Page 101 of Stolen Rival
“Is he…? Is he…?” I can’t get the words out.
“He’s going to be okay.” Cillian answers my half-finished question.
A cry bursts from my chest. Liam squeezes my upper arm. And the baby starts screaming.
“Everyone out.” Liam’s voice is gravelly, rough with emotion. I’m sure they almost lose each other all the time. It’s the nature of what they do, part of their lifestyle, but there was no masking Liam’s panic and fear, nor the relief threaded through his voice.
“Liam, sit down,” Molly says. “We’re going to have to take a couple of pints, and you’ll feel weak. I don’t want another patient on my hands. One Mahoney is enough to contend with. We might not survive two.”
Liam drags over a chair and sits, holding his arm down at his side, the vein bulging slightly under the tourniquet. No flinching. No twitching. Just steady, silent bloodletting—because his brother needs it.
Mahoneys bleed for each other without question or hesitation.
A shiver slithers up my spine. I’m glad Andrew is dead because if he wasn’t, and Patrick doesn’t make it, Liam and Darragh would scorch the fucking earth.
It’s another twenty minutes before both doctors are done, cleaned up, and Molly has taken the baby back upstairs. I’ll need to send her a gift. Cillian, too. Something huge, like a weekend away at a five-star spa hotel to say thank you for what they did tonight. They must both be sleep deprived with the new baby, yet still they kickedarse in their dining room when I showed up with a man with holes in his body.
Cillian pulls me into a hug, pressing a quick kiss on my cheek. “It’s fine, Sorcha. He’s good. It’ll take him a while to recover, but he’ll be back to his bad-tempered, grouchy self soon enough.”
I nod, not sure whether he’s telling me that so I keep my shit together or if Patrick really will be okay. Liam’s blood is still trickling into Patrick’s veins, and his color is coming back.
“He’ll need monitoring, and he’ll have a couple more gnarly scars to add to his collection, plus he’ll need some antibiotics because my dining room is far from a sterile space.” He squeezes me again. “But he’ll live.” He pauses. “Tea?”
I can’t help laughing. It’s one of the stereotypes about the Irish that is actually factual. In all situations, emergency or celebration, the kettle goes on for a cup of tea.
“I could murder a cuppa.” Patrick’s groggy voice is music to my ears, making another wave of tears rush to my eyes.
“I could murder you, Patrick Mahoney.” I force the words out around the ball still lodged in my throat.
“That’s more like my wife.” He tries to lift his arm, but fails, then slow blinks like he’s about to fall asleep. After a couple of seconds, he glances at Cillian. “How am I doing, Doc?”
Cillian pats Patrick’s shoulder. “You’ll live. Got a bit messy there for a sec, but I should’ve known you’re too stubborn to fucking die.”
Patrick grins. “You should see the other guy.”
It takes a full three hours for the fluids, pain relief, antibiotics, and extra blood products to drip into Patrick’s bloodstream, but as the sun rises, Cillian disconnects the tubes. I don’t know if Liam asks Cillian to leave, or they both decide togive me space, but after a moment, it’s just me and the spaced-out man who almost gave me a heart attack.
“Are you okay?” His bleary eyes blink quickly, as though he’s trying to get his vision to focus.
I run my fingers through his hair. “Me? You’re worried about me?”
He nods. “Did he hurt you?” He reaches for my cheek, exploring my still-swollen face.
“The ketamine trip wasn’t fun.” I wet my lips, my tongue getting momentarily stuck on the split. “Nor was his backhand. But I came out of it all in better shape than you did.”
“I wish I could kill him all over again.”
I squeeze his hand. “You did good, Patrick. You saved me.”
He shakes his head. “You savedme,mo mhuirnín.”
A bubble of laughter pops out of me. “You have holes in you. You’re hardly saved.”
His palm cups my face. “You saved me from myself.”
“That’s the drugs talking. The Mighty Mahoney is medicated and talking shite.”
He shakes his head again, slower this time. “We’re going to make a great team,mo mhuirnín. You and me. Mark my words.”
