Hospitals have this smell that crawls into your brain and makes a home there. The beeping. The slow-ass clock above the nurse's station that I swear is moving backward just to mess with me.
But most of all, I hate sitting here not knowing if Nikolai's okay.
He got shot. Bled all over me. I held him while he slipped in and out of consciousness, screamed until my throat burned, until Jeffrey had to physically pull me off him to get him into the car. Now I'm shaking in the waiting room while Natalia and Jeffrey pace behind me.
The nurse says the bullet went clean through his side. Through and through. Missed all the major organs, thank God.
But that doesn't change the fact that he was bleeding out in my arms. That I almost lost him.
The doctor said a few hours before he wakes.
That was four hours ago.
I've counted every second.
I shift in the hard plastic chair, wrapping the scratchy blanket tighter around my shoulders. It's not cold. It's just something to hold. Because if I let myself think about what almost happened, I'll shatter.
Natalia brings me vending machine coffee. I don't drink it. Just hold it and stare at the hallway, willing someone to appear with good news. My hand presses against my stomach. The doctor ran a scan. Everything looks good. Baby is strong. Seven months to go.
Seven months to go. And I almost became a single mother.
Finally, a nurse pokes her head into the waiting room. "Raphaella Ivanov?"
I'm on my feet before she finishes. "It's Elle. Yes. Is he... can I see him?"
She smiles. "He's awake. Groggy, but asking for you."
I bolt down the hallway. Natalia and Jeffrey follow, but I don't stop. Don't breathe right until I see him.
Room 214.
I push the door open and there he is.
I've seen better-looking leftovers. And still, I've never seen anything more beautiful in my life.
He's pale, bandaged, hooked to machines. His eyes are half open, silver hair a mess against the pillow, and when they land on me, he smiles like I hung the stars.
"Hey," he croaks. Voice like gravel.
Tears spill before I can stop them. "Hey? That's what you say after getting shot?"
His mouth twitches. "Would you prefer 'surprise, I lived'?"
I half-laugh, half-sob, running to his bedside. I kiss his palm, his wrist, his fingers, the ink across his knuckles. Anywhere I can reach.
"Don't you dare joke. You almost died."
"You tackled me," he says. "That's new."
"Shut up. You scared me half to death."
He squeezes my hand weakly. "I'm sorry."
"You're not allowed to die on me. We're having a baby. You don't get to check out early."
His eyes go wide. Like he forgot. "The baby. Are you..."
"Fine. We're fine. Doctor checked everything. Strong heartbeat." I smile through tears. "You're going to be a dad again. Seven months."
