Page 42 of Fall of a Kingdom
“Aye, hen.”
We arrived at the hospital half an hour later. Cormac, the master distiller for the SINNERS distillery, was in the waiting room. He stood up when he saw us, his hand outstretched to Flynn. His hair was the color of burnished honey, and his blue eyes were somber.
“Barrett,” he greeted, brushing a kiss to my cheek.
“Any news?” Flynn asked.
“Maisie’s still in surgery. That’s all I know right now.”
“What about the baby?” I asked.
“A little girl,” Cormac said. “Healthy.”
I let out a sigh. “One piece of good news, then.”
“Nothing to do but wait,” Cormac said. “And hope Maisie makes it.
“So, we wait,” I repeated.
And pray.
“Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?” Cormac asked.
I shook my head. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
The three of us took our seats and fell silent. I grasped Flynn’s hand and he linked his fingers through mine.
“They don’t have any family,” Cormac said. “Both of them met in the system. Somehow, they made it out. Damn shame to have gone through that adversity and then have it come to this. In a hospital on Christmas Eve of all times, fighting for your life and losing the man you love.”
I leaned close to Flynn and whispered, “I’m going to the restroom.”
He nodded, squeezed my hand, and then let it go. I got up and walked out of the waiting room, searching for the loo. I found it and locked myself in. I doused my cheeks with some cool water, wanting to revive and refresh myself.
The dinner Ash’s personal chef had cooked for us sat like a lump in my belly as I reflected on life. I had Flynn. We were both healthy and safe. Our children were asleep, protected by our family. They would wake the following morning to cheer and presents, and love.
Donal was dead.
His wife… Their child…
I couldn’t stop thinking about what Maisie was about to wake up to, if she was lucky enough to live—raising their child on her own while grieving the loss of her husband.
Donal’s death was an earthquake to my soul. His life had been cut tragically short before he’d even gotten a chance to truly live, and I realized that Flynn and I had everything Donal would never have.
I needed Flynn to put his arms around me. I felt like I was being emotionally dragged over the coals right as I’d begun to heal. Then I wondered, did wounds ever truly heal? Or were we all destined to wear our scars, hoping to find the means to conceal them?
Flynn wasn’t in the waiting room when I returned, and neither was Cormac. I wandered around the hospital, walking aimlessly, reflecting on all the things hospitals made you think about. Birth, death, the life in between and the randomness of it all. God, and the general existential crisis that death brought about which always culminated in the general question ofwhat the hell was this all truly about?
I found Flynn standing outside the nursery, peering through the glass at the tiny infants swaddled in pink and blue blankets, resting in bassinets.
“Hey,” I said softly.
He lifted his arm and wrapped it around me, pulling me into his side. “We forget.”
“What do we forget?”
“How small babies are when they’re just born.”
“They grow so fast. You blink, and time just slips by.”
