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With the cuts on my fingers cleaned too now that chore was completed, I dosed myself up with a couple acetaminophen then gulped down some water. Heading out of the bedroom, I stormed into the hall toward Conor's office.
The door opened easily.
So easily that I nearly fell through the opening.
"You've already fallen for my brother, Savannah. You don't need to do it for me too," Conor declared from somewhere in the space—he wasn't seated at his usual desk.
I frowned as I tried to find him, and when I did and saw that he was squatting beneath a different desk, I demanded, "What are you doing?"
"Hardware problem."
"Has Aidan arrived at the cement factory?"
"No. He and Brennan are still in the car."
Relief filtered through me to the point that I almost sagged with it.
Maybe I did; maybe I staggered backward or something because Conor was out from under the desk in a heartbeat, and he was at my side the next.
"Do I still stink of fish?"
He stared at me, those dark eyes of his somehow seeing too much and not enough all at the same time.
"Why would you stink of fish?"
I twisted around at the new voice and frowned. "Paddy? What are you doing here?"
"He just arrived from upstate. He was with Ma."
There was a soft lilt in Conor's voice at that. One I didn't understand.
Brow furrowing, I whispered, "We were taken to a...a shed, I guess you'd call it. They gut fish there. That’s why I stink of it."
Paddy looked so much like his brother that it couldn't be good for Lena's heart to see him.
Well, he didn't have Aidan Sr.'s sharp edges. He was softer around the jaw, and he smiled more.
It was strange.
A smiling Aidan Sr.
Was hell freezing beneath our feet?
It was the first time I’d seen him since the funeral, and I assumed that, and the fact I’d hit my head harder than I realized, was the only reason I could think of for Paddy’s appearance freaking me out.
Paddy's brow puckered at my words. "Conor was telling me before his machine went on the fritz that someone dared take Aidan and you. I'm sorry, Savannah. You must have been terrified."
"I wasn’t scared." I straightened up. "I'm pissed."
His lips twitched. "You told me," he said to Conor.
"I did. You owe me fifty bucks." Conor sniffed me. "It's there, but not as bad as before."
He had the worst timing.
The need to release a sob hit me at his words, but I contained that motherfucker and embraced the nervous breakdown it’d likely trigger in a decade’s time because they'd made a bet on whether or not I'd lose my shit.
God damn them.
