When I spin back around to face Blaire, the air in my lungs is forcefully removed. Her brisk sprint down the cracked sidewalk halts mid-stride when a bullet rockets through her stomach.
“Blaire!” I roar before executing the man who shot her with a direct hit between his eyes.
He drops to the ground, his eyes still open wide but void of any signs of life. I run to Blaire, only just catching her in my arms before she hits the concrete sidewalk. Bile rises to my throat when the blood gushing from her wound covers my hands in under a second. Her breaths are wheezy and slow as she fights though a torrent of pain rocketing through her body.
When I lay her down on the dew-covered ground, I apply pressure on her stomach. Fear engulfs me when her warm blood gushes between my interlocked fingers. I know all too well that she's mere minutes away from bleeding out.
A gargled groan whimpers through her lips when I increase my pressure on her stomach while yelling, “Get a medic!” at the top of my lungs. “Where's the fucking ambulance?”
Blaire peers up at me with glistening, tear-filled eyes. Her lips twitch, but not a word leaves her blue-tinged mouth.
“Shh, Kitten. You’re okay. I’ve got you,” I murmur when she continues trying to speak.
I crank my neck to the right when a first responder breaks the eerie silence enveloping us. Relief washes through me when the visual of an ambulance gliding down the street greets me.
Returning my eyes to Blaire, I murmur, “Help is on the way. Just hold on.”
Tears trickle down her temples as she continues moving her mouth. I slant my head to the side and lean in close to her as my ears struggle to hear the faint word she's whispering on repeat.
Sirens wail, intermingled with whimpers of pain, but the most devastating thing I’ve ever heard shrills through my ears, issuing my heart with another direct hit, when Blaire murmurs, “Baby.”
I pull back and glance into her eyes, certain I haven’t heard her right. Keeping her dilated gaze on me, she moves one of her shaky hands to the bottom of her flat stomach, while her other hand covers my hands vainly trying to stop the blood gushing out of the open wound. Fear encroaches me when I feel how cold her hands are. They feel like ice.
Small droplets of blood splatter her lips when she whispers, “Our baby.”
“Baby? You’re pregnant?”
Dread blackens my blood, scorching my veins with furious heat when Blaire dimly nods. My chest heaves in turmoil as my eyes absorb the amount of blood that has seeped into her shirt. I don’t know anything about pregnancy, but Blaire’s life is already precariously dangling on the edge of a very steep cliff from the amount of blood she has lost, so I can’t stomach what the odds are for our baby to survive such a traumatic injury.
Any chance to ease the lingering fear that our baby has been harmed is lost when her blinks lengthen and her head lolls to the side.
“Blaire!” I shout through the nausea circling my windpipe. “Stay with me, Blaire. Fuck. Please. Stay with me.”
I’m so focused on Blaire, I don’t notice the blackness creeping up on me until it’s too late.
Chapter 37
Blaire
Just like it had following my attack ten years ago, my brain has been operating in lockdown mode the past five days. I’ve drifted in and out of unconsciousness, confused between what is reality and what is a dream. I can’t recall the events leading up to me lying in a hospital bed, but from the ghastly smell and the constant prodding I’ve endured, I know that's where I am.
Fighting against the pleas of my body, I slowly flutter my eyes open. My assumptions are proven accurate when my blurry eyes lock in on an IV stand with one and a half bags of fluid dangling off it. The beeping of monitors filters through my ears, and the swirling of my stomach grows as I scan the sanitary-scented room. From my lowered position, I can see numerous floral arrangements covering every surface and the smallest tuff of inky dark hair resting near my right wrist.
“Rico.” My words come out hoarse, hampered by the scratchy rawness of my throat.
I cough to clear my throat before attempting to speak again. My brittle wheezing through my pained lungs announces my awakened status before another word can seep from my lips. The dark-haired man lifts his head off my bed and swings his eyes around my room. He appears dazed and confused. Against my wishes, disappointment clouds me when the worldly eyes of my dad lock on my confused gaze. I was hoping he was Rico.
“Blaire, honey! You’re awake!” His loud voice adds to the giddiness clustering in my blurry mind.
He shoots out of his chair and races to the corridor more quickly than a sixty-year-old man should move. “Hurry! She’s awake. Blaire’s awake.”
Not even two seconds later, my mom bursts into the room, infusing the ghastly smelling space with her rich wildflower smell. After dumping two vending machine coffees onto a side tray, she stops at the side of my bed. Lacey enters the room soon after my mom, but respectfully gives my mom some space so she can issue her motherly smothering she does every time I’m in her presence.
“You’ve had us worried out of our mind,” my mom mumbles into my hair as she curls her arms around my torso and squeezes me tightly.
I hide the grimace attempting to cross my face from her firm hold when she draws back to peer into my eyes. My confusion deepens when I roam my eyes over her face. I’ve not seen my mom for three months, but she looks like she aged three years in that time. As tears form in her eyes, she runs her hand down the side of my face. She glances into my eyes like she can’t believe I'm in front of her. It takes all my strength to give her hand a reassuring squeeze.
Once my mom props her backside on the edge of my bed, I drift my eyes between the three sets of eyes staring at me with concern.
