“Tierney Silver’s family?”
“Me.” I stepped forward and perpetuated my lie. “Husband.”
The doctor nodded. “I’m Dr. Vincent, your wife’s surgeon.” He gestured for me to follow him outside the waiting room for privacy.
My heart rate increased.
“How is she?” I demanded as soon as we were in the corridor.
“Your wife has been very lucky, Mr. Silver. The knife didn’t go deep enough to hit any organs or major arteries. We’ve repaired the wound, though it may leave scarring—it appears as if her attacker twisted the knife once he pushed it in.”
Rage thrummed through me, but I kept my expression perfectly blank.
“She lost a fair bit of blood, so we’ve given her some. All her vitals look remarkably good considering.”
Relief cut through my wrath. “Can I see her?”
“Of course. She’s in the recovery ward. It might take her a while to wake up from the anesthesia.” He started walking, and I fell into stride beside him. “We’d like to keep Tierney for a few days to monitor her recovery before we discharge her.”
“Aye, okay.”
“We have some forms for you to fill out. A nurse will be in with those. For now, I’ll let you sit with your wife.” He opened the door to a private room on the ward and I strode in. Only to stop abruptly.
In my worst nightmares, I’d imagined finding Silver with an oxygen mask over her face, breathing for her.
But she lay peacefully on the bed, unconscious, yet breathing on her own. She was hooked up to machines that kept an eye on her vitals, the sound of her heartbeat a steady rhythm in the room.
“Fuck.” I ran a shaking hand over my beard.
“She’s going to be fine, Mr. Silver,” the surgeon repeated as he patted my shoulder. He left the room, closing the door behind him.
Slowly I made my way over to Silver.
Christ, she looked even younger than her age lying there. Such a baby face.
Too young.
Too sweet.
What the hell had she gotten herself mixed up in?
What the hell had I gotten myself mixed up in?
I reached out to stroke her cheek, knowing that I was on a dangerous path to ruin. After everything I’d fought my way through … all I’d wanted was peace. Peace on my fucking island. What had I been thinking getting mixed up with a woman who so clearly had a million secrets? Who so clearly had lost everything and wasn’t only looking for a safe place to land … she was looking for a person who made her feel safe.
I huffed bitterly.
Aye, well, she chose wrong.
I couldn’t keep her safe.
She hadn’t trusted me enough to keep her safe.
Because I wouldn’t let her in.
I couldn’t.
Slumping down onto the chair next to the bed, I watched over her. I’d watch over her until I knew who was behind this. Because I knew this wasn’t a straightforward pickpocket. No one came to a fucking island just to rob someone. Too many variables. Too many chances to get caught.
