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And I turn my gaze back to my nurse. I realize Quinn was meant for greater things than patching up our sorry lot. Though, I’ll miss having her around when she does get a full-time job. Knowing she’s here to put us back together has made it much easier to take risks because she’s been doing it for so many years now. She was doing it even before she graduated high school.
And I’ll never trust my life in anyone else’s hands quite like I do Quinn’s. Something about her presence makes the King household feel that much safer, more dependable—like a home, really.
She’ll leave behind a sizable hole when she goes.
But that’s no excuse to hold her back.
Quinn deserves the world, and I sincerely want that for her. Even if it means we’ll be losing a guardian angel with a healer’s touch. I know Killian feels the same way about his little sister, regardless of how he teases her. That’s just his way of showing affection. He might refer to her as his annoying kid sister, but to be honest, she’s the most mature out of all of us.
And we’ve been blessed to have Quinn around for as long as we have.
There’s just something about her—something about her presence I can’t quite put my finger on. It’s been there from the very start.
When the Kings first picked me up off the streets—after my failed attempt to pickpocket Killian’s father—Quinn hadn’t even been born yet. But her entrance into the family brought a sense of joy and laughter that the four rough-housing King boys didn’t possess.
She made the family softer, more gentle. They were always kind. After all, they took in a filthy, ragged street urchin like me and gave me a warm bed and three square meals a day—all out of the goodness of their hearts.
But when Quinn arrived, it was like witnessing a miracle. Everything changed the day Mrs. King brought that tiny bundle home in her arms. And even now, Quinn brings sunshine with her into any room she enters.
She’ll make an incredible nurse because of it.
“There, you’re all set,” she says, her smile lighting her eyes as they rise to meet mine.
For one suspended moment, it almost feels like she can pluck my thoughts right from my mind. It’s probably the only way she’ll ever know them, because voicing my mind has always felt like a monumental task. I prefer to keep things close to the vest—to better protect myself, or so I learned on the streets.
But Quinn’s one of the few people I know I could trust completely.
Maybe someday I’ll tell her how I feel.
In the meantime, I suspect she knows more than she lets on. Because her cheeks color self-consciously, and her eyes drop, breaking our silent connection.
3
QUINN
One of the things that drew me toward health care to begin with was my insatiable curiosity. Because my father never spoke business in front of me—or at least he tried not to because my mom hated it. All of it. If it were up to her, I don’t doubt she would have preferred to live in squalor knowing my father and brothers would be safe. And I wanted to know about the world he tried so hard to keep me isolated from.
But like my father, Killian is drawn to the game of strategy that is ruling the Irish Kings. In my brother’s mind, New York is just one big chessboard. Only each borough has its own king or queen and army to manipulate.
Unlike my father, though, Killian saw the value in my ability to patch him and his men up without the legal ramifications that can come with going to a hospital after an illegal shootout. And that meant, by my first year of college, I finally realized my family isn’t in the shipping industry. Not thelegalkind of shipping anyway.
Still, listening in on conversations over sutures has been my best source of information when it comes to my brother’sdealings, because he doesn’t want me to fall into a life of crime any more than our father did.
Ironic, considering that their nefarious means of making money is what put me through college. It’s what continues to put a roof over my head and food in my belly.
And eventually, my brother has gotten comfortable enough to talk business in my presence that he even lets it trickle into dinner conversation every now and again. Tonight, however, tension permeates the room as we eat our steak, potatoes, and creamed spinach.
I glance silently toward the head of the table as forks and knives clatter over our dinner plates. Once upon a time, my father occupied that chair. With my mom to his left and Killian to his right. Now Natasha sits to Killian’s left, Lance on his right.
And because it puts butterflies in my stomach whenever I sit too close to Lance, I’ve taken up residence in the chair beside my brother’s new wife.
She eats delicately, cutting her perfectly cooked filet mignon into small bites before sliding each piece between her full lips and pearly teeth. Her sister didn’t stay for dinner—probably because Tatiana and Killian can’t seem to occupy the same space for more than five minutes without arguing.
But Natasha still looks tense, reflecting the same growing frustration building in my chest, tightening like an iron fist around my heart. Only Lance seems perfectly at ease in the notable silence.
Killian keeps casting glances toward his wife, as if anticipating the impending explosion. “Just say it,” he says finally, setting his fork and knife down on his plate as he turns his full attention toward his Russian bride.
Natasha sighs, setting her knife and fork down as well before interlacing her fingers and placing her elbows on the table. “I’m just tired of the fighting. I’d hoped we would have avenged myfather by now—without turning it into a full-on war. But Don Lucian has such good reinforcements…It doesn’t matter what you or Tatiana throw at him. This isn’t the right angle, and you know it.”