Page 155

We all stand at once. Every breath held. Every heartbeat suspended.

She’s in blue scrubs, hair tucked back, a mask hanging around her neck. There’s blood on her sleeve. She doesn’t sugarcoat it—not with her eyes. Not with the gentle steel in her voice.

“Are you here for Reese Decker?”

“Yes,” I croak. “I’m—she’s my best friend. Please, is she⁠—?”

“She’s stable,” the doctor says quickly, holding her hands out like she knows we’re one wrong word away from unraveling. “We were able to stop the bleeding. She’s sedated now and resting. She lost a lot of blood, but we’ve started a transfusion.

I stagger a little. Fletch steadies me.

“What happened?” Benji asks, voice hoarse while he tries to soothe an agitated Eli.

The doctor exhales slowly. “From what her husband told us, she began cramping earlier today. The pain escalated quickly, and then she collapsed. It appears she suffered a placental abruption—when the placenta detaches from the uterine wall before delivery. It’s rare, but it can be life-threatening.”

Benji curses softly behind me.

“She was sixteen weeks along,” the doctor continues gently. “And unfortunately… the baby didn’t survive.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Like the world just fell out from under us.

“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “No. She wanted this. She—she didn’t even tell us, but she wanted it.”

“I’m so sorry,” the doctor says. “She’s going to need rest. Monitoring. Support. She’s in recovery now, and you can see her shortly—but only two at a time.”

Fletch’s arm curls around me again, and I lean into him, body trembling, throat closing.

“She wanted this,” I say again, voice cracking open. “She tried.”

“I know,” he murmurs, his lips against my temple. “I know, baby.”

The tears don’t wait for privacy.

They come hot and fast, slipping down my cheeks like water over broken stone.

And all I can think about is her voice on that porch, the way she looked when she said it.

I just wanted to want it for myself.

She’d been brave. Quietly. Fiercely. And now she’s somewhere behind those doors, unconscious and broken in a way I don’t know how to reach.

The hallway feels colder now. Too bright. Too still.

Then the doors open again—and it’s not the doctor this time.

It’s Thorin.

He looks… wrecked.

Like someone took a sledgehammer to the strongest man I know and left him holding the pieces with blood on his hands and no instructions on how to fix it. His shoulders are hunched, his jaw tight, and his eyes—God, his eyes are empty in a way that terrifies me.

“Mya,” he says softly, voice worn and frayed.

I step toward him, not caring that I’m still crying, not caring that I don’t have the right words—just knowing I have to move. To be there. Because that’s what Reese would do for me. And that’s what Thorin needs right now.

He doesn’t wait.