22
CONNOR
The time it takes for me to return home with Saoirse feels interminable. I feel restless and agitated in the hospital, worried for my safety and hers even with the constant security provided by Jacob and my men, rotating out regularly so that it looks as if they’re just blending in with the rest of the people anxiously waiting in the hospital halls. I know it takes time to heal, and I want more than anything to be sure that Saoirse and our baby are safe before leaving. But being trapped in a hospital bed with nothing to do and no way to move forward other than to rest feels infuriating now more than ever.
It takes two weeks before I’m released. Saoirse is allowed out a few days sooner, and she spends all of that time at my bedside, just as she was there as often as they’d let her while she was admitted. There’s talk of the immediate problem, of course—but more often than not, we try to talk about other things. Our pasts, our future, and the things we hope for and want to do. We talk about traveling, our baby, and Saoirse’s plan for remodeling the estate. Simple things, ordinary things—and most of all, we try not to talk about Liam.
I know he’s back at the estate, with Anastasia on bed rest and Sofia there to help more than I would have strictly liked her to be. Still, Saoirse assures me she’s mostly stayed out of the way and hasn’t made waves. Liamhasn’tcome to see me in the hospital. I’d known better than to expect it; known that most likely he’s been advised by those he’s listening to not to come, but it still hurts, a sharp pain lodged in my chest every time I think of it that hurts nearly as much as my healing gunshot wound.
“I can’t believe you’ve gone all this time managing not to get shot,” Saoirse teases me the day that I’m finally cleared to go back to the estate, albeit with a warning to get plenty of rest and not push ‘things’ too hard—whatever that means. I won’t be in the boxing ring again for a while, that’s for sure, not until I’ve done plenty of physical therapy on my shoulder.
I snort. “I mean, I’ve had a few close calls in London, that’s for sure. I’ve been grazed a few times, but I’ve just gotten lucky. I guess it just ran out.”
“Let’s hope that luck holds out until you find out who’s responsible,” Saoirse mutters, as she helps me to the town car.
“Is Liam at home?” I ask her as we drive. “Or did you see him there before you left? Have you spoken to him at all?”
“I think he’s there,” she says carefully. “I haven’t spoken to him or even seen him, really. He’s made himself scarce, which isn’t that hard to do in a house of that size. Niall hasn’t been there at all,” she adds, anticipating my next question before I have a chance to ask it. “You know he saved my life, Connor,” Saoirse adds gently. “If he hadn’t pulled me away, I’d have been right next to that car when the bomb went off.”
“I know,” I tell her grudgingly. “And I’ll have to bloody thank him for it, which is the last fucking thing I want to do. But I’m glad you’re safe.”
“And you.” Saoirse threads her fingers through mine. “Are you up for talking to Liam? It’s not going to be an easy conversation.”
“No,” I agree. “But it has to be had, as soon as possible. It’s already been too long.”
The effort of getting up the steps and into the estate house is frustratingly slow, and I grit my teeth in irritation. I’m used to being able to move around quickly and easily—I’ve always been fit and active. I have to catch my breath when we get inside, Saoirse closing the heavy door behind us in the foyer, and as we walk down the hall towards the formal living room, we both stop in our tracks as we see Liam coming down the spiral staircase.
“Well, look at that,” I call out dryly as he turns to face us, his eyes widening in surprise. “Just who I wanted to see.”
“Connor—” Liam stands there, his face taut, suddenly tense, as if he’s trying to decide what to say. “You’re home.”
“Disappointed?” I give him a wry smile, and he swallows, shaking his head.
“No, I—” He presses his lips together. “I should have come to see you. Graham threatened me if I came within a hundred feet of your hospital room—as soon as I knew you weren’t dying, I thought it was better to wait. But I worried for days, I—” His jaw clenches, and I can see the small muscles twitching. “I thought I’d lost my brother.”
We stand there for a moment, looking at one another, the air between us heavy with the knowledge that we’ve been on the edge of that all along, anyway. “I have something I need to talk to you about,” I say finally. “Saoirse and I both. I know Anastasia isn’t able to handle much strain right now, but she should really be here for this conversation as well.”
Liam doesn’t move for a moment, as if he’s frozen to the spot. He looks stunned, and I take a deep breath.
“Brother,” I say calmly. “Please. We need to talk. And Anastasia shouldn’t hear this after you do.”
He nods, hesitating for a moment before turning to go up the stairs.
Saoirse helps me to the living room, making sure I’m settled on the couch before she goes to get the envelope that has the information Liam needs to know, no matter how little I’m looking forward to being the one to tell him.
He comes down a few minutes later, Anastasia looking tired and pale next to him. She sits down in one of the wing chairs, and Liam stands next to her, his entire frame tense as he looks at us with narrowed eyes.
“I’m glad you’re alive, Connor,” he says calmly. “I don’t want you dead, any more than you’ve said you want me to be so. But you can’t deny that things aren’t well between us, and I’ve been warned that you might think to—blame me for what happened. If that’s what this is about—”
“No,” I say quickly. “I don’t believe you would have had anything to do with it, Liam. That’s not what this is about.”
“Then what is it?”
Saoirse reaches for the envelope, handing it to me as I proffer it to Liam. He blanches as soon as he sees what it is, shaking his head. He rests his hand on Ana’s shoulder, his jaw tightening.
“We made a decision not to find out the results,” he says firmly. “It’s our choice, and we’ve decided what’s best for our family.”
“How did you get that, anyway?” Anastasia asks sharply, her voice thin and high. “That was tucked away—”