Chapter Thirty-Three

Norah

We spend the day in Caity's hospital room, talking quietly or reading. Occasionally, I drift off—jet lag is no joke. I did eventually get that cup of coffee, but it wasn't enough to clear the fog in my brain. Deciding that I need some fresh air, I look over at Eamon to ask if he wants to walk with me but find that he dozed off at some point. I don't have the heart to wake him. He's exhausted, physically and emotionally.

"He still looks like my little boy when he sleeps," Rosie whispers from her seat next to Caity's bed. "When he was just a wee lad, he'd curl up in my lap and beg for a story. We'd end up reading a few different books, but by the end of the last one, he'd be asleep. I can remember staring at his sweet face for what felt like hours. So peaceful. Not a care in the world. But when he was awake, he was a problem solver. If he couldn't fix something, he felt like he had failed." Her features go from happily reminiscent to sorrowful as she closes her eyes and sighs. "I fear that's what's going through his head now."

I nod in agreement. "I think you're right. I wish I knew how to help him."

"Ach, you are helping him just by being here. Sometimes, all a person needs is to know that they have someone in their corner when the hard times come. His Da and I always worked better as a team than individually. Lord, how I miss that man," she says in a tremulous voice.

"I'm so sorry, Rosie. I understand loss and how lonely it can be. After my Mom passed away, I felt like I was just drifting through the days, doing the absolute minimum to get by. I can't even begin to imagine grieving with children."

Rosie smiles sadly before turning to me. "It was harder and easier, in a way. Carrying the weight of two young wan's grief while also drowning in your own is nearly impossible. But they also proved to be a sweet distraction. Children can only focus on one thing for so long before they're off on the next adventure. I remember this one time, several days after Seamus passed, Eamon and Caity were out in the garden bickering about who knows what. Caity comes running in, wailing like a banshee and covered in mud. ‘Mam! Eamon threw mud at me!' And here comes Eamon, with a shite-eating grin on his face." She shakes her head, huffing a laugh.

"‘Eamon Kennedy, what have you to say for yourself?' I asked, sternly. He looked me right in the eye and said, ‘Aye, I did it. But she kept poking me in the arse with a stick!' It took everything in me not to bust up laughing. So I said, ‘Eamon, don't say arse . That's a grown-up word.' He looked at me like I was daft. ‘But Da said the only words I can't say are the ones I don't know what they mean. Like fuck and gobshite . I hear those all the time, but I don't know what they mean.' At that moment, I wanted to throttle Seamus. I always told him that he was too grown up with them. Teaching them things they were too young to be learning."

I can't help but laugh picturing little Eamon. "What did you end up doing?"

"Ach, what any good mother would do. I told him that the next time I heard him using that type of language, and I didn't care if he knew the meaning or not, I'd be taking a wooden spoon to him, I would."

"What about Caity?"

"That girl." She rolls her eyes. "She was always pestering her brother just to get a rise out of him. She got a talking-to as well. I told her if she kept poking him with that stick, I'd let him dunk her in an entire puddle of mud! She, of course, was enraged, but you would have thought Eamon had won the World Cup."

"What about the World Cup?" a groggy Eamon says, sitting up in his chair.

Rosie and I grin at each other.

"Nice of you to join us, then," his Mom teases.

"You're not telling stories about me, are you? It's not fair to do that while a man's sleeping," he grumbles as he stretches his arms over his head.

"Listen to you, going on," Rosie says. "I haven't even begun to tell Norah all the stories about you she needs to hear."

"I think I'll be the judge of that, Ma," He stands then turns to me and asks, "Did you sleep any?"

I shake my head. "Not really. I dozed off a few times, but I have a hard time sleeping in hospitals."

He caresses my cheek with the back of his fingers. "Want me to take you back to the house? I could use a shower anyway. I feel like a kip and a half."

"It's up to you and your Mom. I'll do whatever you need me to. If the two of you want to head back, I can stay with Caity for a bit."

"Don't be silly," Rosie interrupts. "Go on, you two. I'm fine here. Shower and get some sleep. There's plenty of food in the fridge and pantry. Or I can order in something for you two."

"You sure, Mam?" Eamon asks, bending to hug her and kiss her cheek.

"Aye, ‘course I am. I'll call you if I need you, love. Go on."

We say our goodbyes and leave the hospital. The sun is just setting, painting the sky in vibrant pinks and oranges on our drive to the house. Once we arrive, I send Eamon up to shower while I make us something to eat. It's awkward rooting around in someone else's kitchen, but I eventually find all of the ingredients for sandwiches. I'll make something more substantial later, but right now, we need sustenance and rest. When I finish assembling the sandwiches, I place them on plates with chips, or rather crisps , as they're called in Europe.

I'm so lost in thought that I don't hear Eamon come down the stairs. When a pair of large warm hands envelop my waist, I shriek, nearly dropping the glasses I had just pulled out of the cabinet.

"Eamon! You scared the shit out of me!" I yell, turning to glare at him until I see what he's wearing. Which is nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants that are hanging deliciously low on his hips.

"Sorry, Acushla," he chuckles, sliding his arms around me. "Did you not hear me?"

I place my hands on his chest and begin tracing the Dara knot of his tattoo before looking up at him. His hair is damp, with loose tendrils hanging over his forehead, and his beard is thicker than normal.

"Obviously not, or I wouldn't have shattered the windows screaming. Warn a girl next time, sheesh."

He kisses my forehead and asks, "What were you thinking about so deeply that you didn't hear me thundering down the stairs?"

"Nothing really," I say with a shrug. "Just trying to clear my brain out. Are you hungry?"

I slide a hand up to his shoulder and run my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. He steps forward and buries his face in the dip between neck and shoulder, pressing me back into the counter.

"Mmmm," he murmurs, hands creeping under the hem of my shirt. "Aye, I can think of something I'd like to eat right now."

I shiver as heat pools between my thighs. I arch into him, tipping my head back to give him better access to my throat. He takes the bait, kissing and nibbling his way to my earlobe, gently taking it between his teeth.

"I really need a shower first," I mumble distractedly. It's hard to focus on anything other than his mouth and hands on me.

"Me too," he purrs against my skin.

I release a breathy laugh. "You just got out of the shower. "

"I need another one," he says, kissing under my ear. "With you." Another kiss to my jaw. "Right now." A kiss to the corner of my mouth.

"Okay," I pant into his ear. "I probably need your help anyway."

"Good lass," he growls, bending to grip my thighs and lifting me. I gasp, instinctively wrapping my legs around his hips and arms around his neck. He lifts his head enough to kiss me quickly before turning and bounding up the stairs, food forgotten.

Once we're in the bathroom, Eamon sits me on the vanity, leaving me only to turn on the shower and adjust the temperature. I never grow tired of watching his body move. The way the muscles in his back and broad shoulders bunch make my hands itch to touch him. When he steps back between my thighs, I lay my hands on his chest and drag them down the defined planes of his stomach. His eyes burn with desire as he slowly lifts my arms to pull my sweater over my head. I reach behind my back, unhooking my bra and letting the straps slide down my arms before casting it in the direction of my sweater. Eamon's face almost looks pained as he takes me in. Ever so gently, he brushes the pads of his thumbs over my nipples and watches as they tighten for him. The contact is almost too much with how turned on I am.

"Eamon…" I whine, steam from the shower billowing around us.

He smirks playfully at me before pulling me off of the vanity, his hands immediately moving to the waistband of my leggings. Sinking to his knees, he kisses my stomach and strips me bare. My heart races in anticipation. Even after all of the times we've been together, my body still reacts like it's the first time. Rising to his feet, he quickly discards his own clothing and walks me backward into the shower. Once I'm under the spray, I tip my head back and close my eyes, letting the warm water cascade over me. Eamon runs his fingers gently through my hair, brushing stray strands over my shoulder. When I open my eyes, his are dark with yearning. Gazing back at him, I wrap my hands around his wrists and pull him flush against me, the feel of his body against mine sending sparks from my head to my toes. A feeling of urgency courses through me and I fuse our mouths together. Grunting in surprise, he backs me up against the shower wall. Our kiss turns frantic and sloppy as our hands slide over wet skin. He grips me by the back of my thighs again, lifting me like he did in the kitchen, and as soon as my legs are wrapped around him, he slams into me. I cry out loudly at the sensation of him filling me. My head falls back onto the tiles and I dig my fingers into his shoulders, probably leaving marks, as he continues driving himself into me in slow, deep thrusts.

"Eamon, I'm close…" I pant in his ear. "Don't stop. Please."

"Not likely, love. I've got you," he breathes heavily into my neck.

His words send me over the edge. My mouth opens in a silent scream as my orgasm shoots from my core to my fingertips, making me dizzy from the rush. Eamon thrusts into me one more time and stills. A low growl emanates from his chest as he rides out his own release.

"Norah," he whispers roughly, face still buried in my neck and our chests heaving. "God, I love you."

"I love you, too."

Eamon

Norah's legs unwind from around me, and she sets her feet on the shower floor, but I don't release my hold on her for long moments. Eventually, I relinquish her to help wash her hair and that glorious body. It's the most sensuous experience of my life. If we could just stay here and forget the world around us, I wouldn't complain.

After seeing Caity and knowing that Rhiannan came by, my mind fell into a dark place. It sent me back to the weeks after discovering Declan and Rhi in bed together. The days spent drinking too much, numbing the pain at home or in the pubs, but never getting so pissed that I became belligerent or violent, just despondent and taciturn. When I moved to the States I thought I'd rid myself of those demons, but being back here brought them all to the surface. I felt so out of control that once Norah and I were finally alone, I needed her desperately. I needed to lose myself in her, to feel anchored to the life I made for myself in the States. And while I do feel reconnected to her, I can't shake the shame of leaving my Mam behind in the hospital to handle it all on her own.

My mood doesn't improve over the next couple of days. While the swelling in Caity's brain doesn't increase, it doesn't decrease either. Each time Dr. Colm comes in to deliver the news that nothing has changed, I see the hope in Mam's eyes diminish. The weight of the world is sitting on her shoulders, and I'm laden with guilt. What if Caity doesn't make it? How could I ever go back to the States then? I'd be leaving her completely alone. A widow and bereaved mother.

I'm still absorbed in those thoughts when a hand touches my shoulder. Norah is looking at me with a worried expression. "I've been calling your name. You okay?"

"Yeah," I grunt, rubbing my hands over my beard. I should probably trim it soon. It's beginning to get a little out of control. "Sorry. Just off in my own world. What did you need?"

"I just got a text from Myra," she says, the hint of a smile on her lips. "She found out the sex of the baby. I thought you might like to know."

I frown. That was the very last thing I was expecting her to say. "Oh, yeah, of course."

"It's a girl." Norah's eyes are shining with absolute delight. "She said Mac went with her to the appointment and started crying when he found out. Maybe there's hope for him after all."

I still can't wrap my mind around Mac becoming a father, let alone a father to a little girl.

"Let's hope so. Tell Myra I said congratulations," I say, giving her a forced smile.

"This is the closest I'll get to being an aunt. I can't wait to spoil this baby girl!" she squeals, then gasps. "Oh my gosh, I'm going to make her an entire little baby wardrobe!"

Norah prattles on and on about baby showers, clothes, nurseries, and a slew of other things I assume are baby-related. I smile again, but it doesn't reach my eyes. I can't focus on anything but the guilt that consumes me. There's a war waging in my mind over what I need to do. There are two choices, and one just might kill me.