Kate Hoffmann - Conor

She turned back to the road and forced herself to concentrate. To her relief, she found The Mighty Quinn on the first pass along the waterfront. She slammed on the brakes and the car skidded to a stop on the street. Reaching a hand out, she placed her palm on Conor’s cheek. “We’re here,” she said. “Can you walk?”

He nodded and she hopped out and ran around to Conor’s side. She pulled, then dragged him to his feet, urging him to put one foot in front of the other and walk with her. Conor draped his arm around her shoulders and she bore most of his weight. He was still lucid, moving and talking, and Olivia hoped that she’d done the right thing bringing him here.

“What the-”

Olivia looked up to see Brendan coming toward them from the boat. “Help him,” she said. “I think he’s been shot.”

Brendan grabbed Conor’s other arm and wrapped it around his neck and, in a few moments, they were helping Conor into the cabin and onto a long narrow berth.

“It hurts like hell,” Conor murmured, “but I don’t think it hit anything vital.”

Olivia stepped away as Brendan tended to his brother, the impact of what had happened suddenly hitting her full force. Her hands began to tremble and her breath came in quick gasps. Tears scalded the corners of her eyes. Brendan tugged off Conor’s jacket and she moaned along with him, feeling his pain.

“God, Con, there’s an awful lot of blood.” Brendan turned to Olivia and pointed to the far side of the galley. “There’s a first aid kit on the bulkhead. Grab that and a few clean towels.”

Olivia did as she was told. Brendan flipped the kit open and rummaged around until he found a small bottle of alcohol. “Shouldn’t we call an ambulance?” she asked. He doused one of the towels with it then pressed it against Conor’s side.

Her question was met by a loud string of colorful curses. Startled, Olivia stepped back. Brendan chuckled and glanced over his shoulder at her. “It’s the sting from the alcohol.” He turned back to Conor. “It looks like a flesh wound, not too deep, just a lot of blood. I’ve got a buddy here in town who’s a doctor. I’m going to call him.”

“It’s a gunshot wound. He’ll have to report it and they’ll know where we are,” Con said. “You stitch it up, like you stitched up Da’s arm that time when he got caught in the line.”

“Con, we were four hundred miles out to sea and I used an old needle and some fishing line. I’ll explain to my friend that you’re a cop. And he’ll report it tomorrow morning. By that time we’ll be gone.” Brendan grabbed a cell phone from the table and dialed a number, then spoke in soft, urgent tones to his friend.

At the same time, Conor looked over at Olivia and gave her a weak smile. She walked over to the berth and knelt down on the floor, then took his hand. “I was so scared,” she murmured. “I still am.”

“We’ll be fine,” he said, pulling her hand to his lips. “You did good.”

She sat on the floor next to him, holding his hand, until the doctor arrived. Then Brendan drew her out of the cabin up to the deck. Olivia was glad for the fresh air. She was weak and dizzy, and if she had to watch Conor’s pain for a moment longer, she was sure she’d faint.

They stood at the rail and stared out at the dark harbor, listening to the clank of rigging and the soft lap of the water against the hull. “You’ve had quite a night,” Brendan said.

“I thought I had a pretty exciting life before this,” Olivia murmured. “I travelled, I went to fancy parties, I took nice vacations. That was nothing compared to spending time with your brother.”

Brendan wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Thanks,” he said.

She glanced up at him. “For what?”

“For saving his life. For caring about him.”

“That’s not hard to do,” she said, a tiny smile quirking her lips. “He’s a good man. Maybe the best man I’ve ever known.”

“But sometimes he makes it hard to like him. He keeps his distance, and when anyone gets too close, he retreats.”

“He told me about your mother,” she said.

Brendan blinked in surprise. “Conor talked about Ma?”

Olivia stretched her arms out over the rail and stared at her hands. “I don’t think he realized what he was talking about. He was just talking to stay awake.”

“I think that’s the reason Conor keeps to himself,” he said. “When she left, he was the one who took the brunt of it. He was a kid raising five other kids. I don’t think he ever wants to be deserted like that again, so he closes himself off to the possibilities and turns his energy into making everyone feel safe.” Brendan sighed. “He still thinks Ma is alive.”

“Do you think she is?”

Brendan shrugged. “I don’t know. When we were little, Con said he would go to find her when he was old enough. Maybe that’s why he became a cop. Or maybe it was because he needed to take care of everyone else’s troubles. He’s kind of codependent that way. But I don’t think he’s ever looked for Ma.”

“Why not?”

“I think he was afraid of what he might find. He was happier believing she was alive somewhere, alive and living a good life.” Brendan pushed back from the rail. “I’ll go see how things are going. Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea? A shot of whiskey?”

Olivia smiled and shook her head. When she was alone, she walked along the deck to the bow of the boat. The shadows from the quay cast the bow in darkness and she sank down, her strength finally giving out and her emotions taking over. A sob tore from her throat and she hugged her knees to her chest and let the tears fall.

They fell for the life that she once had, calm and orderly, and for all her hopes for the future. They fell for her anger at her business partner and at Red Keenan. But mostly, they fell for Conor, for the boy he was and the man he’d become. A man who’d risked his life for her, a man she was fast falling in love with. And a man who might never return that love.

“Olivia?”

She raised her head and quickly wiped away the tears, then stumbled to her feet. Brendan was waiting for her at the entrance to the main cabin. “He’s going to be fine. The doctor stitched him up. The bullet just grazed him.”

A fresh round of tears flooded her eyes and Brendan drew her into his arms. “Come on. It’s all right now. The doc and I moved him into my cabin where he’ll be more comfortable. And I brought your cat in from the car.” He leaned back and gave her a smile. “Why don’t you go see him. I have to hide the car before someone recognizes it. Then I’ll run and get you both something to eat. Do you want anything special?”

“Little Friskies in the can,” she said. “Tuna flavor. And some kitty litter. For Tommy.”

Brendan chuckled. “I’ll get you a burger.” He nodded toward the cabin. “It’s the companionway that leads to the bow of the boat.”

Olivia wiped her cheeks again and ran her fingers through her hair, hoping that she looked at least presentable. Why she bothered to worry about her appearance, she wasn’t sure. Conor had certainly seen her looking worse. But she wanted to be strong for him and looking like she was falling apart didn’t cut it.

When she reached the forward cabin, she knocked on the door, then stepped inside. The soft glow from an oil lamp washed the cabin in flickering shadows. Conor lay on the bed, bare-chested, eyes closed, a bandage taped to his rib cage. His jeans had been cast aside and the waistband of his boxers was visible where the bedsheet was twisted around his waist. Tommy was sitting silently on the end of the bed, keeping guard over the man that had saved them both. Olivia distractedly scratched the cat’s ears as she stared at Conor, her gaze transfixed by the planes and angles of his face.