I’m already climbing into the back of the ambulance before they can finish. “I’m not leaving her.”
“She’s stable,” another medic says, securing the oxygen mask gently over her face, starting an IV. “But she might drift in and out.”
I take her hand as they load us in, the doors shutting behind me with a final bang that makes my spine lock tight.
She looks small on the stretcher. Zara—my fierce, sharp-mouthed firecracker—now pale and still beneath the flashinglights. I lace our fingers together, grounding myself with the contact.
“Hey, baby,” I say softly, leaning closer. “You’re okay. We’re almost there.”
The siren wails above us, the ride jostling. I barely register it. My eyes stay fixed on her face, waiting for another flicker, another twitch of her fingers. I need her to wake up. Simply because I can’t take one more minute not hearing her smart mouth, not seeing those defiant eyes.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper. “You scared the shit out of me, Zara. One second you were on that stage lighting the room on fire, the next…” My jaw tightens. I press a kiss to the back of her hand. “Don’t ever drop like that again. You hear me?”
Her head shifts slightly. A groan escapes her lips. My breath catches.
“Zara?” I move in closer. “Hey. Open those pretty eyes for me.”
She blinks once, sluggish. Her face scrunches, then relaxes.
“Enzo…?”
“I’m right here, baby. You’re okay.”
She winces, her voice hoarse. “Shoulder…hurts like a bitch.”
A relieved laugh breaks from my chest. “Yeah, well. That’s what happens when you take a bullet for dramatic effect.”
She smiles weakly, but her eyes are glazed, unfocused. Then, like a whisper caught on the edge of a dream, she mumbles, “The baby…”
Time stops.
I stare at her, heartbeat slamming against my ribs. “What did you say?”
Her gaze shifts—barely—but she’s fading again, her body curling slightly against the pain as her lashes lower.
“Zara.” I brush the hair from her face, fighting to stay calm, my fingers trembling. “What did you say?”
But she’s out again. Not unconscious, just drifting—worndown from the adrenaline crash, the pain, everything. The medic beside me glances over, obviously hearing what she said.
Baby.
I don’t know if she meant it metaphorically, if she’s disoriented and talking nonsense…or if she just told me something real.
Somethinghuge.
I sit back in the narrow bench seat, still clutching her hand, the weight of her words knocking the air out of me.
She might be pregnant.
And I didn’t know.
Emotion coils hot in my throat—fear, confusion, anger. I look at her again, at the blood still dried around her temple, at the delicate rise and fall of her chest. My queen. My future.
Whatever that meant before, it means more now.
I grip her hand tighter and press another kiss to her skin.
“You don’t get to drop a bomb like that and go quiet on me,” I whisper, voice thick. “So when we get to that hospital, you’re going to wake up. You’re going to look me in the eye, and you’re going to tell me what the hell that meant.”
