My jaw shook and ached from the strain I was putting on it.
It didn’t matter that it’d been less than a day of knowing. This was something I’d wanted for so long, had known I would never have, and it’d somehow, incredibly, fallen into our laps. This was alife. This wasus.
And it was being ripped away just as quickly as it’d been given to us.
“As for your wife’s lung,” the surgeon went on in that same matter-of-fact, yet consoling, tone, “I’ve seen and worked on lung punctures before. They can heal in a couple weeks if treated properly and quickly enough, but this piercing wasn’t clean. The knife went in and tore in multiple places, as if it was repeatedly shoved in after the initial impact. It was also a severe puncture, which can lead to the heart stopping, as I’m told you witnessed before the medics arrived on scene.” He held out his hands in a gesture that would’ve said more than enough, but still added, “Her pulse has remained steady, and I’ve done what I could. Now, it’s up to her.”
Her.
Notthem.
Because, like he’d said, he didn’t expect our baby to survive. The baby we’d just found out about this morning. The baby Mallory had been horrified at just the thought of and had shut down over when it’d become a reality. The baby Mallory had been planning ontaking care oftomorrow. The baby Mallory had lookedanguishedover when she’d forced out those two words as she’d bled in my arms. As if the devastating thought of losing our baby had been enough to make her see everything differently—as if it’d destroyed her more than the thought of losing her own life.
With a smile that looked as weighted as it did cautious, the surgeon added, “You’ll be let back soon. If you’re the type to, I would start praying.” But his sigh, as if he didn’t expect it to help, had a strained sob catching in my throat as Briggs’ grip on my shoulder tightened to the point I was sure should’ve been painful.
But I couldn’t feel it.
I couldn’t feel anything other than the grief and denial ripping through my chest. Shredding my soul and drowningout everything I knew as flashes of my years with Mallory tore through my mind.
Her ice-cold glare and her mesmerizing smile. Her blatant irritation and her captivating laugh. Her ferocity that stunned me and the recent softness that made my heart trip all over itself. Countless missions and even more fights. Green lattes and shawarma wraps.
Everything. Most of my adult life was her. And I didn’t want to do the rest of it without her.
“We’re monitoring both, but the fetus’ heart rate is very low, and we don’t expect it to survive.”
“I’ve done what I could. Now, it’s up to her.”
A strained curse wrenched from my too-tight throat on a guttural roar as someone wrapped their arms around my chest, keeping me up as my knees hit the hard floor and my body sagged—keeping me away from the wall I was suddenly near.
“Hey, it isn’t over.” That was Thatch. I knew that. But I couldn’t focus on him as he crouched in front of me and grasped my shoulder, forcing me up even more. “They’re alive. Both of them.”
“I can’t lose her,” I repeatedly muttered as he spoke.
“Focus on that,” he added through clenched teeth, his own emotion weaving into his voice. “Gray, they’re still alive. And you know Monroe—that girl’s a fighter. She isn’t going down without a fight to prove she’s stronger than the rest of us.”
A strained laugh tore from me, even as my head shook. “Thatch, you didn’t see her.”
“I didn’t need to,” he said softly. “I could’ve watched that girl die in front of me—I could’ve heard medics confirm it—and I would still stand there, waiting for her to fight her way back, because that’s just what she does.” Briggs grunted in agreement from behind me, and it was then I realized he was the oneholding me up, even still. “Deep down, past your grief, you know it too.”
I did.
I knew it better than the rest of them.
But all rational thinking becomes warped when this level of grief and fear come into play. So, it didn’t matter that I normally would’ve been the one arguing for Mallory. Every fiber of my being was trembling with the soul-gripping dread that we’d had our last fight and kiss. That we’d worked our last job together and, even though we’d just started a life together, it was already at its end.
The double doors opened again, and a nurse called out, “For Mallory Monroe?”
My numb legs struggled to get underneath me as I stood—Thatch and Briggs helping keep me steady, as if this was something we all did for each other regularly. Not that we wouldn’t, it was just that wehadn’t.
We’d all seen too much. We’d all experienced too much. We’d signed up for it.
But I guessed they understood nothing compared to the possibility of losing the woman who owned your soul.
Still, nothing would’ve stopped me from getting back there. I would’ve dragged myself if it meant getting to Mallory.
The nurse took one look at me when I stepped toward her, her eyes widening as they quickly scanned me, as if assessing if the blood was mine. “Are you Mallory Monroe’s next of kin?” she asked, her tone conveying she was still trying to figure out if I needed to be checked out or not.
“Her husband,” I answered, then explained, “The blood isn’t mine.”
