Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3)

Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3) Page 35

“Ow!”

Lucas’s hand tightened on hers. Was he about to laugh?

She yanked both hands free from both irritating people. “Gerard,” she said to the big guy, “don’t I get to pick who comes with me?”

“It’s usually next of kin, usually. How much is nine times seven?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never known.”

“Her IQ is somewhere around room temperature,” Connor said.

“Just for that, you can’t ride in the ambulance, either,” she said. “Gerard! Can we please get going?”

As always, it seemed as if the ambulance corps had to work on their novels or something. Emergency services has been ruined by iPads...she could’ve sworn that Jessica was looking at dresses on ModCloth.com. Jeremy, who’d been great the first few minutes after she’d come to, was now manipulating Carol Robinson’s right arm, earning plenty of giggles and squeals of delight.

“What’s twelve times nine?” Gerard asked.

“Can we stop with the math?” she snapped. “I want to get this over with and go home. Oh, hey, Levi. Where’s Faith?”

“I’m right here,” Faith said. “You okay? Want me to come with you?”

“That’d be great. Thanks, pal.”

“Oh, hang on, I have to puke. Be right back.”

“Next,” Colleen said as Faith bolted, Levi on her heels.

Gerard patted her leg. “Ready to take a ride?”

“I’ve been ready for thirty minutes, Gerard.”

“Are you complaining? Because I can tell Ned to hit a lot of potholes on the way to the E.R.” He checked something on his iPad. “Hey, Yanks are up by five. So who’s going with you?”

“I am,” Mom and Connor said in unison.

Lucas looked at her. “I am,” he said.

“He is,” Colleen agreed.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THE CHAIRS IN the waiting room were ridiculously uncomfortable. That, and Connor O’Rourke glaring at him made for a long evening.

When they got to the emergency room, Colleen sent Lucas to wait, and the nurse glared at him until he obeyed. He didn’t like being away from her, and he didn’t like how quiet she’d gotten in the ambulance. She seemed fine, going through her shtick with Gerard, but there was something else going on, too.

Things were getting complicated.

For a long time, he’d very effectively put aside his feelings for Colleen. From that moment when Ellen had told him she was pregnant, he gave up the right to think about Colleen, and certainly to miss her.

But those feelings ran under his life like a subterranean river, and every once in a while, something would crumble, undermined by the current. He dreamt of her smiling with those clear, dark gray eyes, that wise, knowing smile, and he’d follow her into an empty room, thinking finally, finally they were together again...and then he’d jerk awake, and hear Ellen’s soft breathing and remember that he had a wife now. He’d taken vows. He couldn’t betray that with memories of someone else.

But.

She was always there, that river of dark, fast water.

“So you’re working for my mother, and you’re nosing around my sister,” Connor said, speaking at last. They’d been waiting for more than an hour now.

“He does beautiful work, Connor,” Mrs. O’Rourke said mildly. She was reading People magazine. “Which you would know, if you ever came over. Oh, dear. Justin Bieber broke up with his girlfriend. Sad. Connor, what did you think of Stan?”

“He’s very hairy.” Connor resumed the death stare.

Lucas didn’t care. He was here, and he’d be here until he could see that Colleen was okay.

He’d seen her watching her father, not paying attention to the game, and a prickle of warning went through him. Almost before Paulie hit the ball, he was on his feet, somehow knowing Colleen was about to be hurt, and Jesus, her head stopped that ball cold, and then she was on her knees, and for the love of God, made the damn play. And then she went down as if she were dead.

Then he was kneeling at her side, and someone yelled, “Don’t move her!” He didn’t; he just put his hand on her back to see if she was breathing, and thank the sweet Christ child, she was. “Mía? Sweetheart?” he said, his voice rough.

“Ow,” she groaned. “My head! Why did you hit me, Connor?”

Jeremy Lyon checked her, and Levi called it in. Her little sister had been crying, and both Gail and Pete O’Rourke hustled her away.

A concussion was serious business these days. Especially when it happened on town property. When Lucas was a kid, he’d fallen out of the second-story window of Tommy O’Shea’s house and was out cold for ten minutes. His biggest concern was the wrath of Mrs. O’Shea, who’d told the boys to be silent during her soap opera. “Got a pretty good lump,” his father had said when Lucas had gone to the garage to show him. “Get some ice on it.”

Now, though...9-1-1 and ambulances and doctors. Probably a good thing.

“Why are you even here?” Connor snapped.

“Because he cares, Connor. Back off,” Mrs. O’Rourke said. “They may be getting back together, right, Lucas?”

“You’re not getting back together with my sister,” Connor said.

“Oh, please,” Mrs. O’Rourke said. “He’s her first love. And you know how powerful that can be, Connor.”

“Save me,” Connor muttered.

A tiny Asian girl came into the waiting room. She looked to be about thirteen, but she wore a white doctor’s coat and had a stethoscope around her neck. “Hi! I’m Dr. Chu! How’s everyone tonight?” She waited for an answer. “Is everyone here for Colleen O’Rourke?”

“Yes,” Lucas said.

“I figured. It’s a superslow night. She’s the only one here. I was watching Game of Thrones on my phone before she came in, and I was like, yay, finally! A patient!”

“I’m her brother, and this is our mom,” Connor said. He didn’t bother to explain Lucas.

“Excellent! Are you twins? You guys look totally alike.”

“They’re twins, all right,” Mrs. O’Rourke said. “Connor weighed eight pounds, three ounces, and Colleen was seven-fourteen.”

“You’re a champ!” Tiny Asian Girl said. She looked at him. “And you’re the husband?”

“He’s not the husband,” Connor growled.

“Her first love,” Mrs. O’Rourke said.

“Aw! Totally romantic!” the doctor said. “Well, she has a closed head injury, which is a cool way of saying, whoopsy, concussion! Right? We just wanted to observe her for a little while, make sure she didn’t puke or anything. That can be a bad sign. But she’s fine! No emesis—that’s medical speak for puking—and no signs of disorientation. She turned down the CAT scan, which is totally what I would do, too. Why expose yourself to radiation for a bump on the noggin, right?”

She beamed at the three of them, and, getting no response, looked back at her clipboard. “She needs someone to watch her tonight and just do a couple checks, wake her up and see how she feels. If you can’t wake her up or if she seems confused, or if she stops breathing, most definitely call 9-1-1, okay? No Motrin or aspirin for forty-eight hours. Just an ice pack. Do you have any questions?”

“How old are you?” Connor asked.

“I’m twenty-three. Almost twenty-four. Graduated early, kind of a prodigy, not to brag. Any other questions about Colleen? She’s totally pretty, by the way.”

“People say she looks like me,” Jeanette said.

“Really? Okay, yeah! I see it! Great rapport with family, check! Well, I think we’re done here, people, so it’s, like, back to the beheadings for me!” She practically skipped off.

A nurse wheeled Colleen into the waiting room. “Someone’s ready to go home,” the nurse said.

“And guess who it is? I’ll give you a hint. It’s me,” Colleen said, pulling a face.

“How do you feel?” Mrs. O’Rourke asked.

“Fine.”

“I’ll stay with you tonight,” Mrs. O’Rourke announced. Lucas tried not to smile as Colleen flinched.

She looked at him. “Um...Lucas can take me home,” she said, and something moved in his chest.

“I’ll take you home,” Connor said.

“Lucas will take me home, bossy-pants. Right, Lucas?”

“Right.”

“The doctor said you need someone to stay with you tonight,” Connor stated.

“Nah.”

“Connor, she wants him to stay with her,” Mrs. O’Rourke said. “So they can make amends.”

“I’ll stay with you,” Connor said.

“No one’s staying with me,” Colleen repeated.

“I’m staying with you,” Lucas said.

“Fine! Lucas is staying with me,” she snapped. “For an hour. Now can I please get going? I want to take a shower.”

HE DROVE HER to her house and followed her up the stairs to the second floor. There was a note taped to the door.

We walked Rufus. Sorry about the puking. Call me when you get home. xoxox Faith

Added in different handwriting was Next time, use your glove. Levi.

Colleen smiled as she read it.

“You have nice friends,” he said.

“I certainly do.” She unlocked the door and went in, and he followed. A deer walked into the kitchen. Check that. It was her giant dog, who bayed a few times, then aimed straight for his crotch. Lucas wrestled the beast’s head away, which resulted in the dog collapsing as if shot and rolling over on his back.

“Impressive,” Lucas murmured. “You should probably get him neutered.”

“He is neutered. Okay, I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Call me if you need me.”

She rolled her eyes, winced and left the room.

Lucas took a look around. The apartment had high ceilings and tall, narrow windows. The kitchen walls were painted warm yellow, the chairs were red and blue, and it was cheerfully cluttered, pictures on the fridge, a bowl of peaches on the counter, a few catalogs, the dog’s tartan-plaid leash. The living room had a fireplace filled with white birch logs and a nice view of the street. Her furniture was cheerful: a polka-dotted chair and a soft-looking red couch, a coffee table with a small bookshelf underneath.

Family photos, mostly of her and Connor and Savannah, were everywhere. Here was one of her and her cousins, a whole bunch of them. Colleen at age twelve or so on a sailboat. One of Rufus and Savannah, lying on the floor, the girl using the dog as a giant pillow, reading a book. A bride—Faith—hugging her, both of them laughing.

That thing moved again in his chest.

All these years, Colleen had stayed in this little town. She seemed to be friends with everyone—Bryce and Levi and the British guy Tom and just about everyone he remembered from high school. She worked with her twin. Adored her sister, that was clear.

Colleen was tied to this community in a way that Lucas couldn’t imagine. Sure, he was a Southie, but his time away had made him suspect in the eyes of those who’d stayed. He didn’t belong anymore, and that was fine. He’d left when he was fifteen, after all. When he and Ellen divorced, he’d moved from the Gold Coast neighborhood (and where Lucas had always felt like an impostor) to an apartment building near Irving Park.

But even though he knew Chicago like the back of his hand, sometimes he got lost driving home. Not because he didn’t remember how to get where he was going, but because he wasn’t sure where he was supposed to be.

Rufus gave a little moan and stretched out his paws. The dog had to be more than six feet long.