32
1197 Words
She says casually, “Oh, only one in four people who have an IgA deficiency develop any health issues. It’s a silent condition that doesn’t cause any problems for most.”
I can’t be hearing this right. Didn’t she just tell me I had an incurable disease? “It doesn’t cause problems for most people?”
“Correct.”
“But if it does cause problems, I’m looking at stuff like…allergies?”
“Possibly, yes. Or more frequent colds, things like that. And, as in the case of your false-positive pregnancy test, it can interfere with certain blood tests.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
My voice rises. “So it’s not going to kill me?”
Nancy is shocked. “Goodness, no.”
Exasperated, I throw my hands in the air. “Do you think you could’ve started with that?”
“I’m sorry, I thought I did.”
“No, Nancy. No, you did not. You were all ‘incurable’ this and ‘genetic condition’ that. I thought I had cancer!”
“You don’t have cancer.” She pauses. “At least at the moment.”
“Okay, we really need to work on your bedside manner.”
“I’m simply trying to be medically accurate. At this moment, you don’t have cancer.”
“But if I did, it wouldn’t be caused by the IgA thing, right?”
“Right.”
When I don’t respond and only sit staring at her, she turns and quietly leaves the room.
I lie down on the bed, my central nervous system in overdrive. Between the brain bleed, the pregnancy scare, and Nancy’s inept delivery of the news about the IgA, I’ve got an excess of adrenaline flooding my system. Still, I somehow manage to fall asleep.
When I wake hours later, sunshine is streaming through the windows, and Declan is sitting in the chair beside my bed.
Staring at me with a strange, unwavering intensity.
Yawning, I prop myself up against the pillows and squint at him. “You okay?”
He makes a noise of disbelief and shakes his head.
“What?”
“You’re the one in the hospital bed, and you’re asking me if I’m okay.”
“Because you’re the one with a face like someone just told you your grandma died. What’s up?”
“It’s almost time for your next CT scan.”
“Nice try. What’s wrong, Declan?”
He closes his eyes and rests his head against the back of the chair. “Nothing’s wrong, lass.”
“Then why are you hiding from me?”
“I’m not hiding from you. I’m sitting three feet away.”
“Don’t be a jackass. You know what I’m saying.”
He sighs heavily. “I never know what you’re saying. All I hear is an awful noise that does my head in.”
Worried, I stare at him. Though he won’t admit it, I know something’s wrong. He seems different. Depressed. Not his usual hair-trigger-temper, rigged-to-explode self.
“How long have you been sitting there?”
“Dunno. A few hours.”
“Were you able to sleep at all?”
“No.”
“Do you want to switch?” When he cracks open an eye to look at me questioningly, I point to the bed. “I can take the chair for a while if you’d like to get some rest.”
He opens the other eye and lifts his head. Now I’ve got two icy blue orbs glaring at me with piercing animosity.
Bizarrely, that makes me feel better. I smile. “Ah, look. The charmer has returned. Is it hard, living with all those different mean personalities in one body? Must get tense in there. Like an overcrowded prison.”
“Why the bloody hell are you worried about me? I’m your kidnapper.”
He seems really invested in the answer, so I think about it for a moment while he busies himself with trying to burn my face off with his stare. “Hmm. It’s not because I like you, because we’ve already established I don’t.”
He reminds me scathingly, “The feeling is mutual.”
“Exactly. How could you like someone who looks like a camel and smells like regurgitated grass? Unless you’re one of those weirdos who are into animals. You know. Sexually.”
I send him a look that implies I wouldn’t put b********y past him. He sends me a look back that could liquefy steel.
“Listen, if it makes you feel better, let’s just say I worry about you because it’s in my best interest. If you die of a heart attack or take a bullet or whatever, what’s going to happen to me?”
Without missing a beat, he says sourly, “You’d take over my position, no doubt. Wouldn’t be hard, considering you’ve already recruited half my army to join your ranks.”
“Oh, come on. Kieran and Spider can’t be half your army.”
“No, but there are three more men posted outside that door who mysteriously joined your fan club in my absence. I’m sure it would be easy for you to convert the rest.”
“What do you mean?”
“Something about a moving little speech you made regarding Irish gangsters being better than Russian ones? And an emotional hug for Kieran?”
I say sheepishly, “Oh. That.”
“Aye. That. They found it quite captivating. They’re also impressed with how you’re handling the whole situation.”
“By situation, are you referring to my brain clot or you?”
“I’m not a situation.”
I laugh at that. “Believe me, gangster, you’re a situation with a capital S. You could turn Gandhi into a serial killer.”
He gazes at me for a moment, then his voice comes warm and low. “As could you, lass. As could you.”
“Look at us, finding so much in common. Pretty soon we’ll have something to talk about other than your inexplicable mood changes.”
A muscle flexes in his jaw. I can tell he’s fighting hard not to smile, and chide, “C’mon, show me those pearly whites. They’re literally the only good thing about your face.”
“God, I miss when you were asleep. It was so peaceful.”
“Hey, can we ask Kieran to do a food run for us? I asked Nancy to get me a protein smoothie, but she spaced.”
He says drily, “Does the infamous Tinker Bell charm not work on other women?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course it does. Nancy’s just freaked out that she’s going to do something wrong and you’ll kill her.” When he doesn’t respond to that, I add, “Could be the threat you made on the doctor’s life. Just guessing.”
One of Declan’s dark eyebrows forms into a dangerous-looking arch. “Did she tell you that or did he?”
“Pfft. Like I’d tell you. I don’t want to be the cause of any attacks on my medical team.”
- Writer
