Forever Mine: Callaghan Brothers, Book 9 by Abbie Zanders Page B

him in the eye. Really looked at him, rather than at his identification bracelet, incision or I.V. insertion points. It was probably the first time she had done so. She had striking blue eyes, accentuated by what Kathleen used to call “lines of character” and filled with a look he knew all too well. In that moment, he sensed a kindred spirit. She’d known loss as well.
    “Thank you,” she said.
    “For what?”
    “I haven’t been called a ‘lass’ in a long time. Not since my father died.” Her voice was softer, more feminine than it had been.
    “Hey Dad,” Michael said, breezing into the room. He took one look at the smile on the nurse’s face and stopped, raising a quizzical brow. “Is he behaving himself?”
    “Yes,” she grinned. “He’s quite the charmer.”
    “ He is right here,” Jack reminded them, “and he can hear every word you’re saying.”
    Michael chuckled. “Thanks, Kim. I’ll take it from here.”
    The nurse left the room, still smiling, and Michael shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that woman smile before. What did you say to her?”
    Jack shrugged slightly, wincing when the action pulled at the staples holding his chest together. He’d have to remember not to do that.
    He countered Michael’s question with one of his own. “What does Maggie think of you being on a first-name basis with all of these pretty nurses?” Jack asked with a glimmer in his eye.
    “My wife knows that she is the only woman for me. I remind her of that daily,” he smirked.
    “I always knew you were a smart boy.”
    “So how are you today, Dad?”
    Michael’s expression—– what Jack liked to call his ‘Marcus Welby mask’ -—gave nothing away, but the concern in his eyes was plain enough.
    “Why not just come out and say what’s on your mind, son? I didn’t raise you to tap dance, and I’m too damn tired and sore for it.”
    Michael pulled a chair up close to his bedside and sat down. When he spoke, it was with carefully chosen words and a far-too-even tone. “Having something like this happen can affect more than your body. It can mess with your mind as well.”
    Jack narrowed his eyes. “Boy,” he began in warning, his tone low, “stop right there.” He’d been through a hell of a lot worse than a heart attack, and he’d be damned if he was going to start talking about his feelings . “I had a heart attack, just like thousands of other people do every day. You fixed it, end of story.”
    To his credit, Michael dropped his eyes, just like he did when he was a young lad. But he was far from dropping the subject. “Is it?” he said softly. “When you were out of it, you were talking, you know. To Mom.”
    His sons might have gotten his brawn, but they’d definitely inherited their mother’s tenacity. Jack peeled him with a steely glaze. “That’s what this is about? Me mumbling incoherently when you’ve got me pumped up on God-knows-what?”
    “You spoke as if you could see her.”
    “Not a day goes by I don’t see your mother,” Jack told him, pointing to his head, “up here. And not a day goes by I don’t talk to her, either. That’s been true for almost twenty-five years, ever since the day she passed. Your mother was, and continues to be, the love of my life. If you think that ended when she died...” he paused, swallowing down the painful ache he still got every time he thought of that day, “then you don’t understand shite.”
    A swell of emotion rose up within him; Jack sank back into the pillow and closed his eyes. He hadn’t cried in front of his boys since they lowered Kathleen’s casket into the ground, and he wasn’t about to start now.
    “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to suggest - ”
    Jack waved him off with a wave of his hand. “Go on then. Go tend to someone who needs you. I’m tired.”
    It took a few moments, but he finally heard a sigh and the near-silent scrape of the chair as Michael returned it to its previous