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“She came back out of nowhere a few years ago, and she’s been at the bar ever since,” Finnigan adds.
“Still fucking pining over Declan.” Conor shakes his head.
“And you?” The question falls from my lips before I can stop it.
“Nah. We were fucking kids, and it was a stupid juvenile crush.” His answer sounds sincere. He turns his attention to his brothers. “Why don’t you fucks show her around the club like Tristan asked before you tell her a story that gets the two of you in a shit ton of trouble?”
“Like Savannah McIntyre?” Finnigan smirks, and Conor punches him full-force in the arm, causing him to grunt. He rubs over the area and groans, “Fuck… I won’t tell her.”
He winks as he slides from his stool and whispers, “But that shit is funny as fuck.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
TRISTAN
“Mo cuishle, huh?” Declan questions condescendingly as he raises a brow and climbs into my car.
“What of it?”
“Nothing.”
“It’s obviously not nothing,” I press, even though this is not the conversation I want to have as we drive to the hospital to see Quinn.
It’s actually not a conversation I want to have with him at all.
“You’ve been a fuckboy for nearly twenty fucking years. Your bedroom has been nothing but a string of random women and fleeting contractual relationships with submissives,” he admonishes my—what he considers reckless—past. “And now you’ve found ‘your pulse.’”
“Don’t fucking mock me, Declan.”
“I just never thought I’d live to see the day, that’s all.”
“You fucking sound like Mam.”
“Can you really blame her for wanting her sons to find someone?”
“Please tell me how we went from throwing bar stools to blubbering over my personal life.” I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “And can we please go back to being pissed off and throwing shit? I can pull over and you can beat the piss out of some bloke on the sidewalk.”
“I might take you up on that after we see Quinn.”
“Thank fucking God,” I exhale as I pull into the parking garage of the hospital. “You know this is going to be tough, right?”
“I’m fine,” he snips as he climbs from the car.
He’s full of shit.
He cares about Quinn more than he’d ever let on—more than he’s ever shared—and her getting hurt because of us is definitely weighing the heaviest on him. As if that weren’t enough, I know he fucking hates this place after Sarah.
Heading inside, we lie to the nursing staff about being Quinn’s brothers to obtain entry to her room. The nurse prepares us before giving us the room number. “She is sedated, and you need to be prepared. She is in pretty rough shape. I’ll call the doctor to come give you an update.”
“Thank you.” I give our gratitude as Declan walks from the nurses’ station and heads down the hall to Quinn’s room. I follow behind him and watch as he pushes open the door and freezes on the threshold.
He's not okay.
Reaching the doorframe and seeing Quinn over his shoulder, I let out a heavy sigh. She’s near lifeless in a hospital bed, with so many tubes and wires protruding from her body that she looks like a machine.
Nudging Declan into the room, I get a better look at her, and I can’t stifle the angered growl that rattles from me. She’s so marbled with bruises—the swelling disfiguring her face—that she is barely recognizable.
I take her hand in mine as I stand at her bedside, and it lays lifeless as I cradle it. “They’re going to fucking pay, Quinn.”
