Seamus Callahan lies motionless on the floor, face gray and eyes closed, his cane haphazardly at his side.
FIFTEEN
Killian
This isthe third time I’ve found myself at Brooklyn General in a matter of weeks, and I’m starting to grow resentful of it.
First it was Tom, burned and smoke damaged from the Banshee fire. Then Teagan, beaten within an inch of his life with a message carved into his chest. Now Seamus, collapsed on the floor of his own home while his family helplessly watched.
At least with Seamus, it seems like natural causes. Small comfort, but I’ll take what I can get.
The waiting room they’ve got us in is empty. Whether intentional or not, it’s hard to tell. Most in polite society know the Irish mob when they come into contact with us, and Seamus Callahan is knowneverywherein New York City.
I’m on my feet, pacing every other minute and checking the time.
Sean slouches in one of the plastic chairs and tries to light a cigarette.
“You can’t smoke in a hospital waiting room,” Chantal points out from where she’s seated.
Sean shoots her an irritated look. “Who made you the cigarette police?”
“How about common sense? Oh, and the six different ‘No Smoking’ signs on the walls.”
The redhead mutters under his breath and shoves his pack of cigarettes back into his pocket. “Somebody come find me when there’s news.”
He pushes himself out of the chair and stalks toward the exit, disappearing around the corner without a backward glance.
Oona snivels as if in answer. She’s been a wreck ever since we left Callahan House. A strange thing to see from a woman who usually runs the Callahan household with an iron fist. She keeps standing up and sitting back down, smoothing her skirt, then checking her wristwatch like she’s tempted to go bother the hospital staff again.
“How about some coffee?” Monique offers gently. “You look like you could use something to keep you preoccupied.”
“Coffee won’t take my mind off Mr. Callahan’s condition,” she snaps, then immediately cringes out of guilt. “I mean… yes, love. Coffee would be fine. Thank you.”
Chantal rises too. “I’ll come with you. Anyone else want anything?”
I shake my head without breaking my stride.
The three women disappear down the corridor.
That leaves just me and Jhene in the waiting room.
She’s sitting in one of the chairs near the window, her gaze fixed on the television mounted on the wall. Some old talk show rerun is playing, the host’s bright smile and canned laughter at odds with the grim atmosphere.
Jhene hasn’t said much since we left Callahan House. She seems uncomfortable, her shoulders hunched and expression guarded. A few frizzy curls have started to come down from the updo she wore her hair in tonight.
Probably feels like she doesn’t belong here. She’s intruding on a family moment that’s got nothing to do with her.
Technically, she’s right.
But she goes where I go, and I wasn’t about to leave her alone tonight.
I avoid any looks in her direction, though it’s not like it matters. She doesn’t try to catch my eye. We exist in the same space without acknowledging each other.
The tension from the party still hangs between us. Conflict that probably won’t be solved anytime soon.
The awkward silence is broken by footsteps in the corridor.
I turn to find Ronan, Lochlan, and Simone emerging from the direction of Seamus’s hospital room. Simone looks exhausted, her honeymoon glow gone.
