Since Iris is unable to hold a phone herself, I’m tasked with typing everything she dictates. I knew Iris handled a lot, but I didn’t fully realize the depth of her job until she had me working through each task with her.
No wonder she isn’t happy. The number of emails she has to sift through in a given hour would drive anyone insane. Or maybe I’m just going crazy by sitting this close to her. The smell of her coconut soap is permanently ingrained into my memory as she sits flush against me, pointing at different emails with her uninjured hand.
I can tell her nerves grow stronger as we near the hospital. Her knees bounce up and down as she dictates message after message I need to send, altering my entire schedule for the day.
The work doesn’t stop there. After we check in, a nurse hands us a clipboard filled with pages of information that need to be filled out. Iris stares at it like it might catch on fire at any moment.
“Here.” I pass it to her.
Her eyes shift toward the exit. “Will you help me please? I can’t write like this.” Her voice drops to a barely audible whisper.
“Okay. Tell me your answers and I’ll write them down.”
Her throat bobs as she scans the first line. It takes her far longer than necessary to read the first question, so I busy myself with my phone.
“Do you mind reading the questions aloud for me? I’m too stressed to concentrate right now.” Her overcompensating smile irritates me.
“Are you sure? Some of the questions are probably personal.”
Don’t be a dick. Just do what she says.
“I don’t care.” The rigid way she sits in her chair says the complete opposite.
She seems to be one minute away from breaking down, so I concede. I sigh as I grab the pen and get started on the first question. The paperwork doesn’t take us as long as I anticipated, so Iris and I sit together in silence. She stares at the exit longingly. The way her eyes dart around the room as she gnaws on her bottom lip makes me feel merciful enough to save her from the anxiety eating her up inside.
“If it’s any consolation, I hate hospitals too.”
Her head swings toward the direction of my voice. “You do?”
I nod. “Haven’t been to one since I was younger.”
“Why?”
My chest heaves as I consider the potential consequence of admitting my reason. I keep my eyes focused on the soundless television playing in one corner. “We spent a lot of time in hospitals while my mom was sick. I grew to resent everything about them, even long after she passed.”
Her good hand clasps onto mine and gives it a squeeze. I’m grateful she understands me enough not to ask any follow-up questions. The idea of offering another raw part of myself feels like a betrayal to the years I’ve spent carefully developing a certain kind of persona.
“I hate them too.” Her voice cracks.
“Why?”
She stares down at her swollen hand. “My dad…” She pauses, and I give her hand a reassuring squeeze like she gave me. “Let’s just say my mom ended up in the ER a couple times for being clumsy.”
I take a deep breath to stave off the anger bubbling beneath the surface. “And did you have issues with being clumsy?” If she says yes, I swear to God two men will end up floating in the Chicago River tonight.
She shakes her head rather aggressively. “No. No.”
My rapid heart rate can be heard through my ears. “If you were, you can tell me.” While I can’t promise I won’t do anything about it, I can promise to make him hurt. A lot.
The overwhelming sense of protectiveness hits me hard, and I don’t shy away from it. There is nothing I hate more than men who use their fists against innocent women and children.
“It never got to that point. Nana made sure of it.”
“How?”
“She caught onto the signs and interfered before things got bad. Used her savings from my grandpa’s life insurance policy to help Mom get a divorce and start a new life.” A tear slips down her face, and I can’t stand the sight of it.
I brush it away with the pad of my thumb, but the damp trail still lingers. A driving force inside of me wants to erase the sad look on her face. “Did Nana’s plan also happen to include a jug of sulfuric acid?”
She forces out a laugh. “I think concrete shoes were more in style back then.”
I fake shudder. “Remind me to never make Nana angry.”
“Forget Nana. You’d have to deal with me.” She holds up her injured hand like a war trophy.
“I’m absolutely terrified.”
“Mrs. Kane?” a nurse calls out.
Iris doesn’t move at the sound of her name.
“That’s you.” I place my hand on her thigh and give it a squeeze.
She sucks in a deep breath as she stares down at my hand. Her chair nearly tumbles behind her as she bolts out of the seat, throwing her one good hand up in the air. “I’m here!”
The nurse leads us through the emergency room bay. Individual beds line the wall, each area divided by a paper curtain.
The empty bed meant for Iris is unacceptable. Between the person retching behind one partition and the individual on the other side hacking up their lung, I refuse to let her be seen here.
“I’d like my wife to be taken care of in a private suite,” I speak up.
The nurse grimaces as her gaze flicks across my body. “This is a hospital. Not the Ritz. Take a seat and wait for the doc like everyone else.”
Iris hops on the bed without any complaint, and I’m tempted to grab her and go elsewhere. The nurse doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by all the noise happening around us as she checks Iris’s vitals and asks some routine questions.
Iris answers each one while chewing her bottom lip raw. This atmosphere couldn’t put anyone at ease, least of all her.
The nurse hangs the clipboard at the foot of the bed, and I decide to try again.
“I’ll pay whatever it takes to have her seen somewhere quieter. Money is no object.”
The nurse only replies by shutting the paper curtain in my face.
Iris laughs while I stare at the curtain, dumbfounded to be treated like this.
“You find this funny?”
She nods, her eyes alight for the first time all day. “Did you see her face when you said money is no object? I think if she didn’t put the clipboard away, she would have slapped your face with it.”
“It’s not my fault she isn’t accustomed to how things are done in the real world.”
“Wake up, dear. You’re living in the real world.” She waves around our room.
“It’s terrifying.”
“Come here. I’ll make it better.” Iris pats the bed.
Doubtful, but I’m a glutton for giving her what she wants lately. Paper crinkles as I sit next to her. I take up most of the bed, giving her little room to get away from me. My thigh brushes against hers. She tries to scoot away, but there isn’t enough space.
“Isn’t this cozy?” she quips.
She eyes the IV bag with horror before checking out the exit.
“What’s wrong?”
She leans closer to me and whispers, “Is now a bad time to admit I pass out whenever someone tries to stick a needle in me?”
My lips lift at the corners. I don’t know why I find the idea hilarious, given her ability to watch eight consecutive hours of scary movies without so much as flinching. “You’re afraid of needles?”
She sputters. “No. I’m not afraid. It just happens to be a bodily reaction I can’t control.”
“That’s good then because the nurse needs to set you up with that IV when she comes back.”
“No! Don’t tell me that! I thought she was one of the good ones.”
I nod, pressing my lips together to prevent myself from laughing.
“She lied to me!” She bolts from the seat and would have tripped over her own heels if I didn’t reach out and catch her.
“Careful.” I place her back on the bed and decide to stand guard in case she gets any ideas to flee the scene.
Her eyes flit from me to the gap between two curtains, as if she is thinking how she can get past me.
“I’m joking.”
She scans my face for the truth before she slaps my shoulder with her good hand. “Asshole! I believed you!”
Laughter explodes out of me like a bomb, stunning her.
“Did you just laugh?”
“No.”
“Yes.” Someone calls out from the other side of the curtain. “Now, do you mind shutting up? Some of us are trying to get some sleep over here after having our stomach pumped.”
Fuck this place and the people in here. “We’re leaving.”
“Not so fast. You can’t leave before I check you out.” The doctor strolls in and points at the bed with his clipboard.
Iris remains tight-lipped as the doctor checks her chart. He asks her some questions about how she got hurt, all while staring me up and down like I’m the person she was trying to injure. She is taken away for a few scans, and my breathing doesn’t return to normal until the nurse brings her back.
That should be my first sign that things are getting out of hand on my end. I’m inching closer to an emotional minefield without any kind of map, only one wrong step away from exploding.
The doctor checks the scans. “It looks like you have a boxer’s fracture.”
Her face brightens. “That sounds badass.”
I glare at her. “Calm down, Muhammad Ali. I wouldn’t count today as a victory by any means.”
The doctor’s eyes lighten. “Next time, avoid any initial contact on the fourth and fifth knuckles.”
“Please don’t encourage her.”
The doctor shakes his head with a laugh before giving Iris a detailed set of instructions regarding the healing time. I’m skeptical about the whole visit and, given the setting, doubtful about the level of care. I’ll be damned if Iris sustains permanent injuries because of my father. My chest tightens at the idea.
“Great! Thanks, Doc!” She hops off the bed, but I hold my arm out, stopping her.
“I’d like a second opinion.” The command bursts out of me without any rhyme or reason. Deep down, I know a boxer’s fracture isn’t the worst thing that could have happened. But things aren’t right in my head where Iris is concerned. At least not anymore.
Both of the doctor’s eyebrows arch. “For a small fracture?”
“Don’t mind him. He tends to be a bit overbearing.” She shoots me a look as if I’m the crazy one out of the two of us.
“Okay…” the doctor says.
Maybe I am losing it because why else would I care?
You hate when she cries.
You wouldn’t mind murdering someone who hurt her.
You took her to the hospital even though you despise them with every fiber of your being.
The signs all point to one thing: our situation is quickly crumbling, and I’m the only one to blame.
Iris interrupts my thoughts. “I’ll be sure to wear the brace for a few weeks and avoid any kind of activities that could aggravate the injury.”
“Perfect. And don’t forget to schedule a follow-up visit with your physician.” The doctor gives me one last look before handing Iris the discharge paperwork. “Nice meeting you, Mrs. Kane.”
“Will you help me with this?” She holds out the clipboard with her left hand as the doctor leaves.
I huff as I grab it from her and fill it out.
She checks the time on her phone. “Well, at least that didn’t take as long as I thought it would. I’m sure you’re dying to get back to work.”
That’s the scary thing. I didn’t think about my job once during our entire time here because making sure she was taken care of was my only concern. I’ve spent the past fourteen years of my life thinking solely about work, and all it took was one woman to make me completely forget about my responsibilities for a few hours.
As if that doesn’t scare me enough, it only takes one glance at her makeshift brace to make my blood burn hot under my skin. I know exactly why her injury angers me more than anything else. It’s the same reason I feel an urge to push Cal away from her whenever he gets too close or the way I unexplainably need to see her whenever she is out of my sight for longer than a few hours.
You care about her.
Fuck.
The first stop after dropping Iris off at the office is my father’s townhouse. His assistant let me know he took the rest of the day off due to an “unforeseen illness,” so it’s not hard to pin him down.
I almost expect him to ignore me waiting at his front door, but I should have guessed that he is too prideful to look weak in front of me.
He opens the door, and I blink at the damage of his face. His nose is a mess of cartilage and bruising, and it feels like I’m looking in a mirror. I don’t need to reach out to touch the slight bump on my nose to remember it’s there. A bump he caused after a heavy punch and too much alcohol. My stomach rolls from the realization that I’m no better than him, lashing out with fists when provoked.
You won’t make the same mistake again. You can learn to be better.
Despite my reassuring words, I find it hard to battle the chilling realization.
“I doubt you came here to stare at your handiwork, so get on with it or get off my damn porch.”
“I came by to drop something off.” I slap a thick file against his chest.
I have one for every person in my life. Secrets are as good as any currency, and I happen to be filthy fucking rich, all thanks to the private investigator I have on retainer.
He opens the file before shutting it not a minute later. “I see.”
“Take your time and have a good look. I’m particularly fond of the reports from previous teachers going into detail about your abuse, although the hidden hospital visits for broken bones are particularly compelling. There’s a USB attached to the back that includes some videos of our more public altercations as well, just in case you want some visual context of what’s coming if you mess with Iris ever again.”
“Why are you showing me this? Why not go out and share it with everyone so you can take over my position?”
I release a bitter laugh. “Because I don’t need to resort to your level to steal your position, but I’m willing to do so if you ever pull a stunt like today ever again.”
“You would ruin our family’s reputation for her?”
“We aren’t family. You made sure of that the moment you told my wife to get her tubes tied, you fucking monster.” My hands clench by my side, but I hold back from throwing another punch. I’d rather use words as a weapon than my fists.
“I’m trying to save you the mistake of having a child with someone purely for an inheritance. You should be thanking me.”
Deep breaths, Declan. Deep fucking breaths.
“If I catch you talking to Iris again, whether about business or not, I’ll release this to the public. No questions asked. No second chances. I don’t care if you need to use a damn smoke signal to get in contact with me, so long as you leave my wife out of it.”
“You’d publish this even if it makes you look weak?”
“That’s the thing, Father. I spent plenty of years thinking I was pathetic because I couldn’t fight you back, but I eventually realized the only weak man here is the one staring right at me. In one way, I guess I’m glad Mom is dead because at least she doesn’t have to face the disgusting excuse of a human you’ve become.” I turn, feeling his burning gaze following me all the way back to my car.
