Page 18 of It Will Always Be You
Chapter 14
The sterile smell and eerie silence of hospitals never get less unsettling. It makes every breath heavier, every nerve ending stand on edge. Death and despair cling to the air, and while that’s something I deal in, and dish out, daily, I still can’t stop my foot from tapping nervously as I sit in the hard plastic chair in the waiting room, the fluorescent lights buzzing and flickering overhead.
Sitting here, shit hitting the fan from all directions, while Helen is at the office handling both our workloads isn’t my idea of fun or time well spent. But since the only way to get Da to come was if I accompanied him, of course I came, no questions asked. To distract myself while they run some tests on him, I ring Brennan.
“Yeah?” he answers on a yawn; he’s been back to the clubs this week, so, at most, he’s probably had two or three hours of sleep. I should feel bad, but I can’t find it in me to do so right now. Bastard better get used to being tired. The higher up the ladder I climb, the higher up I drag them with me, the less time we’re going to have for luxuries such as sleep.
“Any luck getting access to his bank account?” I don’t bother wasting time on pleasantries or names.
“Christ. No, I told you I’d tell you the second I did,” he grunts, sounding as close to pissed off as Bren ever gets.
“And I thought I told you this was urgent? Senior wouldn’t send us down this rabbit hole if he didn’t have reason to,” I remind him with a growl in my voice as I pace the length of the waiting room.
“I know, and I’m working on it, day and night. Why the fuck are we wasting so much time on this anyway?”
“Because if he’s not going through the usual channels, that means something’s afoot. I highly doubt it’s something harmless.” I exhale slowly while pinching the bridge of my nose. This phone call is only serving to make the pounding in my head worse.
“Fine, I’ll get some of the new guys to help me. More manpower might be the secret to this,” he mutters before hanging up. If he was anyone else, I’d make him pay for that slight, but him and the rest of my inner circle are like brothers. While they might mouth off to me in private, I know they’d cut the tongue from anyone else who dared.
With a groan, I take a seat in the plastic chair again. Taking a sip of the lukewarm, weak as piss coffee the vending machine spat out at me, I can’t help but long for the perfectly brewed espresso Helen makes, which leads me down the rabbit hole of thinking about her. I can’t shake the feeling there’s more to her than meets the eye. I don’t know if it’s just my Da’s voice ringing in my head, but the more I think about her, the more I wonder what she would say if I told her about this side of things. If I made her mine and said fuck the consequences. Would she run for the hills? Or has my sneaking suspicion that she’d stay got roots?
“Mr O’Neill?” Looking up at the nurse calling my name, I dump the subpar coffee and stride over to her.
“That would be me.” I offer her a charming smile. It’s not her fault the coffee here is shit or that Da needs to be here in the first place.
“If you’ll follow me, the doctor would like you to sit in on theresults.” With that, she indicates for me to follow her. A few months ago, I’d be chatting her up, fishing for her number and details of when her shift ended, but now, I don’t offer her so much as small talk as I dutifully follow her. Knocking on the door, she pushes it open before leaving me to enter alone and make my way over to Da’s side. The doctor fiddles with something on his computer screen before sighing and turning his grim expression on us.
“As I’m sure you both know, the prognosis isn’t the best. As it stands, your lungs are working at less than half capacity. I really wish you had come in sooner. But the good news is, we do have a few options to make things more comfortable.” Comfortable, not curable. The difference is glaringly obvious to me. The words land like a blow, and Da flinches under their impact.
“How long do I have?” he rasps, asking the question that plagues both of us, the question I long to bury and ignore for as long as possible.
“These things are always hard to pinpoint, but if I had to make an educated guess...I would say a few months,” he answers, looking remorseful. But no matter how the words are delivered, they don’t ease the burden or the impending grief that hits me. Someday soon, far sooner than I ever dreamed, my Da, the person who has been by my side my whole life and weathered his own grief when my mum died in childbirth, will soon be gone. Soon, I won’t be able to ask him for advice or hear the same old stories I’ve rolled my eyes at hearing for the thousandth time.
I only half listen as the doctor lists our options, and it’s only when a pile of paperwork is being pressed into my hand do I realise I’m expected to do the impossible: put my own feelings on the back burner and shoulder the weight of the world while I take care of him. The time for him to be the strong one has come to a crashing halt; it’s my job now. The time for keeping things on the down low is quickly slipping out of our fingers.
We’re both silent, running on autopilot as I get us home.Wordlessly, I help Da back into his bed and leave him in Sheila’s care before calling a meeting. The time for keeping secrets from my brothers has long since passed. If I’m to make it through this, I’m going to need them, in more than one way.
Letting Seamus into my flat, I lead him into the living room, where the others are gathered. Silent and watchful, it’s clear this isn’t just a social call—especially when the twins arrived, and I didn’t even react to Ciaran’s ribbing. A well-placed elbow from Brennan had him reining in the mania that usually clings to him like a second skin, opting instead to watch me pace back and forth. I rake a hand through my hair, trying to figure out where to begin.
"Senior isn’t really attending to some urgent matter elsewhere, is he?” Jack’s careful probing makes me turn to face them—my five best friends, my brothers in every way but blood. I should have told them months ago. We don’t keep secrets—we never have—so why did I start now?
“No, he’s at home. I got a call a few months ago at the office. Sheila was frantic.” I hesitate, searching for the right words. There are two stages to knowing someone has cancer: before and after. Right now, these guys are living blissfully unaware in the before, and it’s up to me to drag them into the after with me.
Senior has been like family to all of them, shaping them as much as their own fathers. Half the time, he’s the first person they’d turn to for advice. The one who gave us direction when we needed it most. Now, more than ever, I feel the weight of his legacy pressing down on me—suffocating me—as the inevitable stretches ahead, grey and bleak.
“Stage four lung cancer.” The words slice through me as I choke them out, and instantly, their expressions shatter. Declan and Jack exchange looks of disbelief while the twins shake their heads in denial. Seamus rubs a hand across his jaw, his eyes clouded. The impending grief is like a boulder tied to our ankles, dragging us underwater as silence stretches between us.
“What can we do?” Declan’s hoarse words aren’t aquestion—they’re a statement. The Four Points has always been, first and foremost, a family. We look out for our own, no questions asked, no matter the cost.
“For now, let’s focus on keeping this under wraps while we dig up answers about Angus. I’ll work on solidifying my place with the other ranks, and we’ll keep doing what we’ve been doing. Maybe Brennan can work some IT magic to feed them evidence he’s fine? And the sooner we fully vet the new recruits, the better.”
Murmured agreements ripple through the group as they slip into planning mode. Seamus presses a drink into my hand as he comes to stand beside me.
“You should have told me.”
“I know, but would you have disobeyed a direct order if you were me?” I challenge.
“No—but this goes beyond that, and you know it.” He sighs before clipping me on the shoulder.
