Scythe & Sparrow (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #3)(37)
“Long story, Dr. Kane. Not an entirely interesting one either. Got some cocktail sticks lodged in there.”
“You’re sure that doesn’t make for an interesting tale?”
Matt huffs a laugh, and the fine hairs at the back of my neck raise. “Maybe for another day.”
Fionn hums a thoughtful note, and then there’s silence, I imagine as he’s pulling off the eye patch and examining the healing wound. “How long has it been since the injury?” he asks, despite knowing the answer.
“About three weeks.”
“And you’re still having pain?”
“Yes.”
My hand tightens around my blade. That one simple word is delivered like a lie. I could give him real fucking pain. Take the other eye and make him beg for mercy. Realistically, would I probably puke everywhere if I did? Yes. But it would be worth it.
“How’s the farm?” Fionn asks, pulling me out of thoughts of murder and chaos. “Wife and kids?”
“Same old, same old,” Matt replies, and there’s a hidden thread of darkness in the jovial tone of his words, as though he’s telling himself a clever joke. “How about yourself, anything new and exciting in the world of Dr. Fionn Kane?”
Fionn’s reply is delivered with clinical detachment when he says, “Nothing much to report.”
Matt chuckles. My guts churn at the sound. I don’t know whether to burst out of the shadows and slash Matt’s fuck-ugly throat or chase after Barbara to hide out in her trash panda den. “That’s not entirely true, is it? I understand you’ve got visitor staying with you. Someone not from around here. A woman with a broken leg.”
“Word certainly does get around among small towns, doesn’t it.”
“How’d she run into such a spell of trouble to wind up at your house?”
“Mr. Cranwell,” Fionn says on a sigh. “You know I’m not at liberty to discuss a patient with you.”
“I’m not asking about her condition. I’m asking about how she got there.”
“Considering she’s not here to answer for herself, I’m not about to detail her circumstances to someone she’s never met.” There’s a pause. I imagine Fionn giving him a stern look. I can picture with perfect clarity the way his eyes can turn as sharp as the cutting edge of a polished gem, so beautiful but still able to draw blood. “It wouldn’t be very professional of me, would it?”
“You’re right, you’re right,” Matt concedes, though his submission is not convincing. “I’m just looking out for you. Making sure you’re all right.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You just never know who you might be dealing with, that’s all. Outsiders can cause trouble.”
“No more so than ‘insiders.’ Isn’t that right?” I know Fionn well enough to know that I’ve never heard him sound like this. The words are simple, direct. They’re delivered with coolness, an eerie sense of calm. But beneath them is an undercurrent. A lethality. A warning to stay away. Or else.
I might not be able to see their faces, but the tension between the two men feels ready to ignite. A curtain of unease descends, thick enough that I’m sure I could cut it with the blade clutched in my hand.
“Your postoperative recovery seems to be going well. There are no signs of infection or swelling,” Fionn finally says. His voice is still cool, but it’s lost the deadly bite in the tone. “I’ll prescribe some tramadol for you.”
“No need, Dr. Kane,” Matt says. “I’d better stay alert. You know, busy time of year and all. I’ve got to stay vigilant. On my toes.”
Fionn says nothing. I imagine the deferential nod he probably gives Matt, the way he watches and considers and gives only what he needs to in a tense situation. He’ll be careful, calm. But he’ll be roiling under that detached exterior. I know there’s another side to him, buried beneath what he lets me see. And this time I can feel it, lingering in the air like musk.
I shift farther into the shadows when I hear footsteps, coming face-to-face with a photo of Fionn and two other men who have similar features. Dark hair. High cheekbones. Shining smiles. Blue eyes, each shade unique, the color of Fionn’s the lightest of them all. They link arms over one another’s shoulders. They’re his brothers in Boston, Rowan and Lachlan, whom he’s spoken of only briefly. I step closer to the photo as a set of curt goodbyes reaches me from the entrance. Even in a moment frozen in time, I can see the love and happiness that radiates from each of them. And Fionn has come all this way, chosen to separate himself from his brothers and his home, just for a chance to heal a broken heart. Maybe a chance to hide the side of himself he doesn’t want anyone to see.
What if I’m tearing his sanctuary apart?
The front door of the clinic closes and a moment later, Fionn returns. I realize before I exit his office that I recognize him by the cadence of his steps alone. He stops in front of me, and I try to smile. But guilt is starting to chew a little hole in my heart.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his brow furrowed, his eyes pinned to mine.
“Yeah. Are you?”
I don’t know what I expect him to say. But I know for sure that the last thing I expect is for him to wrap me in an embrace. His arms are tense around me. Protective and sheltering. I’m so surprised that it takes a moment for me to return the gesture. As soon as I do, his heart jumps a beat beneath my ear. A little of the tension in Fionn subsides, as though he didn’t realize how much he needed this too. Something about that aches in my chest. Maybe I tighten my grip around him just a little. Press my face to his chest a little harder. Close my eyes as I take in his scent, sage and citrus warmed by the sun. There’s maybe a hint of raccoon too, but I let that slide with a faint smile.