“Doc and Reaper had to do some blood tests while you were unconscious. They needed to know what kind of meds you could have.” He slid his hand over my belly, his touch sending a shiver down my spine. “Baby, you’re pregnant.”
I was speechless, my mouth hanging open in disbelief. Tears welled in my eyes, but they weren’t sad. “What?” I managed to stammer, trying to process what he just said.
“They think you’re about three weeks along. It’s still early,” he explained, his voice steady and reassuring.
“But… that’s impossible! I was told I couldn’t have kids,” I stuttered, panic creeping in.
“It’s possible, baby. We’re going to be parents,” he said, his eyes shining with hope.
A wave of emotion washed over me, and I felt a smile break through the panic. “You’re going to be the best father to our baby,” I said, my heart swelling with joy.
But then a thought struck me, and I started to panic. “Is the baby okay? After everything that happened?”
“Hush, Emma,” he soothed, his voice calm. “Doc said your numbers looked good, but they want to keep monitoring you since it’s early on.”
I couldn’t help it; I laughed, tears of happiness in my eyes. “I’m pregnant!”
Hawk grinned, leaning in to kiss me again, this time with more passion. “How are you feeling?” he asked, pulling back slightly to look at me.
“I’m sore, and my throat hurts, but I’m doing okay,” I replied, still riding the wave of shock and joy. “I think I might still be in shock.”
“I’ll be with you every step of the way,” he promised, his hand finding mine again.
Thirty-One
Emma
A week ago I couldn’t even sit up without feeling like my ribs were cracking open.
Today I can at least walk across the room without Ryan hovering like a paranoid bodyguard.
Well.
Mostly.
I sit on the edge of Ryan’s bed for a moment, letting my body wake up before I stand. The soreness is still there—deep and dull in my ribs, like a constant reminder of how close things came to ending very differently.
My throat still feels tight too. The bruises are fading, but every swallow reminds me of hands squeezing the life out of me.
I push the thought away.
Ryan is leaning against the bedroom doorway watching me like a hawk.
Arms crossed.
Broad shoulders filling the frame.
His eyes move over every inch of me, checking for weakness, for pain, for anything that might tell him I’m about to fall apart.
“You’re staring again,” I mutter.
“I’m supervising.”
I snort softly.
“You’re hovering.”
“Damn right.”
