Page 19 of Blindsided
Before I knew it, I was on my feet in nothing but my boxers and a t-shirt and was being hauled towards the door. I start to fight back once we are out in the hallway.
Wren pops her head out of their room, her hair disheveled from sleep. “What the hell is going on?”
“Nothing, goose. Go back to bed,” Declan says, still manhandling me down the hall.
“He’s in his underwear,” she points out, eyebrows raised as she takes in my boxer-clad state. “At least put some pants on him.”
“Nope, not happening,” Declan replies cheerfully. “This is part of the punishment.”
“Help me!” I called her. “Your husband’s gone mental!”
Wren shakes her head. “Whatever he did, he probably deserves it. Just don’t kill him, Declan. Blood’s hard to get out of those fancy shoes.”
With that charming send-off, she disappears back into their room.
“Your wife is terrifying,” I mutter as they drag me toward the elevator.
“You have no idea,” Declan says proudly.
The hotel staff barely blinks as Rory and Declan march me through the lobby in my underwear. Must happen all the time in this place. Or maybe it’s just the MacGallan name that keeps them from interfering. Either way, I’m tossed into the backseat of our rental car like a sack of potatoes.
“Where are we going?” I demand, my head throbbing with every word.
“Somewhere you can dry out,” Rory says cryptically, sliding into the driver’s seat.
I realize with growing horror what they’re planning as we head toward the coast. The morning is chilly, the wind off the Irish Sea cutting through my thin t-shirt. By the time we reach a deserted stretch of beach, my teeth are chattering.
“You can’t be serious,” I say as they haul me out of the car.
“Dead serious,” Declan confirms, pulling something from his pocket. It’s a nose plug, the kind swimmers use. “Put this on.”
“Fuck off.”
“Fine, we’ll do it the hard way.”
Between the two of them, they manage to clip the nose plug onto me. While I struggle, Rory pulls out a plastic drinking straw next.
“Open wide,” he says, grinning like this is the best day of his life.
“What the hell is this?” I demand and immediately clamp my mouth firmly shut.
“Your snorkel,” Declan explains. “We’re not monsters, Kane.”
“Could have fooled me,” I mutter, as they drag me across the sand, my half-naked body shivering in the morning chill.
“This is insa…” I start to shout but remember I still have two free feet.
I take off running, and as I do, Declan orders Rory to start digging just as he takes chase. I don’t get more than twenty feet before he tackles me to the ground.
He drags me back to where Rory has dug a canoe-sized hole. If it weren’t my life on the line, I would be impressed. “You can’t be serious,” I protest as Declan forces me to lie flat on the sand. “This is—this is torture!”
“This is an intervention,” he corrects, holding me down while Rory starts piling sand around my legs. “You’ve been drunk since we left Toronto. We need you sober and focused.”
The sand is cold and coarse against my skin as they work quickly, piling it higher and higher. First, my legs disappear, then my torso, my arms pinned firmly at my sides.
“Should we cover his head?” Rory asks, motioning towards me.
Declan shakes his head, then bends down and grabs my face. “Where the hell did the nose plug go?”
