The door is shut. Like I did back at the house, I pound as hard as I can on it, again and again.
Nothing.
Nothing.
A nurse rounds the corner in a fury and starts to yell at me. “Young man, you need to—”
And then the door cracks open.
Saoirse’s standing there—just a sliver of her visible—staring at me with an open mouth and a shocked expression on her face.
An angel.
A siren.
A dream I never want to wake from.
“Cillian,” she breathes. Her wild red hair sways in the draft of the air conditioner as if it’s alive.
The initial shock in her eyes fades.
In its place comes sheer fucking terror.
She glances back over her shoulder and then she pushes me back into the hallway. She shuts the door and turns to me with a wide, panicked gaze.
“What are you doing here?” she hisses urgently. “You have to leave, Cillian. Now.”
I’m still breathing hard from my sprint here.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
“Saoirse,” I pant, “I came to tell you something important.”
“Then tell me quickly.”
“I have to leave Ireland,” I blurt out. “And I don’t think I can ever come back.”
The sadness that washes over her face is all the proof I need.
She cares for me. As much as I care for her.
Maybe that’s the real reason I came. To prove to myself that what we feel for one another is real.
And that’s when I realize something else: I haven’t come here to say goodbye to Saoirse.
I’ve come to rescue her. Like I promised I would.
“Saoirse,” I say again—I can’t get enough of saying her name; it’s like a drug, like the sweetest drink I’ve ever known. I grab her hand. “Come with me.”
Her hand is limp in mine. Damn near lifeless.
“W… what?”
“I’m serious,” I say. Her eyes are mesmerizing, but I don’t have the luxury of getting lost in them right now. “Come with me. We can leave Ireland together. Make a fresh start somewhere else.”
She stares at me, unblinking.
For a long, drawn out moment, I actually believe she’s going to say yes.