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“I’ve got it,leannán.”
“I’ll watch the club, Ronan. You get Fi to a doctor and drop her home,” Paddy says, nodding to Ronan. They share a look as Ronan tucks my purse under his armpit, guiding me out of the club with his hand on my lower back.
Unlocking his SUV, Ronan opens the front passenger door, lifting me by my waist and setting me in the seat. Normally, I would be bristling at such a macho move. But my hands are stinging, I’m feeling miserable, and for some reason, Ronan’s machoness is making me feel protected and taken care of. I can do everything myself, but I’m savoring the feeling at the moment.
Ronan doesn’t say anything as he buckles me into his SUV and drives me to the medical clinic. His eyes dart to my hands frequently, and he doesn’t let me open the car door when we pull into the health clinic's parking lot. He doesn’t let me touch anything at all. Opening all the doors for me and seating me carefully with my hands tucked harmlessly in my lap in the waiting room.
“Name?” the bored receptionist asks.
“Fiona Hilary Clatham,” Ronan replies, reciting my date of birth. Huh, he didn’t even need to look that up. That’s sweet.
“Medical issue?”
“Burned hands. Pepper powder.”
Her eyes dart to me, and she picks up a clipboard, holding it out to Ronan.
“Fill out this insurance information, and we can then have a doctor assess her.”
Ronan doesn’t take the form, and the woman blinks at him.
“We’ll be seeing Dr. Larsen, and we won’t be waiting.”
She raises her eyebrows, her free hand sweeping the full waiting room.
“We work on a triage basis. The first doctor who is free assesses who needs to be seen first. I think you’ll find -.”
“I think ye’ll find Dr. Larsen is more than happy to see us out of order,” Ronan interjects, handing over an eyewatering stack of cash. That money would pay my rent for the next six months!
“This is highly unusual.”
“Maybe ye should speak with Dr. Larsen directly.”
“Maybe I should.” Her lips compress, and she stares Ronan down as she lifts a phone from the desk, making her call.
“Dr. Larsen? It’s Mandy. There’s a man here trying to bribe me to send his girlfriend in to see you without insurance information or wait -” she stops speaking abruptly, her cheeks turning pink.
Ronan is eyeing her carefully, looking almost amused.
“Uh, your name… sir?”
He smirks, leaning on the reception counter. “Ronan Murphy.”
“It’s Ronan Murphy. He says… oh. O-of course.” Her cheeks are scarlet as she looks back up at Ronan. “Dr. Larsen will see you immediately.”
“I thought that might be the case,” Ronan drawls, crossing to me and helping me up, his hand closing around my elbow.
We walk through the swinging doors, and Ronan seems to know where he’s going, so I let him guide me, holding my arm firmly.
“Ah, Mr. Murphy.”
I smirk as the doctor greets Ronan. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him addressed as Mr. Murphy before. It doesn’t suit him.
“Doc. We need ye to sort Fiona here out.”
“Of course.” Dr. Larsen gestures for me to take a seat, and Ronan helps me sit, moving to lounge against the door. Dr. Larsen – a silver-haired man in his early fifties, bends over my hands, taking them in his.
“What happened?”
