Small Blessings

Chapter 10

December 25, 2019

The steady beeping of his heart was a metronome of comfort to my frazzled nerves. The last 24 hours had been a whirlwind and I was ready to crash. The fumes of an earlier adreneline rush were long since gone. 

Looking away from the tv, I used my left hand to swipe a stray strand of hair from Dillon's brow, and then laid my head against Dillon's shoulder and closed my eyes.

I was so tired. Dillion had come out of his surgery with flying colors but had yet to wake up. I had been sitting in his isolated room for hours.

"Hey," Dillon whispered hoarsely out of no-where, catching me off guard.

"You're awake!" I sat up abruptly. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and tried to pull myself together. "How do you feel? Are you alright? Does it hurt?"

When I banged my bandaged shoulder on Dillon's bedrail, I cursed with a gasp. "Shit!"

"Me? Are you ok?" He said, trying to sit up. "Aoibheann (pronounced "Ay-Veen"), are you alright? Did they hit you?" Before he could hurt himself, I patted his hand gently and got him to lay back down on his pillow.

"I'm good, Dillon. Don't get up. I don't want you to rip a stitch, or worse."

He ignored me, though, much to my frustration and utter disbelief. Sitting up again, and swaying slightly in the process, he began to fuss against everything hooked up to him.

"What do you think you're doing, Dillon?" I asked. "Where are you going? You were shot! Cripes! You can't just-"

"I gotta get outta here," he said in a rush, but then back-tracked, picking up my hand and making eye contact. "We gotta get out of here."

I was so taken aback that my mind didn't keep up. My body was moving to get him his things before my brain realized what I was doing.

"Wait! Dillon, you lost a lot of blood. You can't just leave," I began to repeat. "You need to rest. We can't..."

I was at a loss. I knew he was right but my mind was screaming against the idea of him getting out of that hospital bed. He had almost died. My clothes were in a patient bag on the floor soaked in his blood, for Pete's sake.

We couldn't walk out now; not in his condition.

I'd been brought up in this life, though. I knew we didn't have the luxury of time. Frankly, I was surprised we'd been left alone as long as we had.

"Where are we going, Dillon?" I asked, my adrenaline returning. My hands started to shake. I wasn't nervous so much as sleep-deprived and low on fuel. I hadn't eaten anything since the biscotti at the Ferrari's.

"I'm taking you home to Maine," Dillon explained while putting on his stained jeans with a wince. When he lost his balance, he slipped back onto his mattress to keep from falling flat out. Closing his eyes and regrouping, he opened them again and continued his ministrations. I could tell he was fighting to continue through the pain. Taking pity, I moved forward to help him the rest of the way.

"You still never told me what any of this has to do with my father, Dillon." I grumbled, fighting a rising temper as I helped him put on his shoes. Damn things reminded me of how this all began. The first time I saw them on his feet I knew something was up. Very few people could afford this brand and him wearing them to a local tavern pricked my spidey senses. It's one of the reasons I gave in to a second drink; I wanted to feel him out more. See what or rather, who, he was.

"Cripes!" He replied.

"What?" I asked undaunted. "Did you think you could slink out of here and get away with not-"

"No," he said through gritted teeth. "I didn't think any-"

"You're damn right you didn't think. I'm not some fragile little schoolgirl, unable to handle-"

"Ah, leave him be, Aoibheann," a familiar voice called from the hospital doorway. "He was just doing his job."

Whipping my head around I couldn't believe what I was seeing. "Niall!"

I ran over to give my Godfather a hug. I was shocked to see him.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to take you home," he replied calmly. "Dillon has somewhere he needs to be. I came to get you. You can't go back to your condo. It's not safe."

"What? Why?" I asked.

"Wait, " I said turning to look back at Dillon. "What the hell is going on?"

"Niall," I continued, glancing around. "I love you to pieces but either you or Dillon better start talking."

Realizing what this meant, a jolt of fear shot through me. I grabbed Niall's arm urgently. "And, if you're down here in New York with me, Niall," my voice picked up in alarm. "whose protecting Mother up in Maine?"

Swinging my head back and forth between these two men, I pleaded with my eyes for one of them to answer me.

It was Dillon who spoke up. "You dad has been captured by the Russians, Aoibheann. I need to leave as soon as possible to meet up with the retrieval team."

Stunned, I backed up, eventually hitting the wall behind me before sliding down to sit in a chair nearby. "No!"

"He's telling the truth, Aoibheann," Niall explained quietly. "They're holding him in an Argentinan prison as we speak."

I bit my lip and tried not to cry at my rising emotions. "No, no, no..."

I looked out the hospital window and raised my eyebrows at the blanket of snow now falling from the grey skies. When did that begin?

When did any of this begin?

How could my father be in an Argentinan prison while we were holed up in this hospital room, my new friend shot and I trying to figure out what or how I had missed all the signs?

But I had missed them.

Some CIA agent I'd one day make.

I hadn't seen any of this coming. I hadn't realized...

But I should have!

The war, Daddy's urgent trip...

All the signs were there, and just like the snowstorm outside, I never saw it coming.