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

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

impeding his thoughts.

her

me to make?

“Yes.” Something twinkled in his

Only after a coughing fit

reminded of his medicine. She moved her stiffened body

it to him, she instructed,

shock, she added, “Eat

strength to proceed with

ounce of hope he had died

known this was what awaited him. His

his skull. Something was choking him from

making simple conversation way too

He swallowed the pills, lay down, and sat up again.

“I’ll sit,”

“Until morning?”

She ignored him.

an unused bathrobe, put

Deirdre frowned. “What are you

“You get into the bed. I’ll take

destination exactly as he said he

paused for a minute. Then, she recovered from what

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

who’d kick a patient out of his

Brendan closed his eyes, weary.

It was a considerably more limited space to

only after hearing his slow, rhythmic breathing that

There was no trick, no twist. It

show.