Page 73 of Redemption

We end the call and within a few seconds, an address pings to my phone. I hit the navigate button and offer my phone to Kim in the front to help Finn navigate.

“Take the next exit,” she tells Finn.

Other than Kim reading out directions, we pass the few minutes in silence. Lorcan’s shirt is darkening with blood, and I’m praying John has enough of everything we’ll need at the clinic. Otherwise, I’ll regret the choice to avoid a hospital for the rest of my life.

Finn wheels us along a long gravel drive with trees and bushes encroaching on the vehicle. Then the path opens, and we’re at a modern building, with an older farmhouse in the distance to the left. The clinic looks newer. John must still run it. Thank God.

Finn and Lorcan maneuver Jay out of the back seat, and he moans at the swaying motion. John, a gray-haired, slim man in his sixties, meets us at the door and directs us to a back room. Finn and Lorcan lay Jay on the table, and John glances at us.

“Which of you would be best to assist?”

“Lorcan,” Finn says.

“Can I—can I come in as long as I’m not in the way?” Whether or not this goes well, I need to be there. Jay would never leave me alone to fend for myself.

“As long as you can stay out of the way,” John agrees.

As soon as I’m through the door, Lorcan and John are working in tandem as though Lorcan’s dressed a thousand bullet wounds. Maybe he has. Finn sounded certain he was the best bet for help, and in the car, he looked to his brother as the authority on Jay’s injury.

“Where am I?” Jay mumbles, and his lids flutter.

“A clinic,” I say. “You were shot. Stay still.”

“Shot?” he grumbles, trying to sit up.

John sticks a needle in Jay’s arm, and he slips back into unconsciousness. At least he woke up for a moment. I hope that means he’ll be fine once the bullet wound is taken care of.

Once they’ve dug out the bullet and dressed the wound, John runs a few other tests. He hems and haws, and then says, “The blood loss is worrying, but we’re not in the danger zone. I don’t have any of his blood type here. We’d have to go to the hospital for that.”

“If he doesn’t get it,” Lorcan says, “he’ll be weak and need a lot of rest, right? Special diet?”

A hint of a smile touches John’s lips. “You’ve been down this road before?”

“A few times,” he admits.

“Yes. With the amount of blood he’s lost, he’ll be weaker than normal for weeks. A modified diet can help get his hemoglobin levels up faster. Vitamin C is important.”

Jay stirs on the bed.

“I gave him something for the pain, so he’ll be unconscious a bit longer. He does have a head wound. A concussion is an almost certainty.”

“Should we take him to the hospital?” I grip Jay’s hand.

“I’ll send you with a care package to prevent infection and keep him comfortable—including a sheet about concussions.”

“Do you have any towels we can use to clean the SUV? Then I’ll get Finn, and we’ll load Jay back into the vehicle.” Lorcan takes the cloth and spray from John’s outstretched hand and ducks out of the examination room door.

“Spoken to your father lately?” John leans against a small desk housing a desktop computer.

A bitter laugh escapes me. “He doesn’t seem to be taking my calls. Have you spoken to him?”

“He’s busy with the European expansion project.” He waves me off. “You understand what he’s like—very singular when he’s deep in the business trenches.”

So singular he’s avoided my calls—my desperate, desperate pleas—when I worried my son might die. “Yes, I do know him.”

“Well, the grand opening of the building is supposed to be within the next week or so. After that, I’m sure he’ll be back to normal. He was here for a visit the other week.”

I want to tell him my father’s selfish, self-interested behaviorisnormal, but after John helped us on short notice as a favor because of my father, voicing my anger might be petty. “I appreciate you opening your doors for us this morning.”

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