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My jaw clenched. “And you think I don’t?” I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t have come in here like that. This isn’t about him, it isn’t about me. This is Cass's life we’re talking about, and I will never apologize for going after her.”
“Nor should you.” Sloane sighed. “You two have always butted heads. It’s fine if you’re on the same page, but when you’re not…” she sighed. “It’s the piano all over again.”
The piano. That particular argument between the two of us was old, but right now it just reminded me of Cassidy. Of a certain late night in Maine, and lazy afternoons in the penthouse when I had played for her. I swallowed thickly against the lump in my throat.
“I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this, Sloane. I don’t know if it’s worth it anymore.”
She looked at me sadly and started to speak, but she was interrupted the next moment as Michael Quinn walked into the waiting room with Tommy at his side.
The former head of the McTiernan Clan, a man who was once feared and respected throughout South Boston, entered the room as if he wasn’t sure if he was in the right place. As if he wasn’t sure if he was welcome. Sloane immediately got up and swept him up in a hug, as was her way, but the expression on the man’s face didn’t change.
Regret and remorse. Emotions I understood all to well.
Michael cleared his throat. “Any word?”
“She’s still in surgery, it shouldn’t be too long now,” Sloane said.
And so I waited, staring at the cracks in the floor and wondering what came next.
Finally, Jerome emerged looking tired but satisfied, and I straightened in my chair expectantly as the doctor took a seat.
“They moved Cassidy up to a private recovery suite. Some big guy with a faux hawk got rid of the detectives, and there are two people posted up outside her room. The administrator agreed to let me act as attending,” he said, with a thankful nod to Sloane.
I wasn’t surprised. It helped when you had more money than god and your mother was on the hospital’s board of directors.
“How is she?” I asked hoarsely.
“She’s sedated, her vitals are strong and she’s resting comfortably. She lost a bit of blood, but we gave her a transfusion and she’s responding well.”
I felt the tension in his shoulders ease just a little, and I nodded at Jerome to continue.
“Her CT scan looks good, no sign of brain damage but we’re monitoring her closely. She sustained a significant amount of head trauma. A fractured skull and cheekbone, a bone deep laceration along her hairline. Severe concussion, but she regained consciousness long enough to answer some questions. Three broken ribs on her left side, two on her right, internal bruising but no bleeding, so that’s good. Numerous contusions and lacerations, they’re very clean. Looks like they were made with almost surgical precision, easy to stitch up and shouldn’t scar much.”
I listened to it all in stride, noting each injury with a tight nod and a calm face all while screaming internally.
“The worst of it really was her left arm.” Jerome said. “Hairline fractures to the ulna, torn ligaments, dislocated thumb. Severe fractures to three of the metacarpals, they’re the long bones in the hand. A partial de-gloving injury, from where the handcuff caught against the skin. She said the injury was self-inflicted to, uh, escape the handcuffs.”
The blood drained from my face, and my stomach lurched. Jerome continued.
“We’ve got an excellent orthopedic surgeon on staff here. He was able to reset her hand, installed several pins and two screws. There’ll be some severe scarring, but with physical therapy she should regain full use of her hand and might even be able to return to finish her residency.”
Jerome shifted uncomfortably. “There were, uh, several bite marks that were cleaned, and we administered a full-spectrum anti-biotic. I consulted with Dr. Claire Whitley, she’s the OB-GYN on staff here—she’s very good and has the utmost discretion—and if it’s okay with you I’ll bring her in to discuss the results of the rape kit.”
That word.
Just hearing that word sent my stomach plummeting.
I breathed out. I wasn’t a fool. I knew what might have happened in that room, but hearing it cut me to the core, nonetheless. Sloane sensed it and took my hand. Tommy radiated rage in the corner. Michael, on the other hand, continued to stare at the floor like a man dead to the world. A non-entity.
Be strong. Be strong for her.
Dr. Whitley was a slight woman with a kind face. A face used to touching on sensitive topics. After a brief introduction, she settled herself next to Jerome and folder her hands primly in her lap. “First of all, I’d like to ask how far in-depth you would like me to discuss Cassidy's results?”
“Just tell me. Everything,” I croaked. If she’d had to endure it, then I could stomach hearing about it.
She nodded. “Cassidy was lucid enough to answer some of my questions, which helped immensely. Even though she said her attacker didn’t penetrate her sexually, there was still clear evidence of abuse, so we ran the full rape kit just to be on the safe side.”
Her face tightened sympathetically. “There were several internal tears and contusions. She’ll have some minor spotting and pain, but I prescribed a topical corticosteroid, and I expect she’ll heal fully. There was no presence of semen—”
