I wanted to argue—I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts. My head was a hot mess with all of the death and loss in the last few days, but Dylan was right. "Do you have any books? Or a television?"
He leaned over the bed and pulled open a side table. Inside was a small black device, and when he hit a button, a massive screen descended from the ceiling at the back of the room.
"We have all the streaming apps. Hopefully, you'll find something to watch."
I looked down at the control he’d handed me and had not a freaking clue how to use it, but admitting to that weakness right now might just make me seem needy, like I was making excuses to keep him around. So I just smiled and tightened my hand around it. "Great. Can you let me know when the doctor gets here?"
His face was unreadable; even his eyes gave nothing away. "Of course. I'm just gonna go grab some food. I'll check in on you again soon."
We were awkward, neither of us knowing what the fuck to do now or how to talk to each other without addressing the multiple massive elephants in the room. I hated it. Hated it so much that I felt sick and wondered if I was about to vomit up all the delicious food I’d just eaten.
Stomach cramps sent fear shooting through me, but I managed to wait until Dylan was out the door before I pressed my hands to my center, trying to slow my breathing. I had to stay calm for my baby. I had to do everything in my power to ensure this pregnancy was viable. The broken ribs would heal, along with the bruises; I'd had enough pain in my life to know that.
But something told me the loss of my child—before I even came to grips with the idea of being a mother—would hurt like hell.
Fear sent me out of bed and into the bathroom. Thankfully, there were no signs of bleeding, so after washing my hands and face, I crawled back into bed. There was no way I could figure out the projector remote, so I set it aside and closed my eyes.
I was exhausted, no denying it, so without too much effort I drifted off into a pretty decent nap. Apparently, my body was done and just needed some uninterrupted time to sleep. No one woke me, and when I opened my eyes, I had no idea how much time had passed but actually felt a lot better. That might have been one of the only sleeps in years I hadn’t spent half awake anticipating an attack.
Taking my time, I stretched out my limbs, pleased that the ache in my side felt a little less intense. I was still on pain relievers, but the last dose would have run low by now—which meant my ribs were healing pretty well. My face, on the other hand, was worse, stiff and swollen—I’d gotten a decent smack in the face, thanks to those fucking fucks. They were dead now though, so I could count us even.
There was a knock on the door, and when I called out for whoever it was to come in, Dylan entered. "Doctor is here," he said shortly. "I just wanted to make sure you were awake."
Pushing myself up on the pillows, I nodded, rubbing my face. "Yep, send the doctor in. I'm ready."
He called out to someone, then strolled in and settled himself against a nearby wall. His arms were crossed, face set, and I was a touch confused.
"Are you staying?"
The narrowing of his eyes told me exactly how he felt about that question, but he didn't get a chance to answer before a middle-aged man pushed his way into the room. He was followed by two others and a ton of medical equipment.
The first man approached my bed, and I knew this was the doctor—he just had that look about him. Despite being close to sixty, he was very fit and handsome with just a hint of gray in his dark hair. He smiled down at me.
"Brooklyn, it's so nice to meet you," he said, flashing a white-toothed smile. "I'm Dr. Joseph Matterhorn."
Dylan grunted like a fucking caveman from his spot holding up the wall. But the doc apparently understood because he straightened and pulled some papers from the bag he had slung over his arm. "Sorry it took me so long; I was waiting on medical records from the hospital. Apparently, they had a little drama with their online network, among other things, but we got through in the end."
Little drama.Like a few brutal murders and whatever Blake had done to ensure he wouldn't be interrupted. Yeah, definitely drama.
"First thing I want to check is your pregnancy," he continued, still flicking through the papers. "I know there were some concerns with the injuries and continued bleeding. Have you had any further discharge or spotting?"
I shook my head. "No, nothing."
He nodded, noting that in his chart. "That's excellent news. Okay, if you'd like to change into this gown, I'll get your bed ready in case we need to do an internal examination."
Dylan grunted again, and I could have sworn the doctor went a little pale.
Meanwhile, I'd had enough. "Dylan, if this is too much for you, feel free to step the fuck out of the room."
Dr Joseph was definitely pale now, and he left us to our bickering as he made his way to where the others were setting up what looked like half a hospital room.
Dylan crossed to me and sank to his knees beside the bed, and I'd be a liar if I didn't admit to my mouth going dry at the sight of him on his knees like that. "Brooke, I will never leave you alone in a room with strange men again. Not while you're vulnerable and saving the life of our child."
My throat immediately choked up as I fought down tears.Our child.He'd never admitted it was his, and his acceptance of reality explained some of his caveman attitude. This was what I’d wanted all along: to not have to do this alone. No matter what eventuated for Dylan and me, this was a gift I had to take.
"Thank you," I said huskily. "I'm scared."
He captured my lips in one sudden move that I hadn't expected at all. My breath caught until my brain got with the program, and then I kissed him back.
