Scythe & Sparrow: Chapter 24

Fionn

My brother stares at me, his face a study in pain.

I feel like I’m struggling to break the surface and take a breath. I’m still drowning in Rose’s declaration. I love you, Fionn Kane, her voice echoes in my mind. Her words didn’t just slip into the world. They crashed into me. They swept clean the sediment of the other life that’s been crumbling in my grip from the first moment we met. It was like a break between two realities. The man I’ve been trying to be. The one I am. The one who is hopelessly in love with Rose Evans. The one who would do anything for her, even tear out his heart.

Lachlan watches me like he’s expecting something. Like despite how much pain he must be feeling, he still has room in his heart to feel pity. Maybe disappointment.

I swallow. “Keep her safe,” I say, my voice threatening to close around the words.

“I will. I promise.” With one decisive nod, Lachlan turns away and jogs after Rose.

I turn my attention back to Bentley, wiping my eyes with my blood-spattered sleeve. “Okay, my guy. Please don’t bite my hand off,” I say as I press my knee to his neck in case he tries to thrash. “You’re not going to like this.”

I find the source of the bleed and start a vascular ligation figure-eight suture. It’s messy. With a sewing needle and a pair of scissors and a very unhappy, unsedated dog, I’ve got my work cut out for me. But I manage to get the nicked artery closed off in a few moments that feel hours long. As soon as the stitch is pulled tight, I toss the needle on the floor and heave the dog into my arms, heading through the open door.

“You need to stop eating so much bacon. You must weigh a hundred and fifty pounds.” Bentley’s responding grumble becomes a whine as I jostle him on our way down the stairs. It’s a sound that catches in my chest like a barb every single time I hear it. “And that’s the reason I never entertained vet school. I’m sorry, buddy.”

We’re nearing the bottom of the stairs when I hear Lachlan’s voice outside, followed by Rose’s clipped reply. I was so busy patching up the bleed in Bentley’s side that I didn’t consider the possibility that Rose would still be within reach. And now that’s the only thing that matters. To reach her in time.

I hurry my steps. I need to see her face. She told me she loves me. And I was so shocked not just by her words, but by everything they unlocked, that I made the worst mistake of my life.

I didn’t say it back.

“Rose,” I call out, just as two car doors close in quick succession. “Rose.”

The engine of the Charger roars to life.

“Wait,” I beg, even though I already know they’ll never hear me. I crash through the door with the dog in my arms just as they peel away from the building in a speeding mass of black metal. I watch as the car roars to the end of the street and drifts around the corner, the tires squealing. In a flash of light on polished chrome, they’re gone.

“Fuck,” I hiss, and the dog whines again as though agreeing with me.

I manage to open the door of the rental and get the dog into the back seat, and then I run to the driver’s side. I have no fucking idea where the nearest emergency vet is. I’m searching for one on my phone when a text comes in from Rose.

She doesn’t respond.

I find a vet a few blocks away and speed there. Bentley is still panting, whining every few minutes. After I get to the clinic and park at the curb, the dog mounts a grumbling protest at the indignity of being carried, but he doesn’t have enough fight in him to argue. I burst through the doors, and by sheer luck, it’s his regular veterinary office. They whisk him from my grasp as I relay what little information I have in rapid fire. I give them my credit card and phone number, and then I’m back in my vehicle in under ten minutes.

As soon as I’m sitting in the driver’s seat, I press my forehead to the steering wheel and close my eyes. What the fuck am I doing? Rose was right there, saying the words I’ve wanted to say to her, offering her heart to me like she couldn’t bear to keep it when she should be protecting every broken shard. And after everything that happened yesterday and the sleepless night that followed, I hesitated, too shocked to process what was happening or how monumental it was. It’s as though I’ve spent years looking at a broken puzzle, and with one final piece, everything suddenly fit together.

Everything makes sense because of Rose.

I open my eyes and look to my right. Her tarot cards are scattered across the passenger seat and footwell. I hastily gather them up. All but three are facedown. Of the face-up cards, one is a knight, riding into battle with a sword held high. The other is three longswords facing downward, with a fourth lying beneath the tomb of a knight, the Roman numeral IV in the top left corner. The last is a reaper, a scythe gripped in his skeletal hand. I flip them over as I place them back into the deck and rest them on the seat. I’m just about to look for the leather pouch when my phone buzzes in my free hand. It’s not Rose, like I hoped it would be. It’s Leander.

I don’t reply, selecting Rose’s message instead so I can copy the address into my map before I pull into traffic.

I know I can’t get away from Leander Mayes. Not forever. But I need to get to Rose. So I race through traffic. I cut people off. Swerve from one lane to the next. I jump the curb. Weave into the oncoming lane. Sweat mists my brow. The beat of my heart dampens the sound of horns as other drivers tell me off. But I don’t fucking care who I piss off or smash up. I will plow through this whole fucking city if that’s what it takes. I need to fix this. I need to tell her everything I should have in a moment that slipped through my fingers. Hell is going to have to wait.

In a chaos of squealing tires and adrenaline, I finally make it out of the city and onto I-95, heading north to Portsmouth. I’ve just passed Danvers when my phone rings.

Leander’s name appears on the dashboard screen.

Fuck.

I ignore him. But ignoring Leander is pointless. As soon as it goes to voicemail, he’s hanging up and calling again. And again. And again.

On his sixth attempt, I finally accept the call.

“I do not like being ignored,” he says.

“I gathered,” I grit out in reply.

“Where the fuck are you? The flight boards in fifteen minutes, and you’d better be on it.”

“It’s not going to happen.”

“Dr. Kane—”

“It’s Lark. She was attacked in her apartment and now she’s missing. Lachlan has gone to find her, and I’m following.”

There’s a pause. For a moment, the line goes so quiet I wonder if I’ve lost him. “Where,” he says, not a question, but a demand.

“Portsmouth. I’ve just passed Exit 78A.”

“I’ll call you back. And you will pick up.”

The line goes dead.

Ten minutes later, my phone rings again, and I accept it right away. “I’ve rebooked your flight. You’ll leave at nine tonight. You will keep me posted on your location and I’ll have my driver pick you up and bring you to the airport. Unless you want Rose’s extracurricular activities handed over to the FBI on a fucking silver platter, you will not be late, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” There’s another pause, and though I expect Leander to hang up, he doesn’t. His voice is softer when he says, “As soon as you know the status of Lark, let me know.”

“Leander,” I say.

“What.”

“Conor knows something about this. You’d better get to work.”

Leander hangs up for the final time.

It’s another twenty minutes before I’m finally pulling off the interstate and racing down Woodland Road in Portsmouth. I careen around the corner of a long drive next to a Montague Muffins sign and lurch to a stop in front of the industrial bakery facility, where Lachlan’s car is parked off to the side of the empty lot. The only other vehicles are a fleet of several delivery vans lined up near a loading dock. I’m about to get out of the car when I glance down at the passenger seat.

The tarot cards have been jostled from the stack I made earlier. Three are now faceup, though I don’t know how that could be possible. The first is the knight, riding into battle with his sword drawn. The last is the Four of Swords. I pick up the one in the middle. Death. His polished scythe sweeps above his skeletal head.

A chill races through the backs of my arms. It crawls up my spine. I try to reason this away. Coincidence. Physics. The fallacy of memory. But I know something is wrong.

I toss the card aside and run to the building.

The main door is unlocked, the foyer dark. I rush past unlit offices, glancing through their open doors for any sign of Rose, calling her name as I go. I get to the end of the corridor and push open the heavy steel door to the factory floor with enough force to send it crashing against the stopper, the sound echoing across the high ceiling and metal trusses.

“Rose,” I call out as I scan the factory. I pass machinery, polished silver tables. The smell of baked muffins lingers in the air as though it’s soaked into the concrete walls. “Rose.”

“She’s here,” Lark says from around a corner, her voice coming from the other side of the wide room, the far side lined with industrial batch ovens. Relief is a flood. They found Lark. She sounds okay. But as quickly as that relief comes, it’s washed away. “Oh my God—”

“Christ Jesus. Fionn, help—”

I round the corner in time to see Lachlan crash to his knees at Rose’s side, Lark following to crouch beside him, her blond hair matted with blood. My heart stops. Rose is lying on the cold concrete. Lachlan takes her head, lifting it from the floor. It lolls in his grasp, as though she doesn’t have the strength to hold it steady on her own. Her eyes lock to mine for just a moment. The light in them seems to dim, and then it goes out.

I close the distance between us.

“What happened?” I ask as I drop to her side. I glance toward the body of a man lying a short distance away, his eyes lifeless, a gunshot wound leaking blood and brain from the center of his forehead. I refocus on Rose as I press my fingers to her carotid artery. Her pulse is racing. Her skin is cool, covered in a thin film of sweat. I’ve seen her like this before. “Where is she injured?”

Lachlan shakes his head. “I don’t know—”

“Was she shot?”

“No, I don’t—”

“You promised me,” I snarl, methodically checking Rose for the source of her injury. There’s no blood on her head or neck. “You fucking promised me you’d look after her.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Rose, wake up. Come on.”

“Fionn,” Lark says, and when I turn in her direction, there are tears in her eyes. She holds up a tool, something long and silver with a sharp, straight edge. The metal is coated in fresh blood.

“Fuck.” I tear open the buttons of Rose’s plaid shirt and then I see it, the hole in the right side of her tank top, the torn edges stained crimson. I pull her shirt up. There’s not much external blood but the wound is deep, angled upward into her abdomen, skirting just below her last rib. He’s hit her liver. And it’s bleeding into her abdominal cavity. “Call the fucking ambulance.”

Lark dials 911. I pull my shirt over my head and press it to the wound as hard as I can, scanning the room. “There,” I say, pointing to a Uline first aid kit fixed to the wall. “First aid kit. Bring it.”

Lachlan runs to grab the kit while Lark speaks to the dispatcher, taking the woman through the key details, the address and phone number and the nature of the emergency. She puts dispatch on speaker as I motion her over. “My name is Dr. Fionn Kane,” I say as I get Lark to kneel down so we can elevate Rose’s legs on her lap. “The patient is female, age twenty-seven, unconscious, breathing is rapid and shallow, heart rate elevated. Stab wound to the upper right abdomen, possible liver damage. Internal bleeding.”

“The person or persons who stabbed—”

“Dead,” I say. “No other injured parties.”

I run through more details about the scene and circumstances and Rose’s condition as Lachlan returns with the first aid kit, opening it to withdraw the gauze pads for the wound and a rescue blanket. I pack the wound and apply pressure. It’s all I can do, and I feel so fucking helpless.

Lachlan’s eyes meet mine. Regret and distress stare back at me. Call Leander, I mouth as the dispatcher tells us the ambulance and police are on their way. He nods once, and though I know he doesn’t want to leave my side, his gaze still tracks to Lark. I know he’s worried about what will happen next. About keeping her safe when police show up to ask questions. A heartbeat later, he rises and strides a few feet away to speak to his boss in low and quiet tones.

“What can I do?” Lark asks.

Fucking pray. Pray to some deity I don’t believe in. Rewind time. I would give anything to take Rose’s place, if that’s what it took to save her. “Take the phone and wait for the ambulance.”

“Okay,” she says, her voice a tight whisper as she rises.

“Lark?” I meet Lark’s eyes, the crystalline blue surrounded by the shine of tears. Blood is caked in her hair and streaked across her face and neck. “Tell them to run. We don’t have much time.”

She swallows and nods, and then she runs, talking to dispatch as she disappears around the corner.

When she’s gone, Lachlan returns to kneel by Rose’s feet, raising her legs on his own. “I’m sorry, Fionn.”

“I don’t fucking care,” I snap, kicking the first aid kit. The metal scrapes across the floor. We’ve already used all the gauze. The blanket. I was able to fix a fucking dog, but I don’t have the means to help the woman I love. All I can do is hold on and hope. I stare down at her pale face, so beautiful and serene, her thick lashes unmoving as I increase the pressure on a wound that must have burned with pain until the moment she slipped into unconsciousness. Tears flood my vision. “I can’t fix her with that,” I whisper.

I can feel the weight of my brother’s gaze on my face, but I don’t look up when he braces a hand on my shoulder. My first tears fall on Rose’s skin, settling on her chest where shallow breaths rise and fall in a rapid beat.

“Why didn’t I tell her?” I ask. “I love her. Why didn’t I say it?”

Lachlan squeezes my shoulder. I press my eyes shut and drop my head to my chest. “You’re right that it’s my fault, brother. For more than just what happened to Rose. It always has been. All the way back to that night with Dad. Maybe even before that.”

“You’re wrong.” I swallow. Confessions that have waited for so long in the dark finally work their way to my lips, ready to spill into the world. “It was me. I’m the one who killed him.”

I glance his way only long enough to catch his confusion out of the corner of my eye. “What do you mean?”

“I ratted him out to the Mayes family. That night he came back home, when the fight started, I couldn’t let him win. You and Rowan were on the floor, both of you too much in shock to notice. You didn’t see. But it was me. I stabbed him in the back.” I hang my head and stare at Rose. Maybe everything would have been different if I’d been honest all along. Honest with her about how I felt. Honest with my brothers for what I’d done. Honest with myself. “I’m the one who killed him.”

“You didn’t.” Lachlan leans closer. His breath fans across my face. “Maybe you brought him down, but trust me, brother. I’m the one who killed him. I felt his last breaths in my hands. And I have no regrets about that. None.” I can feel the weight of his attention on my face, but I still can’t meet his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me before now?”

“You’re my older brother. I couldn’t bear to disappoint you.”

When I finally look at Lachlan, there are tears in his eyes too. There’s so much regret in the way he holds my gaze and looks into me. “I put so many expectations on you, and when that life you thought we wanted didn’t fit the neat little boxes you’d made, you started pushing everyone away. You’ve been running. From me. Rowan. Now Rose. You’ve been running from any love for so long you didn’t know when to stop. And that’s my fault.”

“What if I’m too late?”

Lachlan doesn’t ask the thousand things that could mean. He just leans closer. “I know you better than anyone. You’re going to get her into that ambulance. And you are going to save her, no matter what it takes.” He wraps his hand around the back of his neck and presses his forehead to mine. “She’s still fighting. So you keep fighting.”

When he pulls away, I face Rose with renewed determination.

He’s right. I will do whatever it takes to save her.

The minutes that pass crawl through time. I talk to Rose. I tell her to hold on. Keep fighting. Wake up, just look at me. She’s in a battle she’s losing. Her abdomen is swollen. The last hints of color slowly drain from her face. The pink of her lips lightens. I press the gauze to her wound as hard as I can as I lean down to kiss her cheek, her skin cold and pale.

Lark bursts into the room with two paramedics and three police officers on her heels, the gurney wheels squeaking on the concrete floor. I give them the information I have. I lift Rose onto the stretcher, her limbs limp across my arms. The paramedics strap her down and lift the frame, locking it into place, and then we run. I hold her hand. I don’t let go. Not as we lift the stretcher into the ambulance. Not as I climb into the back with her. I look back out the doors and my brother and Lark are there, flanked by officers.

Lachlan gives me a nod, his lips pressed into a tight line. I don’t miss the way Lark squeezes his hand. “Fight, brother,” he says. And then the doors close.

I turn my attention to the paramedic in the back as the other runs to the driver’s side. Sirens roar to life. “I’m Dr. Kane,” I say. The paramedic, a dark-haired young woman, looks back at me with determination. “What’s your name?”

“Jessica,” she says.

“This is Rose. And I fucking love her. I will not lose her. So here’s what we’re going to do.” Oxygen. Heart rate. Blood pressure. I remove the gauze as Jessica sets up an IV with tranexamic acid. I repack the wound with fresh hemostatic dressing. The ambulance speeds through the countryside as we work together against time. And Rose is barely clinging on. Her body temperature drops. Jessica pulls blankets from the portable warmer and lays them over Rose as I take hold of her hand. “Come on, Rose. Fight it out.”

And she does. Wherever she’s gone within herself, she keeps fighting. For every breath. Every heartbeat. As we pull into the hospital and the ambulance slows to a halt, I know that making it this far was just one battle. The war is ahead. It’s in the surgical room. But I don’t know if she has enough strength left in her to endure.

The ambulance doors are thrown open. I run alongside the stretcher as Rose is wheeled through into the ER. I give the doctors on call every scrap of information I can. It’s only moments before she’s whisked away into surgery. Her hand is pulled from mine and all I can do is watch as she disappears behind the double doors and into the heart of the hospital.

I’m standing in the middle of the ER, still watching the doors as though she might get up and walk back through them. The sounds and smells of the ward start to creep into my senses. The beep of monitors. The scent of industrial cleaners. The voices of patients and nurses and doctors. But all I see is the absence of Rose.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I finally break free of my stasis and look at the screen to see a text from Leander.

I blow out a deep breath and look toward the door for a long moment before I type out my reply.

I pocket my phone. I look one more time at those doors. And then I turn away.

I will do whatever it takes to save her.