Page 80 of Catcher

Riggs spots me first. He steps away from Luna and meets me near the entrance before I can get too far. His eyes run over me, checking balance, face, breathing, all of it. “You good?”

I look past him, toward the hallway. “No, but I’m steady.”

He studies me for another beat. There’s no judgment in it. That’s how he’s always been with me—no bullshit, no rescue, just the hard space to tell the truth in. I turn toward Ruby’s parents. Her mother sees me coming and pulls away from her husband’s arms. Her eyes are red, face pale, but there’s softness there that hits harder than blame would have.

I stop in front of them. “I’m sorry,” I say. Her father watches me, expression unreadable. “I told you I’d keep her safe,” I continue, voice rough. “I didn’t.” The admission scrapes on the way out. It tastes like blood and failure, and neither one is new to me. Saying it to her parents still feels like letting them watch me come apart.

Maybe that’s fair.

Maybe it’s the least they’re owed.

Ruby’s mother makes a small sound and steps forward before I’m ready. She hugs me, and I go still, arms at my sides, body locked, because I don’t know what to do with the comfort I haven’t earned. But she holds on anyway, careful of my ribs, her hand pressing between my shoulder blades as if I’m someone worth soothing. “Oh, honey,” she whispers. “What matters is she’s okay. She and the baby are okay.”

Ruby’s father looks at me over his wife’s shoulder. There’s pain in his eyes. Anger too. But not at me. Not all of it. “You took a beating trying to get to her,” he says.

“Not enough.”

“Don’t do that,” he says, voice hard enough to make his wife ease back and look between us. “Don’t stand here and make this about what you didn’t do. My daughter is alive. So is that baby. That’s what we have right now.” He doesn’t say the rest out loud, but I hear it anyway, that there’ll be time enough for blame if blame is what’s owed. Right now, breathing matters more.

I swallow.

He steps closer. “She’s sleeping,” he says. “They moved her to a room, keeping her for observation tonight.”

I nod.

“Go sit with her for a while.”

That surprises me more than the hug.

My eyes cut to his.

He doesn’t soften. Doesn’t need to. “Go.”

I nod once. Then get in the elevator, ride it to another floor, and step out. I walk down the hallway. Every step toward her room feels heavier than the last and somehow easier than walking away had been. A nurse tries to stop me, takes one look behind me at Riggs and Ruby’s father, then decides against it. Or maybe my face tells her enough.

Ruby’s room is dim, quiet except for monitors and the whisper of air through the vents. It smells faintly of antiseptic and laundry detergent, clean in a way that makes her bruises stand out even more.

She’s in bed, turned slightly to one side, one wrist wrapped and braced, bruises darkening along her cheek and arm. Her lip is split. A cut near her temple has been cleaned and taped. She looks small in that hospital bed, and that does something ugly to my chest.

I step inside and close the door halfway behind me. For a few seconds, I stand there, taking inventory and breathing. The monitor keeps a steady rhythm, numbers glowing green and white. I move to the chair beside her bed and lower myself into it. Pain snarls through my ribs, but I ignore it.

Ruby’s hand rests on top of the blanket, fingers relaxed in sleep. I stare at it for a long time before I touch her.

My hand looks too rough around hers, with my knuckles busted and dried blood near the nails. A fighter’s hand. A killer’s hand. A man’s hand that has broken more things than it has ever held gently.

I slide my fingers under hers anyway. Her skin is warm, softer than mine has any right to be touching, and the pulse at her wrist flutters against my thumb, small and steady, and it damn near undoes me.

My gaze drops to her stomach. It’s flat beneath the blanket. No sign yet. Nothing the world can see, but I know now. There’s life there. Ours. My throat tightens until breathing hurts more than the beating did.

“I’ve done everythin’ wrong,” I whisper.

Ruby doesn’t stir. Probably better that way. The words come easier in the dark.

“I pushed you away. Said shit I shouldn’t have said. Made you feel like you were trouble when the truth is I was scared because you weren’t.” My thumb drags once across her knuckles. “Trouble, I know how to handle. You…” I let out a breath that shakes more than I want it to. “You got under everything I nailed shut.”

My thumb barely moves over her knuckles. “I know what it is to lose everything,” I murmur, voice low enough it barely rises over the monitor. “But that ain’t your fault. And it damn sure ain’t the baby’s.”

Baby. Saying it almost breaks me… almost.