She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “I think so. He lost two liters of blood, but they removed the bullets without complication.”
Roarke exhaled.
“He’s awake now. The doctor said you can see him.” Paige wrapped her arms around her waist, and her gaze landed on Laine.
“Paige, meet Laine and her daughter Emmy,” he said, waving between the two women.
Paige gaped. “Oh my gosh. You were there when Striker was shot, right?”
Laine grimaced. “Yes. I’m so sorry all this happened because of me?—”
Paige rushed forward and pulled Laine into a hug. “Don’t apologize. Please. I’m relieved you’re okay. Striker was so worried when he came to.” She pulled back and held Laine at arm’s length. “Will you come see him?”
Laine seemed to relax a little, but she shifted uncomfortably. “I shouldn’t ...”
Wraith reached for Emmy. “Think your mom ’ill let you have some hot chocolate?”
“Yummy!” Emmy scrambled from Roarke’s arms and caught Wraith’s extended hand.
Roarke met Laine’s eyes. “Are you okay with that?” he asked softly.
She nodded and pinned a tight smile to her face. “Of course. I want to see him.” Despite her words, her gaze followed Wraith and Emmy down the hall.
“She’ll be fine,” he assured her.
Viper walked close to Paige as she led them to Striker’s room. Roarke and Laine fell a step behind. Viper was so much bigger than Paige, who glanced up at him a few times. Something sizzled in the air.
Huh. What the hell’s that about?
He didn’t have time to think about it before they entered Striker’s room. His friend lay in a bed wearing an ugly gown. His eyes were closed. Other than the IV running into the back of his hand and the bandage just visible beneath his neckline, there wasn’t any evidence of his injuries.
“Atlas,” Paige said softly. “Your friends are here.”
The use of Striker’s given name shook Roarke. Made the situation seem even more serious. He stepped up to the bed as Striker opened his eyes.
He groaned. “Why’d I have to see your ugly face first?”
Roarke chuckled. “Says the asshole in the flimsy nightgown.”
That earned him a laugh from Viper.
Striker grinned. “Eat shit.”
“I’ll leave you guys for a minute.” Paige had to squeeze between Viper and the end of the bed to get past, and Roarke caught her blushing.
Well, hell. Striker wouldn’t like that one bit.
“I’m so sorry you got hurt.” Laine moved closer and gently rested her hand on Striker’s forearm.
He grunted, and his gaze flicked away before returning solemnly to Laine. “I should be the one apologizing. I did a shit job of protecting you and Emmy.”
Regret fisted Roarke’s gut. He couldn’t let guilt ride on his friend. He knew the weight of that burden—had lived with it too damn long. “You took two bullets for them, man. That’s a stand-up soldier if you ask me.”
Appreciation and maybe even relief flashed across Striker’s face. Viper turned the conversation toward Striker’s injuries, and they chatted for a few minutes.
Paige poked her head in the room. “This might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” she squeaked.
Roarke frowned with confusion, but a moment later Emmy skipped into the room holding Wraith’s hand and a new toybunny under her arm. Her green eyes widened on Striker, and she froze for a beat.
