“Ye have a catheter . . . in you.”
Of all of the things for him to see when we were in such a situation . . . it made my face burn.
I groaned. “Bloody hell.”
“Hush now,” Mum said as she fixed my blanket back around me. “You were in a coma, a catheter is necessary. Don’t be embarrassed.”
“Easy for you to say.” I yawned. “Is the catheter bag in view?”
“It is for me,” Elliot answered. “I just noticed it.”
I groaned again. “Is it full?”
“Yup.” He winked. “Your kidneys are workin’ well it appears.”
“Pig.” I playfully scowled at his teasing. “I think I’m gonna close my eyes for a minute, if the doctor or nurse comes back in, tell them to take it out, okay? I can get to the bathroom by myself now that I’m awake, even if I have to crawl. I know I look broken, but I promise I’m not . . . or not entirely, anyway.”
Elliot leaned back in his chair, and his hand let go of mine so he could salute me.
“Anythin’ else, boss?”
“Yeah,” I murmured, closing my eyes. “Trim the beard, Chewie.”
The ache in my head faded away to nothing, allowing me to enjoy the low laughter of the people I loved most in the world as I drifted off into a deep, peaceful slumber.
CHAPTER TEN
ELLIOT
Twenty-one years old . . .
“Bailey McKenna!” I hollered up the stairs. “If you’re not down these bleedin’ steps in ten seconds or less, I’m gonna—”
“I’m comin’!” My sister’s screech cut me off. “I’m comin’, ye feckin’ ape. Keep your knickers on.”
“Give over,” Ma called from the kitchen. “The pair of ye.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and scowled at the red-headed pixie as she descended the stairs, pulling her hair back into a half-bun thing. I didn’t understand it – half of her hair was tied up while the other half was down and curled.
“Your head looks like a pineapple with that hair.”
She shoved by me. “Like you’d know anythin’ about style.”
I followed her into the kitchen where our parents were eating lunch.
“What’re ye talkin’ about?” I quizzed as I held my hands out. “I am style. D’ye not see what I’m wearin’?”
I had on a standard grey Calvin Klein tracksuit, paired with brand-new white Nike runners. I looked fresh.
The kid barely glanced my way. “Please, ye’ve got common MW style.”
I blinked. “Common what style?”
“MW.” She grinned, then mouthed the words “man whore”.
I never wanted those words to leave my baby sister’s mouth again.
I glared at her. “Let those words slip past your lips again, and I’m staplin’ them together.”
“Ma! Elliot’s threatenin’ me!”
“Elliot, don’t threaten your sister.”
I grinned. “Sorry, baby.”
My sister scowled. “I’m not a baby, ye hav’te stop callin’ me that!”
“Ye’ll always be me little baby, baby.”
Bailey cringed. “Whatever, are ye ready to go?”
“Am I ready?” I repeated on a laugh. “I’ve been waitin’ for you the last half an hour.”
“Ye were rushin’ me,” she said, scowling. “When ye rush me, it stresses me out and I move slower. Fact.”
“The only fact is you’re doin’ me head in. Get out into me car. Now.”
“You’re not the boss of me!” she huffed, as she did exactly what I’d told her to do.
She shouted her goodbyes to our parents, then stormed out of the house with me following behind. I smiled as I trotted along after her. This was typical behaviour with my sister; she acted like I was the bane of her existence, but in reality she loved me and always wanted to hang out with me. I had always been close with her, but when we moved from our home in Dublin to London, she didn’t take the transition very well and our bond deepened. I was seven years older than her and I had always been protective of her – and that instinct only grew as she got older.
When we got into my car and I reminded her to buckle up, she rolled her eyes. “You’re such a loser, Eli. It’s always ‘buckle up, buckle up’.”
I shook my head, not understanding her logic.
“Only losers don’t wear their seat belt. Ye’ve no idea how many scenes I’ve been to that someone could have survived if only they were wearin’ one.”
Bailey didn’t reply, instead she buckled her seat belt.
“I can’t even believe I’m doin’ this,” I grumbled as I put the car in reverse. I put my hand on the back of Bailey’s headrest and looked over my shoulder as I backed out of the driveway. “Of all things in the world she wanted to do with me, why does it have to be this?”
“Don’t be such a bloke,” Bailey said, her tone clipped. “Ye love Noah, and she never told ye she wanted to do this, she told me and I told you.”
“Still,” I sighed, putting the car in first gear. “Dance lessons. I’m feckin’ dreadin’ it.”
“Not just any dance lessons.” Bailey shimmied her shoulders. “Salsa lessons.”
I glanced at her as we drove. She looked entirely happy about salsa lessons, and it irked me.
“You’re enjoyin’ this, aren’t ye?”
“More than ye’ll ever know, big brother.”
I snorted. “She better appreciate this – she bleedin’ well better.”
It was mine and Noah’s three-year anniversary, and up until a few weeks ago I’d had no idea what to do for it. Noah didn’t like bags, jewellery or shoes. I had more clothes and runners than she did. The only thing she actively bought was make-up, but I’d checked her dressing table in our bedroom and she was stocked up on everything. Apparently, Superdrug had a half-off sale and she’d gone a bit mad on her way home from work recently, which left me with limited options as to what to get her as a present.
I was stuck, until I happened to mention it to my sister, who then told me that Noah had mentioned that she wanted to take dance lessons with me for fun, but had never told me because she thought I’d say
