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

her. Maybe, his

impeding his thoughts.

of her rage to ask,

me to make? Did you dream of

“Yes.” Something twinkled

Only after

medicine. She moved her stiffened body and took it from the

to him, she instructed, “Eat

Before Brendan could enjoy his shock, she added, “Eat it and rest early.

strength to

Any last ounce of hope

awaited him.

glue swirling inside his skull. Something was choking him from

conversation way

pills, lay down, and sat up again.

“I’ll sit,” Deirdre

“Until morning?”

She ignored him.

unused bathrobe, put it

his commotion, Deirdre frowned. “What are you

“You get into the bed. I’ll

destination

Deirdre paused for a minute. Then, she recovered from what she believed

games and sneered. “Get back here on the bed. I’m

*sshole who’d kick a patient

his eyes, weary.

a considerably more limited

after hearing his slow, rhythmic breathing that

was no trick, no twist. It was

show.