Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3)(76)

Things were getting complicated.

For a long time, he’d very effectively put aside his feelings for Colleen. From that moment when Ellen had told him she was pregnant, he gave up the right to think about Colleen, and certainly to miss her.

But those feelings ran under his life like a subterranean river, and every once in a while, something would crumble, undermined by the current. He dreamt of her smiling with those clear, dark gray eyes, that wise, knowing smile, and he’d follow her into an empty room, thinking finally, finally they were together again...and then he’d jerk awake, and hear Ellen’s soft breathing and remember that he had a wife now. He’d taken vows. He couldn’t betray that with memories of someone else.

But.

She was always there, that river of dark, fast water.

“So you’re working for my mother, and you’re nosing around my sister,” Connor said, speaking at last. They’d been waiting for more than an hour now.

“He does beautiful work, Connor,” Mrs. O’Rourke said mildly. She was reading People magazine. “Which you would know, if you ever came over. Oh, dear. Justin Bieber broke up with his girlfriend. Sad. Connor, what did you think of Stan?”

“He’s very hairy.” Connor resumed the death stare.

Lucas didn’t care. He was here, and he’d be here until he could see that Colleen was okay.

He’d seen her watching her father, not paying attention to the game, and a prickle of warning went through him. Almost before Paulie hit the ball, he was on his feet, somehow knowing Colleen was about to be hurt, and Jesus, her head stopped that ball cold, and then she was on her knees, and for the love of God, made the damn play. And then she went down as if she were dead.

Then he was kneeling at her side, and someone yelled, “Don’t move her!” He didn’t; he just put his hand on her back to see if she was breathing, and thank the sweet Christ child, she was. “Mía? Sweetheart?” he said, his voice rough.

“Ow,” she groaned. “My head! Why did you hit me, Connor?”

Jeremy Lyon checked her, and Levi called it in. Her little sister had been crying, and both Gail and Pete O’Rourke hustled her away.

A concussion was serious business these days. Especially when it happened on town property. When Lucas was a kid, he’d fallen out of the second-story window of Tommy O’Shea’s house and was out cold for ten minutes. His biggest concern was the wrath of Mrs. O’Shea, who’d told the boys to be silent during her soap opera. “Got a pretty good lump,” his father had said when Lucas had gone to the garage to show him. “Get some ice on it.”

Now, though...9-1-1 and ambulances and doctors. Probably a good thing.

“Why are you even here?” Connor snapped.

“Because he cares, Connor. Back off,” Mrs. O’Rourke said. “They may be getting back together, right, Lucas?”

“You’re not getting back together with my sister,” Connor said.

“Oh, please,” Mrs. O’Rourke said. “He’s her first love. And you know how powerful that can be, Connor.”

“Save me,” Connor muttered.

A tiny Asian girl came into the waiting room. She looked to be about thirteen, but she wore a white doctor’s coat and had a stethoscope around her neck. “Hi! I’m Dr. Chu! How’s everyone tonight?” She waited for an answer. “Is everyone here for Colleen O’Rourke?”

“Yes,” Lucas said.

“I figured. It’s a superslow night. She’s the only one here. I was watching Game of Thrones on my phone before she came in, and I was like, yay, finally! A patient!”

“I’m her brother, and this is our mom,” Connor said. He didn’t bother to explain Lucas.

“Excellent! Are you twins? You guys look totally alike.”

“They’re twins, all right,” Mrs. O’Rourke said. “Connor weighed eight pounds, three ounces, and Colleen was seven-fourteen.”

“You’re a champ!” Tiny Asian Girl said. She looked at him. “And you’re the husband?”

“He’s not the husband,” Connor growled.

“Her first love,” Mrs. O’Rourke said.

“Aw! Totally romantic!” the doctor said. “Well, she has a closed head injury, which is a cool way of saying, whoopsy, concussion! Right? We just wanted to observe her for a little while, make sure she didn’t puke or anything. That can be a bad sign. But she’s fine! No emesis—that’s medical speak for puking—and no signs of disorientation. She turned down the CAT scan, which is totally what I would do, too. Why expose yourself to radiation for a bump on the noggin, right?”

She beamed at the three of them, and, getting no response, looked back at her clipboard. “She needs someone to watch her tonight and just do a couple checks, wake her up and see how she feels. If you can’t wake her up or if she seems confused, or if she stops breathing, most definitely call 9-1-1, okay? No Motrin or aspirin for forty-eight hours. Just an ice pack. Do you have any questions?”

“How old are you?” Connor asked.

“I’m twenty-three. Almost twenty-four. Graduated early, kind of a prodigy, not to brag. Any other questions about Colleen? She’s totally pretty, by the way.”

“People say she looks like me,” Jeanette said.