To Blake, With Love

by KT Webb

  “I didn’t know where else to go. I never thought to ask where your mom lives. I was on my way to wake you at your cottage when I saw the pub was still open.”

  “Blake, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  She holds her injured hand up for me to see just how much worse it looks. The bruising has spread across the entire back of her hand. A large, unnatural lump has taken up residence halfway between the knuckle of her middle finger and wrist. As gently as I can, I take her hand to get a better look. Shite. There’s no way this isn’t broken. Feckin' Roald Molloy. Double shite. The youngest Roald is sitting at a table nearby. I don’t know if he heard the full extent of what his grandfather did to her, but he’s about to find out. Blake is not going to be happy about this.

  “Dr. Molloy?” I call over my shoulder.

  A flicker of recognition crosses Blake’s face. Of course, it’s too much of a coincidence that she and the doctor who happens to be in my pub have the same last name. Kinnitty is not a big town, and we don’t have a lot of variety when it comes to family names. Roald III comes up behind me and makes a soft hissing sound when he sees the hand of the stranger he was going to meet eventually.

  “How much have you had to drink tonight, doc?” I ask him.

  “You just gave me my second drink, and I only took one sip out of it. Come on, let’s get her to my office. You can tell me what happened on the way, lass.”

  There’s no question about whether I’m joining them or not. I look over my shoulder to Patrick. He simply nods and waves his hand telling me to go. He’ll take care of the pub, no questions asked. I allow Roald to lead us into the night while I wrap a protective arm around Blake. The chill of the February night has her shaking like a leaf. I’m going to have to scold her for not putting on something sensible before venturing out of the cottage at night. I glance at her feet. She’s shuffling along in a pair of house shoes, at least her feet will be relatively warm.

  “I’m guessing this is the infamous Blake Molloy,” Roald says over his shoulder.

  “Who’s asking?” Blake is in pain, but she’s still got her wits about her.

  “My name is Roald Molloy. I’m the doctor here.”

  Blake falters in her steps, throwing an accusatory look in my direction. “Seriously? Never mind, I’ll suck it up until tomorrow. I’ll catch a ride into Tullamore.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Blake. Clearly, this isn’t the Roald Molloy you had the pleasure of meeting already. Doctor Roald Molloy is the grandson of Roald Molloy, the cane-carrying arsehole.”

  Roald sighs, “I heard there was an altercation, but I had no idea he did something like this! I hope you know that not all Molloy’s agree with our parents, aunts, and uncles. I’d like to apologize on behalf of your many cousins for his atrocious behavior.”

  “Well, about that, Roald. I wasn’t sure how much you’d heard about what happened earlier. Your grandfather hit her with his cane. That’s how this happened,” I explain, gesturing toward Blake’s injury.

  “Are you serious?” Roald stops in his tracks just before stepping onto the sidewalk in front of his office.

  “No, he made that up for the fun of it,” Blake’s snark is back in full force.

  Roald looks from her to me and back again. I simply shrug and gesture for him to get on with it and let us into the office. He unlocks the door and holds it open for us, locking it once more when we’re all inside. The crime rate is low in Kinnitty, but I appreciate that he’s concerned enough to close the door after the revelation of what his grandfather had done.

  “I don’t have to take an x-ray to know it’s broken, but we do have to see just how bad this break is,” Roald leads her toward a back room where I assume the necessary equipment resides.

  Blake looks at me with narrowed eyes as if to tell me she’ll deal with me later. I guess I don’t blame her for being upset. She doesn’t know these people at all. Her first experience with a member of her extended family was far from positive, so she’s a bit skeptical about this. Hopefully, Roald can get her all fixed up, prescribe some painkillers and prove to her that not all the Molloy’s are total dickwads.

  They’re gone for about twenty minutes when I hear a commotion from the exam room. I should go back there. Wait, no. I shouldn’t intervene. Roald is perfectly capable of taking care of his patient, and I need to keep my nose out of it. Blake yells something I can’t understand, but she sounds pissed. That does it. I hop up and head down the short hallway. When I peek around the door frame, Roald looks visibly relieved.

  “Thank God. Gannon, can you tell her I have to set the bone if it’s going to heal?”

  I blink slowly, trying to decide if he’s serious. One look at Blake tells me he definitely needs my help. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman I could describe as feral, but Blake is hunched over in the corner as though her protective stance will keep the doctor from doing what must be done.

  “Blake, you have to let him set it. Trust me on this one, you don’t want to let that break heal as it is. Roald is a good guy. He’s just doing what he has to do to help you heal.”

  The look on her face could turn me to stone. That was clearly not the right tactic. Roald shrugs at me, he’s not going to be any help. Blake is a pain in the ass. How can she be so infuriating and so adorable at the same time? Time to try another angle. I approach her with an outstretched hand to show her I mean no harm. If she’s going to act like a wild animal, I’m going to have to treat her like one. Part of me wants to laugh at her ridiculous behavior. I’m sure it’s a combination of the pain and the rollercoaster of emotions she’s endured since her first encounter with Roald I last night.

  “This is going to happen one way or another, Blake. I’d rather not have to wrestle you down to that exam bed so the doctor can do his job.”

  A single arch of her eyebrow is almost my undoing. In all actuality, I’d love nothing more than to wrestle with her, but now is not the time to think about that. The last thing I need is to let another fantasy play out in my head while my nob reacts in the real world for their viewing pleasure. I take another tentative step toward Blake. That arched eyebrow is still teasing me.

  “Come on, Blake. Would you just cooperate?”

  Her eyes jump between the doctor and me, almost like she’s weighing her options. Finally, after a tense stand-off, Blake releases a somewhat childish “harrumph” and offers Roald her injured hand at the same time she grabs my hand for support. Okay, I can handle this. She’s adorable when she pouts.

  “Alright, Blake, I’m going to give you a shot that will help take the edge off before we do this. It’s not going to be pleasant, but at least this shot will make it easier to bear,” Roald says as he measures out the drug in a syringe. “Do you have any allergies?”

  “No,” Blake shakes her head, staring at the needle.

  “Are you ready?” I ask Roald, then direct my attention to Blake with the same question.

  Blake nods but looks to me as he pokes her in the arm. Her slight wince and pupil dilation make me want to gather her in my arms. It won’t do any good right now. She needs to get this bone set and put in a cast or splint before I can try to ease the pain.

  “Let’s give that a few minutes to take effect,” Roald tells her gently.

  “How bad is the break?” I ask, thinking about what I’d like to do to Roald Molloy I with that cane.

  “It’s not too bad. Just a fracture right in the middle of the hand. A clean break, so it should heal quickly once we get her set and put a brace on it for a few weeks.”

  Blake is starting to lean into me sleepily. I look down at her to see droopy eyes and a goofy grin. Whatever was in that syringe worked in a matter of minutes, good. The clock on the wall tells me the Wolfhound will be closing soon, and I’m sure Patrick will try to get everything cleaned up before he leaves. I’d prefer to leave whatever mess we have to be tackled after I’ve had a decent night’s sleep.

  “Okay, let’s do this,” Roald says as
he rolls a chair over for Blake. “I’ll have you sit here and lay your hand on the exam bed. You might not want to look.”

  I squat next to Blake as she groggily does as she’s told. I don’t want to watch Roald anymore than she probably does, so I gently cup her chin and turn her head to face me. She crinkles her little button nose again and gives me that adorable smile.

  “I like you, you try to be a tough guy, but I think you’re great,” Blake slurs in my direction.

  “I like you too, Blake. Don’t tell anyone else that I’m not so bad though, it’ll make people think they can talk to me,” I wink at her.

  In my peripheral vision, I see Roald laying out the things he’ll need to do his job. I feel his eyes on me as he works. Most people in Kinnitty give me my space. Even when I was younger, I didn’t go out of my way to be friendly with anyone. Being the local pub owner makes me seem more accessible than I did before I took over the Wolfhound, but I’d rather not socialize if I don’t have to. Patrick has been the exception to that rule. Of course, I’m not a total wanker. I talk to people, I’m genial. I would just prefer to be left to my own devices.

  My attention is brought back to the present situation as Blake tightens her death grip on my hand. I refuse to look away from her, I don’t want her to follow my gaze to whatever Doctor Molloy is about to do. Staring into Blake’s eyes has an unexpected effect on me. The color is much more complicated than I initially thought; the brilliant green is accented by flecks of gold. I just met her, but I feel more comfortable under her gaze than I’ve ever felt with anyone, even Pat.

  A sickening crunch echoes through the room that had been silent aside from the ticking of the clock. Blake goes from wincing to crying in a matter of seconds. If she squeezes my hand any tighter, I’m going to need a splint too. It’s over before either of us knows it because I hear the tell-tale sound of Velcro as Doctor Molloy gently, but firmly, straps her hand into a black brace. I use my free hand to reach up and gently wipe a stray tear from her cheek. With tears in her eyes, I can see little hints of blue sparkle through the emerald.

  “We’re all set, Blake. You did great. I’m going to send you home with some pain killers tonight. For the first few days, take them every four to six hours. You can supplement them with acetaminophen if the pain is bothering you but stay away from ibuprofen until you’re done taking these,” Roald looks at me as he gives these instructions because he knows Blake will never remember.

  I offer him a nod, “Thank you for this, Roald. I know it probably puts you in a tough position with the family.”

  “No, what will put me in a tough position with the family is when I report this assault to the Garda.”

  I didn’t see that one coming. It wouldn’t do me any good to argue with him, I can tell from the set of his jaw that he’s made up his mind. If there’s anything I can say about Blake, it’s that she’s going to make things interesting for us in Kinnitty.

  Someone is tapping my shoulder. Why is someone tapping my shoulder when all I want to do is sleep? As consciousness creeps its way into my sleepy state, so does pain. Flashes of wandering into the Wolfhound in my jammies resurface along with visions of a doctor’s office. Gannon helped me. He took me to a doctor, oh no. The doctor was Roald Molloy’s grandson. Fuck. Who the hell is poking my shoulder? I live in a cottage alone. Do Irish people have no boundaries?

  I open my eyes to see Gannon’s worried baby blues. Nothing around him is familiar to me, but that’s probably because I’m still getting accustomed to my new accommodations. No. That’s not it, I’m certainly not in my cottage.

  “Where am I?” I ask Gannon as I start to sit up.

  “Shhh, it’s okay. Lie down, Blake. I brought you to my cottage so I could keep an eye on you after you got that shot last night. You can go back to sleep after you take this,” he offers me a glass of water and a pill.

  “I’m going to have to sit up to take that,” I narrow my eyes at him.

  Gannon helps me sit up, and I realize I was sleeping in his bed. He’s shirtless, wearing a pair of boxers. Jesus, help me. Wait a minute, if I’m in his bed, where did he sleep? I turn around to see if the other side is mussed, and sure enough, it is. Oh, my God. Did he sleep with me? Did I have drug-induced sex with him? I can feel the heat creeping into my face while I try to find the words to ask him what happened the last night.

  “Blake, relax. I slept here too, but only because I wanted to keep an eye on you. Nothing happened, well almost nothing,” his eyes twinkle with mischief while he offers me a sly wink.

  The look on my face must be screaming how terrified I am that I did something I don’t remember with a guy I would definitely want to remember doing things with. We just had the “snail’s pace” talk yesterday. I can’t believe either of us would be stupid enough to cross any lines after that. The worst part? I don’t know Gannon well enough to feel completely confident that he wouldn’t take advantage of me while I was out of it. Gannon crouches down so his knees are on either side of mine, and we’re face to face.

  “Blake, I would never hurt you. I prefer my women to be completely conscious and compliant, you were neither. When I say almost nothing, I mean, you snuggled right up to me, and I was more than happy to oblige. Best sleep I’ve had in a long time.”

  I blink a few times to hide the tears threatening to fall. I feel awful for thinking he would violate me in any way. This is the guy who practically flew across the room to keep himself from going too far with me in Dublin. Gannon isn’t a bad guy; he’s just guarded. People could probably say the same about me.

  “Thank you for helping me, Gannon. I’ll have to talk to the doctor too, what was his name again?”

  Gannon side-eyes me, “You don’t remember?”

  I search my memories of last night, some things are too fuzzy. Between the pain and whatever the doctor gave me last night, I’m not sure what happened when. I know I intended to go to Gannon’s cottage but saw that the pub was open, and I knew he would be there. The doctor was in the pub. A moment resurfaces, and I distinctly hear Gannon call the doctor by name.

  “Oh my God, he’s a Molloy! Not just a Molloy, but a Roald Molloy. Shit. Well, that’s going to make things fun today, isn’t it?” I’m in full-on panic mode.

  “Hey, calm down. Dr. Molloy is a good guy. I think you’ll find your cousins are far less likely to regard you in the same manner as the older generation.”

  He’s probably right, but that doesn’t make this any less terrifying. How can I face any of them if they find out I had to go running to be rescued over a bruise? I study the brace that goes midway up my forearm. I remember how awful it felt to have the doctor set the bone. This is more than just a bruise. Ugh, I can’t believe this happened. I take a few steadying breaths to calm myself down. Gannon has his hands resting on my bare knees. His touch, combined with his shirtless, muscle-toned chest, is doing things to me I should probably ignore. Gannon is damn sexy; from beard to butt, I’m pretty sure every inch of him is perfect.

  “You know, you still haven’t taken this pain pill. The doctor said the shot would wear off soon, and you should stay on top of the pain. Can you please take this?”

  “What did he give me?” I ask out of curiosity more than anything else.

  “It’s a narcotic pain reliever. It’s going to make you tired and maybe a little loopy. He gave me enough for you to take one every four to six hours for the next week. He wants to see you again in a week.”

  I take the pill, popping it in my mouth and washing it down with the proffered glass of water. As soon as he’s satisfied that I’ve swallowed my pill, Gannon leaves the room. I wish I’d brought a sweatshirt or something to put over the excessive amount of skin I’m showing. Gannon’s closet is open across the room. The idea has formed before I can fully make the decision. On my way to the closet, I realize how badly I have to pee. With a longing look at the closet door, I alter my course for the attached bathroom. Gannon is a surprisingly clean man for a bachelor. Not a s
ingle stray hair resides in his sink, and the toilet seat is down. I don’t detect the tell-tale odor of man musk that usually clings to the air molecules in every restroom frequented by men. When I’m finished using the bathroom, I’m pleased to find that Gannon has not returned.

  I slip into his closet in search of a comfy sweatshirt. Most of his wardrobe is made up of solid-colored crew-neck t-shirts and button-up flannels. Typical of a man who likes to keep things simple. Towards the back of the closet, I hit the jackpot. He’s shoved all the sweatshirts toward Narnia as though he thinks the fawns will need to borrow them from time to time. I grab one at random and pull it over my head. Thankfully, it’s a comfortable hoodie with plenty of room to snuggle. Gannon is walking into the bedroom as I’m leaving his closet. The look on his face is priceless. Apparently, I’m not the only one who has a hard time keeping my gaze in check. His eyes travel down my bare legs slowly, as though he’s taking in every inch of exposed skin. I’m blushing by the time his eyes meet mine again.