Scythe & Sparrow: Chapter 17

Rose

I’m sitting in the chairs that line the corridor outside the orthopedic clinic within the hospital, waiting for Fionn. We haven’t talked about this day. Not aside from my immediate appointment, at least. We haven’t discussed me calling José, or going back to Dorothy, or how I should be getting ready to pull up stakes and leave for someplace new.

It’s as though the aftermath won’t exist if we don’t talk about it. And I want to. I’m desperate to test those waters, but I’m unsure what will happen if I do. At first, I thought it was just me who was avoiding the topic of my departure. But Fionn doesn’t bring it up either, and though my first instinct was that he didn’t want to be impolite and kick me out, I’m not sure that’s it.

Ever since we returned from Boston a few days ago, we’ve mutually gone back to our friends-with-benefits rules. Just like slipping into a familiar costume. But it feels like that suit doesn’t fit like it should. When we had sex in the shower the other day, we both paused in the hallway when we left the bathroom as though trying to figure out how to go our separate ways. It’s suddenly unnatural to sleep without Fionn’s heart beating beneath my ear. And when we fucked on the kitchen table, it didn’t feel like fucking. Not with the way Fionn trailed a path of lingering kisses up my neck and across my jaw. Onto my cheek. At the corner of my mouth. That was the kiss that lasted the longest. I fought myself to not turn into it. And I think he did too. It felt like he wanted to take everything.

It felt like making love.

Ever since that realization, anxiety has churned in my belly, winding ever tighter, threatening to unleash confessions that I’ll never be able to put back. I think I won’t be able to keep them locked down for much longer. And my tarot deck isn’t much help either. I shuffle. I draw cards. I read their meaning and decide I don’t like it. So I try again. But every time, the result is the same. Cards like the Moon. Or the Fool. The Ten of Wands. Every time I draw cards, the messages come back the same. Uncertainty. Fear. A decision that looms ahead, and one I feel ill-prepared to make.

“Christ, Gransie,” I say as I slide the Moon back into the deck a second time. “I already know I don’t know. Thanks for reminding me.”

“Good things not in your future?”

My heart seizes beneath my bones.

I look up. Matt Cranwell stands in front of me, a small bouquet of flowers clutched in one hand, a slow grin creeping across his face.

“Maybe that’s true. Good things probably aren’t,” he says as he leans closer, pinning me with his single eye. The other is hidden by a black patch, the strap biting into his skin. “Especially seeing as how Eric Donovan’s truck was just pulled from the Platte River.”

Ice crystallizes beneath my skin. I try not to look away, or let my skin flush, but how do you control your body when it begs to release your secrets to the world? I’m not a sociopath. I’m not cold and remote, emotionless about the world around me. I harbor anger. I want vengeance.

And I feel fear.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No? You haven’t heard the news?” Cranwell takes a seat one down from mine, tapping his knee as he gives a thoughtful nod. “It seems poor Mr. Donovan’s truck went ass-over-teakettle into the river,” he says on the heels of a deep sigh. “They’re still lookin’ for his body. I’m sure something will turn up soon.”

“Perhaps he’s gone on a mission to spread the word of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ to faraway lands,” I say, crossing myself, though I have no idea if I’m even doing it right. “But if he found himself pissed drunk and died in a moment of stupidity, may he rest in peace. I bet he was a fine, upstanding citizen. Amen.”

Matt chuckles. “Now, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about the latter, would ya?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“The dyin’ part. See, I had someone attack me not long ago. Just out of the blue.” He smacks his fist against his palm, the flowers rustling in his fist. “Bam. Just like that. But I hit her back.”

“I bet you have practice at that.”

Matt’s eyes darken. “And you know what that little bitch did?” he says, his voice filled with gravel and wrath. “She took my eye.” He stares me down, his finger pointed to the patch over his missing globe.

“Why are you here?” I demand. Slowly, Matt lowers his hand, tilting his head. “Just to tell me about some guy’s truck? Or maybe you want to spread the word about how you got your ass handed to you by a phantom woman?”

“I’m visitin’ my wife,” he says. “She’ll be here a few days.”

Rage narrows my vision to a pinprick, the world around us falling away. “Guess she didn’t have good things in her future either.” My gaze falls to the bouquet in his hand. “Chrysanthemums? Really …?”

He glances down at the flowers. “What’s wrong with them?” he asks, but it’s obvious by his tone that he doesn’t really care what answer I give.

“It’s a funeral flower, you eggheaded dumbass. It represents death.”

“Hmpf.” He gives them a cursory glance, then throws the bouquet at the wall so it drops into the bin beneath. Some of the petals float free with the impact, drifting to the floor. He looks at me and smiles. “Guess I’ll just have to go empty-handed.”

“Why is she here?” I demand.

“Damndest thing,” he replies, breaking his gaze away to look across the aisle at the flyers pinned to a bulletin board above the waiting room chairs. “Have trouble sleeping?” “Know the signs of stress!” “Physical activity and you.” Matt chuckles as though he’s looking at his own set of tarot cards, divining their secret meaning and finding it fitting. “She just tripped and fell. A stroke of bad luck. Maybe the same as Eric Donovan.”

“I still don’t know who you mean.”

Matt turns to face me. His gaze pins to mine, unblinking. “That’s funny. Because—”

“Rose Evans?” Nurse Naomi leans over the threshold of the door to the orthopedic ward. I give her a nod. She looks so different from the last time I saw her. Her hair is shorter, darker. Her skin brighter, like she’s glowing from inside. There’s a confidence in the set of her shoulders that wasn’t there before. Her eyes flick to Matt and back to me. “We’re ready for you.”

Naomi doesn’t let me out of her sight as I stand. I try not to let my sweating hands tremble as they clutch the grips of my crutches. She gives me the barest hint of a smile. I give her a nod in reply.

“Say,” Matt says behind me, “how did you break your leg, anyway?”

I turn just enough to give him one eye over my shoulder. “Tripped and fell, I guess. Just a stroke of bad luck.”

I refocus on my destination, and I don’t turn back.

I swing my way through the door that Naomi holds open for me. When I’m past the threshold, she lets it close, but gives Matt a final hard look through the thick glass before she returns to my side. “Hey,” she says, laying a hand on my arm. “You okay?”

“Yeah, are you?”

I worry that she’ll say no. That she’ll break down with guilt. That the news Matt just relayed about Eric’s truck will find its way to her eyes. But the only thing I see there is relief. “I’m doing really well. Thank you.”

I give her an unsure smile as we start walking down the hall. “I didn’t do anything.”

“No,” she says, as though she won’t accept an argument. “You did everything.” Naomi’s steps slow. We stop in front of an exam room. When she turns to face me, there are tears in her eyes. “I really mean it. Thank you. What you did for me was life-changing.” She shakes her head and runs a gentle hand down my arm. “And if some rando shithead gives you trouble …”

“I can handle him. But maybe you can look in on his wife? Lucy Cranwell. She’s here, somewhere.”

Naomi smiles and nods. Her eyes light with purpose. “Yeah. I can definitely do that.” She nods to the open door. “This is you, Sparrow.” With a brief hug, Naomi leaves me to enter the exam room. I watch as she walks away, her steps sure.

It’s not until she’s gone that a long breath leaves my lungs. The next inhalation is an unsteady one. My heart is beating too fast, as though I’m already running.

I’m standing in the center of the room with my eyes pressed shut when I hear it. His footsteps. I can tell it’s him as he strides down the corridor. I recognize his presence before he even enters the room.

“Hey,” Fionn says. When I open my eyes, he steps in front of me, his brows furrowing with worry when he takes in my expression. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I just—” A pair of nurses strike up a conversation at a station just beyond the open door, and I cut myself off. My smile is brittle around the edges. “I just … can’t wait to see the fur situation.”

Fionn laughs, gesturing toward the exam room bed. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.” I leave my crutches off to the side and hop onto the table, my heart still climbing up my throat. Fionn goes into full doctor mode, talking about the process, something about a saw and scissors and skin that I should probably pay more attention to. But in my head, I’m replaying the conversation with Matt Cranwell. The revelation. The unspoken threat. How much he already knows. What if there’s more? What if he’s just biding his time? What if he suspects Fionn was involved?

I have to get the fuck out of here. If he’s intent on revenge, I have to lead him away from Fionn. It’s me he’s after, and I need to give Matt a new trail to follow.

An electric whine fills the room and I startle.

“What the hell,” I hiss, pressing a hand to my chest.

“The … saw …?” Fionn says, his brow furrowing. “The saw I just told you about …? The one I just asked if you were ready for me to start up and you said yes …?”

“I did?”

He turns it off and lays a hand on my cast. I can’t feel the reassurance of his touch through the layers encasing my flesh. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

No. I’m not.

I wish the nurses would walk away so we could talk properly. I wish we had some fucking privacy. I wish I could tell him right now that I feel like I’ve been hit with a wave that’s swept me into the sea. Somewhere, deep down, I probably want to rage, or cry. But I’m too scared to do anything but lie. “Totally fine.”

A flicker of worry passes across his face. “I’m going to start the saw.”

I nod. The whine of the motor starts up again. Fionn presses the cutting edge to the cast in quick bursts in a straight line down the length of my leg. He stops on occasion to wipe the blade with a piece of square gauze soaked in alcohol to cool it down. He does one side of my leg and then the other. For all this time I’ve spent in the rigid embrace of my cast, it takes only a few moments to break.

“So …” Fionn says, keeping his eyes on the work of his hands as he uses a metal tool to separate the cut edges of the cast. “You should probably do some physio for a few weeks. You’ll have some muscle atrophy. Physio will help to ensure you build yourself back up safely.” He clears his throat and risks a quick glance at me. “I know someone good here. Her name is Judi. She’s got time to take you. If you want …”

It feels like he’s prying apart my bones and cracking open my heart.

“I really appreciate that,” I say, my voice unsteady. Fionn looks at me and I catch the disappointment in his eyes, the realization he’s about to be rejected. “I wish I could stay. Truly. But I have to get on the road as soon as possible.”

“It’s okay.” His smile is almost a perfect replica of the gentle one he often gives me in times of uncertainty. Almost. “I understand. That was always the agreement.”

I take his wrist and shake my head. The nurses keep chatting right outside our door. One of them stands in my line of sight and she glances my way. I can tell in that brief look that she’s assessing our conversation, even while having her own. Of course Dr. Kane would be the subject of interest around here. I bet half the hospital staff already know I’m staying at his house. I’m sure they’re just waiting for the smallest pieces of conversation to flutter their way.

Frustrated tears sting my nose. I refocus on Fionn. I’ll be fucking damned if I’ll let him think I’m leaving because of any other reason than the one I created. Not for one goddamn minute. “You don’t understand, actually.”

“It’s okay—”

“I don’t want to cause you any ‘trouble whatsoever.’”

Fionn pauses his efforts to split the cast and really look at me. He takes in the subtle shake of my head. I squeeze his wrist. He blinks, clarity sinking in, his eyes widening only slightly before he clears his throat. “Oh … I see. It’s no trouble, but I do understand.” He lays a hand over mine. “We can chat about it later. I can get you some recommendations for exercises on the road.”

I nod. My smile is weak, but it’s there, and so is his. He took a risk. When it comes to me, he’s taken many, in his own quiet way. Maybe it’s my turn. “But maybe you can check in once in a while? Make sure I’m doing them right …?”

Fionn’s smile brightens.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’d like that.”