I’m sitting on the edge of her bed, careful not to disturb any wires as I stroke my thumb along the back of her limp hand. I feel like I’m about to unravel. She’s my center, and I can’t seem to find my balance knowing she’s hurt—again.
Miles Keller’s face keeps replaying in my head.
The way hestood over her.
The way he looked at her.
Like, if he could have, he would have picked her up and carried her out of our lives forever.
“What the hell do you think he said to her?” Beau finally snarls, breaking the silence.
Lincoln doesn’t look up. “Doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me,” Beau snaps. “He had to have done something. I mean—she fucking fainted, Linc.”
My teeth grind together. “He said her name.” All three of them look at me. “Heractualname. Said he wanted to introduce himself. Called her ourplaything.” The word tastes like poison on my tongue.
Beau’s hands curl into fists.
Lawson turns from the window slowly. “He wanted to terrify her.”
“Job well fucking done,” Beau mutters darkly. He scrubs his hand down his face and sighs heavily. “He’s baiting us.”
“I think he’s nervous we haven’t done anything yet. Wanted to push us to do something reckless.”
“It won’t work,” Law snarls.
I look back down at Abigail. Her fingers twitch faintly in mine. She looks so… sofragile.
And I hate that.
Because she’s not fragile at all.
This woman—ourwoman—she’s fucking fire.
She’s stubborn and brave and stronger than any of us.
The door opens before any of us can spiral further, and the doctor steps in. Mid-forties, tired eyes, but professional posture, Abigail’s chart in his hand. “Gentlemen,” he says, glancing between us. “The nurse at intake filled me in. She made it clear that the four of you are her family. Her only support system.”
We all nod in unison.
“Well… I’m technically not supposed to do this, but I won’t tell anyone if you won't.” A small smile pulls at the corner of his lips, and I couldn’t be more grateful that we got the staff that we did today.
“How is she?” Lincolnasks.
The doctor clears his throat. “We’ve run a CT scan to rule out intracranial bleeding. There’s no evidence of hemorrhage or skull fracture. Neurological reflexes are intact. Pupillary response is normal.” His eyes scan over the tablet in his hands. “She does appear to have sustained a mild concussion from striking her head on the floor. We’ll want to monitor her for worsening symptoms—confusion, vomiting, severe headache—but at this time, there’s no structural damage.”
Air leaves my lungs in a rush.
“Then why did she faint?” Beau presses.
The doctor glances at his chart again.
“Well,” he says carefully, “based on what you told the nurses—that she may have encountered someone who caused her acute stress—it’s possible she experienced a vasovagal syncope episode. It’s a sudden drop in heart rate and blood pressure, often triggered by emotional distress.” The four of us look at one another, then back at the doctor. My hand stays firmly wrapped around Abigail’s. “Additionally, you mentioned earlier she hadn’t been feeling well. Nausea, fatigue, combined with early pregnancy, could absolutely contribute to the syncopal event.”
Beau nods quickly. “Thank god. Okay. That makes sense. Wait—”
He freezes.
