Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Years of lifeguarding at the community pool back home had taught me one thing—panic never saved a damn person.
I pressed two fingers to his neck, searching for a pulse.
I couldn’t find one.
“No, no, no.”
I tilted his head back, checking his airway. Nothing blocking it. I pressed my ear to his mouth—no breath.
Shit.
I moved fast, clasping my hands and pressing down hard on his chest.
“One, two, three…” I started compressions, counting under my breath. I looked up, saw a few grooms at one of the barns about fifty yards away.
“Help! Someone call an ambulance!” I shouted.
They stopped, stared at me in disbelief for only a second as they took in the scene and then they bolted—hopefully for the nearest phone. I didn’t know how these things worked in Ireland, but I assumed they had basic emergency medical services.
One of the stable hands appeared. “What can I do?”
“Go get Kathleen,” I ordered as I continued compressions. He took off toward the cottage, shouting at the top of his lungs.
I didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.
I alternated pumping his chest with blowing into his mouth, trying to force life back into him. “C’mon, Rory. C’mon, don’t do this.”
Footsteps crunched over gravel and I barely registered Kathleen’s cry before she dropped to her knees beside me. “Rory!”
Fiona was right behind her, breathless, eyes wide with terror. “What—”
And then she saw him.
Her knees buckled, and she caught herself against the dirt, her hands shaking as she reached for him. “Uncle Rory,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
I didn’t stop. Kept pushing. Kept counting.
But I knew.
I fucking knew.
He was gone.
I kept going anyway, my arms burning, my breath ragged.
Kathleen was sobbing, pressing kisses to Rory’s forehead, whispering desperate prayers. Fiona clutched his hand, her head shaking as if she could will him back to life.
The ambulance finally arrived.
The medics rushed in, pulling me away as they took over.
Fiona released a broken cry as they tried to revive him, but I could see it in their faces.
They knew too.
They loaded him onto the stretcher, Kathleen sobbing into Fiona’s shoulder.
I didn’t hesitate. “I’m drivin’,” I told them. “Let’s go.”
No one argued.
I drove like a madman to the hospital, Kathleen and Fiona crying in the back seat, the wheels spitting gravel as I tore out of Glenhaven.
I prayed the whole way.
Please, God. Please.
When we got to the waiting room, he was already being worked on somewhere where we couldn’t see. I paced, periodically asking for updates. Fiona and Kathleen clung to each other. Their tears had dried, but I saw the anguish left behind.
It felt liked we’d been there a long time, and maybe that was good news. But when a set of double doors opened and I saw a doctor walking toward us with a grim expression, it only confirmed what I already knew.
He didn’t have to say it.
Kathleen stood stoically, Fiona clutching her hand. My arm went around her waist. “I’m so sorry,” the doctor said gently. “There was nothing we could do.”
A sound ripped from Kathleen’s throat, raw and broken.
Fiona swayed, and I pulled her in tight to me. She turned into my chest, her fingers digging into my shirt, her body shaking with silent sobs.
I held her tighter than I ever had, pressing my lips to her hair. “I got you,” I whispered. “I got you, Fi.”
She’d lost everything.
Her father. Her home.
And now Rory.
The only real father she’d ever known.
She shattered in my arms.
And all I could do was hold her together.
CHAPTER 24
Fiona
The sky wept for Rory. At least that’s how it felt as I watched the fat raindrops roll off the eaves of the stone church. They spattered against the uneven cobblestones beneath my feet as we made our way up the steps. The wind kicked up for just a moment, rustling the yew trees standing guard and causing a shiver to ripple down my spine.
Inside, it was no surprise the church was overflowing. People stood shoulder to shoulder in the narrow aisle, filling every pew—a testament to how well loved my uncle was. Rory had been a man of this land, woven into its very fabric, and so they had come for him—farmhands in their Sunday best, neighbors from the village, old friends who had known him since he was a lad, and every employee at Glenhaven.
I could feel the sorrow weighing heavy not just on me, but on every mourner here. There were sniffles and the occasional sob, and I felt like I was on the verge of an all-out weeping fit. Their grief mirrored mine in their bowed heads, in the way their fingers clutched their hats or rosary beads like lifelines. But God, I was tired of crying. My head hurt, my heart hurt, and I just wanted this to be over.
Kathleen sat beside me in the front pew, pale and motionless, her hands folded in her lap. She hadn’t shed a tear in public, but grief had carved new hollows into her face. She looked fragile and that was never a word I would have used to describe the woman. It’s why Rory loved her so much, because she was such a force. Yet even in her mourning, she was the strongest woman I knew and that, in turn, gave me strength to barrel through.