I should’ve protected her better. Should’ve prepared her better. Kept her away from here. Should’ve fought harder.
Should’ve killed-
No.
Not that.
Not tonight.
My son shifts against my chest, his warmth searing through me.
And I look down at him, little patchy-pink fingers just peeking out the top of the blanket swaddled around him, curled over the white fabric beneath his chin.
He is… unreal. Thick lashes an inky curl against his cheeks, springy coils of dark hair damp on his head, little chest rising and falling with a rhythm I never want to live without.
“I didn’t think…” I whisper. “I didn’t think I’d get to hold you.”
My older brother’s hand lands on my shoulder, light this time.
Comforting instead of restraining.
“You did good,” Gore says quietly.
I shake my head, “She almost died.”
“But she didn’t.” His certainty cuts through my panic like a blade. “She didn’t,” he repeats, as though he knows how much I need to hear it. “She fought. You fought. And look-” He gestures to the small bundle sleeping on me. “Your family made it.”
Family.
The word is a cleave through my chest, axe blade to the heart.
I look at her again, asleep and pale and alive, and my vision blurs.
“I love her,” I murmur, voice cracking, not caring that my words are heard by all of my brothers. “I love her so much it makes me fucking sick.”
Gore huffs a breath that’s not quite a laugh, too much pain in him to be that, “That’s Pairing for you.”
I press my cheek against the soft hair of the tiny boy who shares our blood.
Hours pass.
My brothers doze.
The medics rotate quietly.
The lights dim.
And then, as dawn creeps faintly into the room, a nurse comes forward with another blanket. “Would you like me to take the baby so you can rest?”
“No,” I answer instantly, clutching him tighter, I’ll never let him out of my sight as long as I live.
She smiles like she expected that, nodding as she turns to leave.
I adjust him in my arms, he sighs in his sleep, wrinkling his little nose, and I look at Penelope again.
The blood.
The monitors.
