. If Patrick’s heart stops beating, there’s no way for them to restart it here.
With every sentence the doctors behind me say, mystrength ebbs. I pick up Patrick’s hand, then press my forehead to his. The pang in my chest is grief. It’s been my constant companion for weeks now, but this time, it’s not because of Patrick’s actions; it’s in case he dies, too.
My breath comes out in short gasps as I clutch Patrick’s hand, my head firm against his. “Fight, goddammit. Be the stubborn bastard you always are andfight.” I give a watery smile. “Then we can fight when you wake up.”
Someone’s hand brushes up and down on my upper arm. Liam’s given the baby to someone else, and he’s providing me with comfort, or perhaps he’s taking it, I’m not sure.
“Call an ambulance,” Liam barks at one of the bodyguards standing somberly in the doorway to the dining room.
“But—”
Liam puts his hand up. “We’ll deal with consequences when they happen. We’ll pay off the staff, or better yet, phone ahead and get some of our people on the ground before we get there. I don’t care how you make it work, just figure it out.”
Cillian’s voice pierces the panic, and my stomach dips, making my knees flex.
Did he just say no? Is Patrick not going to make it? Is he already…?
After what feels like the world’s longest pause, I risk looking over my shoulder at Cillian. His hands are soaked in blood, the visible part of his face is flushed and speckled with sweat and red dots.
“I’ve got it. Liam, get over here. I need to transfuse him.”
“I’ll do it.” I surge forward, but Cillian holds up a hand.
“What blood type are you?”
“I-I don’t know.”
“Then we can’t risk it. Liam is O positive, same as Patrick.” He beckons impatiently. “Liam. Now.”
Less than thirty seconds later, a blood-red tube snakes from Liam’s arm to Patrick’s. I dare to voice the question racing through my mind.
