Marriage of Inconvenience(Knitting in the City Book #7)(132)

When I’d awoken, after Seamus had knocked me over the head with my Grandma O’Malley’s favorite lamp, I came face-to-face with a paramedic. My first question was, “Where’s Kat?” Once I saw she was okay, my second questions was, “Is he dead?” Because if he wasn’t dead, I was going to kill him.

For the record, he wasn’t dead and I hadn’t killed him.

Yet.

Seamus had disappeared. Kat told me how he’d left, with her holding the gun on him and that piece of shit apologizing as he backed out the door. Apologizing. What the fuck?

“You have a concussion, dummy. Why aren’t you resting?” Quinn didn’t sound upset, and he didn’t sound curious. He just sounded like Quinn.

“I have been resting. I’m resting right now.”

“You’re on a treadmill.”

“But I’m not running. I’m walking. I’ve been stuck in this hotel room since they discharged me from the hospital.” My eyes narrowed on the guy in the park again; he looked like he was talking on his phone. “But you know this, so I don’t know why I’m telling you this again.”

“It’s because you need to complain to someone.” This came from Sandra, her voice sounding like she was yelling from the other side of the room. When she spoke again, she was closer to the receiver. “You need to commiserate.”

“I do?”

“Yes. You do,” she said, sounding reasonable. “You’ve been through an ordeal. Ordeals require commiseration. You need to talk through your feelings, otherwise PTSD may manifest. So, please, commiserate.”

I stared through the window, my eyes now on the skyline. “What? You mean, right now?”

“Yes, Stripper Eyes, right now,” Sandra ordered; then I heard her say quieter, like she was whispering, “You can listen if you want, but I’ll take it from here.”

“Wait.” I frowned. “What did you call me?”

“It was a compliment. Accept it in the nature in which it was given.”

I shook my head, she was confusing me. “Is Quinn still there?”

“Yeah. I’m here.” He paused, cleared his throat, and then added robotically, as though being prompted, “Please commiserate.”

I huffed a laugh, imagining Sandra feeding him lines on the other end. Man, it felt good to laugh. It also hurt. My lip was mostly healed, but Seamus had bruised a few of my ribs. He was a dirty fighter and they were still sore.

“Good. Quinn, listen, you all set for this weekend?”

“Why aren’t you commiserating?” Sandra asked, her voice taking on the peculiar quality she used when trying to psychoanalyze one of us. “And how is Kat? Has she visited her mother yet?”

“Yeah,” I grumbled. “She went Sunday.”

“You didn’t go with her, did you? I mean, you were resting, right?”

“No.”

Kat’s visit to her mom was a sore subject for me, put me in a worse mood.

“No to which question? Did you go with her or did you rest?”

“No, I didn’t go with her. Yes, I rested.” I rolled my eyes, ignoring the pain in my brain at the movement.

We were supposed to go visit Kat’s mom last Friday. With my hospital stay and everything, the visit had been canceled. But Kat needed to go see her mom, needed to tell her about her father’s death, so she’d gone on Sunday. Without me.

“She should go back soon, next week, when you’re better. Make sure she’s not avoiding.”

I made a face. “Give us a break, Sandra. Things have been nuts.”

Honestly, I didn’t know if I wanted Kat to go back to see her mom. She’d come back from the facility all sad, her eyes red from crying. Seeing her that way landed like a punch to the gut and I hated it.

“Dan the Security Man—” She sounded like she was getting ready to make a threat.

So I cut in, “Sandra the Shrink, I have fifteen minutes until my ma gets back and she’ll shit a kidney if she finds me on the phone. So let me talk to Quinn.”

“Fine. But when I see you on Saturday, there will be commiseration. Give Kat a hug for me.”

“Understood. Now put Quinn back on the line and tell him to take me off speaker.”

The phone made a sound, like it was being passed from one person to another, and then Quinn said, “Okay. I’m walking into the other room.” What he didn’t say, Away from these nutjobs.

He didn’t need to say it; it was implied by his tone. That also had me smiling.

“You all set for this weekend?” I asked again. “Everyone still coming?”

“Yes. We’ll all be there. We’re leaving Chicago early, should arrive before ten. Betty made the arrangements for transportation from the airport, so we’ll meet you at The Langham.”