Resent, Reject, Regret

Chapter 567 Of Course, I Thought Too Highly of Myself

The nonchalance crushed the emotional storm he himself had created in Deirdre. Balling

her hands into fists, she willed herself to suppress the urge not to deck her hand across

Brendan’s face.

“Your conscience? After all the sins you’ve committed? After all the lives you’ve ruined?

And all you get is your wimpy conscience burning a hole in your non-existent soul!? Your

conscience is worthless!”

There was something unreadable and nebulous in Brendan’s black eyes, but he

managed to maintain his caustic tongue. “All that is in the past, McKinnon, so can you

stop yapping about it? What do you want me to do? Scrap my knees begging you for

forgiveness? Grow up.”

“Grow… up?” Deirdre could almost see black spots dancing in front of her eyes. She

could not stop herself from sneering. “I guess you’re right. I need to grow up and stop

being so naive. How could I possibly demand the great and mighty Mr. Brighthall to beg

for my forgiveness? How could I commit the sin of making his conscience slap him on

his wrist!? Oh God, of course! I thought too highly of myself!”

Brendan turned his head sideways. He could not seem to come up with even more

things to one-up her. Maybe, his fever had gotten severe enough that it

impeding his thoughts.

of her

make? Did you dream

twinkled in

die. Only after a coughing fit seized

her stiffened body and took it

to him, she

his shock, she added, “Eat it and rest early. I

strength to proceed with

ounce of hope

this was what awaited him. His head made his thoughts

of glue swirling inside his skull. Something was choking

simple conversation way

and

“I’ll sit,”

“Until morning?”

She ignored him.

an unused bathrobe, put it on, and climbed out of

commotion, Deirdre frowned. “What are you

the bed. I’ll take

toward his destination

a minute. Then, she recovered from what she believed

one of Brendan’s elaborate games and sneered. “Get back here on the bed.

of *sshole who’d kick a patient out of his bed for

his eyes, weary.

He lay on the couch. It was a considerably

It was only after hearing his slow, rhythmic breathing that

sincere. There was no trick, no twist. It

show.