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“I’ll not be bartending, lass.”
Giggling, I shake my head at him. “No, you’ll just have to put up with waiting for a drink like everyone else and getting your order wrong.”
Niall’s face clears, and he looks distinctly amused. I don’t know how he manages it without a smile, but it looks good.
“I’ll be safe from that, lass. I’ve some errands to run fer Seamus fer a few days. Something other than bodyguarding. We’ll both be having a break.”
“Oh.” I shuffle my feet. “You’re leaving Boston?”
He’s only been back from Ireland for a few months, and now he’s leaving again? Right after he’s been on Tiggy-duty? That’s not fair. I never get to see him.
“I’ll be around, lass. Just busy.”
Oh. Okay. So it’ll be Tiggy-duty all over again. Maybe I should hole up in my apartment if I’m not going to see him anyway.
Niall holds the door for me, watching as I walk inside and up the stairs. When I peek out the window, his car is gone. Sighing, I let myself into my kitchen, dropping into one of the black leather seats and frowning at my hand, my fingers brushing over Niall's bandage.
Errands for Seamus Fitzpatrick. I shudder to think whatthatmeans. Probably Irish Reaper stuff. The point is that he is heading straight to wherever he needs to be….
Snatching my purse back up, I let myself out of the apartment, walking two blocks to the health clinic.
“What can we help you with?” the tired, bored-looking woman at the counter asks, her eyes trailing over me, landing on my hand as I hold it up.
“I cut it wicked deep. I think I might need stitches.”
“Have you been here before?”
“My dad was a patient last year.”
“Fill out this form, and bring it back. Hopefully, we’ll have you in to see the doctor in the next half hour.”
I take the clipboard and pen, perching on an uncomfortable, scratchy blue chair and filling in the details. I leave the insurance section blank. I can’t afford it, and the Irish mafia doesn’t exactly offer it as an employment benefit.
The woman at the counter takes it back, her eyes darting over my information. She presses her lips together at the blank insurance section but doesn’t say anything, waving me back to my seat.
I have a plan that doesn’t involve sitting at home wondering what awful things Niall is off doing. It involves making a lot of money. There is an event on tonight at Oracle. I amsonot missing out on those tips.
“Amelia Rogan?”
Standing, I follow the kindly, older doctor into his consulting room, taking a seat and extending my hand. He unwraps it, probing as he examines the deep cut.
“How did this happen?”
“I misjudged where the edge of the sink was and smashed the glass I was holding into the side of it.” I wince as he probes the deepest point.
He nods, turning to his desk and opening a drawer. “It’s mainly superficial. I’ll glue the worst parts and re-bandage it. You did a good job in getting the glass out. That can’t have been pleasant.”
“A…friend helped.”
“They must have had some experience in wound care. It was nice and clean.”
“Some.”
Nodding again, the doctor glues the worst of the cuts, handing me a prescription for painkillers.
The woman at the counter smiles tightly as she names the cost of this visit. Crap. That’s going to be most of my tips for tonight. I smile tightly back, handing over my credit card.
Leaving the clinic, I hop a bus back to Oracle. The painkillers have kicked in, and I can’t even feel my hand. It’s not even that bad. Niall was overreacting.
