Page 39 of Finn

“Okay.”

Una brought me some soup, helping me eat it since my arm was still taped to my body. The bullet had gone in below the shoulder on the left side. Another few inches either way, I would have been dead. As it was, it damaged some muscles and tissue and had been a bitch to get out. The stitches pulled every time I moved, and it felt as if my shoulder and chest were on fire.

“Your doctor will be here tomorrow to check on your progress. You’ll start physio in a few days,” she said quietly.

“Good. Then we can put this behind us.”

She didn’t reply. I reached for her hand with my good one, frowning at how cold hers was.

“Una,” I said, waiting until she met my eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what you went through.”

“You almost died trying to protect me. Two men died.” She shook her head. “That is exactly why I didn’t want to be in your world, Finn.”

“I know.”

“I swore I would never get involved with a syndicate man. I believed you when you said it was different.”

“It is—usually. That was an anomaly, not the norm. I swear to God it was. He was a drugged-up hothead and made a stupid decision.”

“And next time, he might not miss.”

“I will never allow anything to happen to you.”

She slid from the bed, shaking her head. “Not me. You, Finn. If you had died protecting me, I would never forgive myself. I refuse to be your vulnerability. To be used against you.”

“Don’t, Una. Don’t say it.”

She sighed. “We both know it, Finn. I can’t stay. I won’t leave you until you’re on your feet, but I can’t stay. I need to be what we were before my father died.”

“Strangers?” I snapped. “That is impossible.”

She smiled, even as tears glistened in her eyes. “Polite acquaintances.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You have to. And you will.”

“What makes you so sure?”

She paused, a tear rolling down her cheek. “Because I’m asking you to do that for me.”

And she left the room, the silence deafening in its stillness.

Because she was right.

The pilot announced that we would be landing, pulling my thoughts back from the past.

From one loss to potentially another.

I wasn’t sure how I would handle this one.

I had never gotten over the other.

* * *

All hospitals smelled the same. Medicinal. Underlying bleach fumes covering the stench of decaying walls and illness. I hated them with a passion.

And knowing what was waiting for us made it even worse.