She slips out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
We just stare at the frozen image on the screen—our baby, alive and healthy.
A tiny miracle that survived kidnapping and terror and a knife pressed against my stomach.
"I thought I lost you," RJ finally says. His voice is barely a whisper. "Both of you. When I found your bag, and the blood, and then the test—" He breaks off, shaking his head. "I've never been so scared in my life, Dalla. Not in combat, not on any mission, not ever. The thought of losing you?—"
"You didn't." I reach up and touch his face, wiping away the tears with my thumb. "I'm here. We're both here."
"I know." He turns his head and presses a kiss to my palm. "But I keep seeing it. Seeing you in that chair, bleeding, with thatknife at your throat. Hearing her say she was going to—" His jaw clenches. "I keep thinking about what would have happened if we'd been there five minutes later. If Tor hadn't distracted her. If I'd missed the shot."
"But you didn't miss. You saved us."
"I almost didn't get the chance." He sinks into the chair beside my bed, still holding my hand.
He looks exhausted—dark circles under his eyes, blood still spattered on his shirt, the weight of the day pressing down on him. "When she said she was going to cut the baby out of you, I—" He stops. Swallows hard. "Something broke in me, Dalla. Something I didn't even know was there."
"RJ..."
"I was going to tell you tonight," I remind him softly. "I had this whole plan. Dinner in the basement, candles, the right moment. I wanted it to be special. I wanted to see your face when I told you."
"You could have told me in a bloody gas station bathroom and it would have been special." He brings my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles. "You're having my baby. There's nothing about that that isn't special."
Fresh tears spill down my cheeks. "I was so scared. Not for me—for the baby. When she had the knife against my stomach, all I could think about was protecting it. Protecting our child."
"I know." He moves from the chair to the edge of the bed, carefully avoiding my bandaged wounds. "I know, love. And you did. You kept our baby safe until I could get to you."
"We made a baby," I whisper, still not quite believing it. "We're going to be parents."
"We are." A ghost of a smile crosses his face. "Terrifying thought, isn't it?"
"A little." I laugh through my tears. "I don't know the first thing about being a mother."
"And I know even less about being a father." He shrugs. "But we'll figure it out. Together."
"What happens now?" I ask. "With your job, with the Brotherhood?—"
"I'll figure it out."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I have right now." He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not leaving you, Dalla. Whatever happens with the Brotherhood, whatever my Da says, I'm not going back to Dublin without you. You and this baby are my family now."
"But your father?—"
"Will understand. Or he won't. Either way, it doesn't change anything." His gray eyes meet mine, steady and certain. "I spent my whole life being a weapon for other people. Following orders, completing missions, never putting down roots because I knew I might have to leave at any moment. But that's not who I want to be anymore."
"Who do you want to be?"
"Yours." The word is simple. Absolute. "I want to be yours. And this baby's father. And whatever else comes with that—husband, partner, pain in the arse who won't let you out of his sight—I want all of it."
Husband.
The word sends a flutter through my chest that has nothing to do with fear.
"We don't have to figure everything out today," I say. "We have time."
