And waiting.
Jude, Dorian, and Ryker are called in and we don’t see them again for a couple of hours.
Five and a half hours after we arrived, the door opens.
Dr. Hale steps out. He looks wrecked. His hair is standing on end, his scrubs wrinkled, but he has a look on his face. A look of pure, unadulterated awe.
“Rosalie. Seven pounds, two ounces. Perfect. Mom and baby are doing great.”
A collective breath releases in the room.
“Can we see?” Wren asks, wiping her eyes.
“Give them a minute,” Simon says, wrapping an arm around her. “Then you can flood the room.”
The room is filled with cheering and excitement. I look at my girl. Eli and Knox are holding her in a hug.
Norah made it.
Rosalie made it.
I look back out the window at the dark parking lot. Luke is out there somewhere, but he doesn’t matter. Not right now.
We’re together, and we’re safe.
We all made it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Knox
I leanagainst the cold wall near the vending machines, watching the heavy fire doors that lead to the waiting room. My blood is pumping hot and fast, a reaction to the adrenaline of the last few hours and the scent that is currently hijacking my brain.
It’s subtle at first—a whisper of copper and jasmine—but it’s growing stronger. Intensifying with every second that ticks by on the digital clock above me.
The door pushes open, and she steps through.
“Hey,” she says, offering me a weak, tight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “You survived the waiting room?”
“Barely,” I say, pushing off the wall to go to her. “Are you okay?”
“I think I just need to get some air,” she murmurs, though she doesn’t move toward the exit. She just stands there, hugging her elbows. “It’s getting... loud in there. Jude is with Norah, and everyone is so happy. It’s wonderful, but I feel like I’m vibrating out of my skin.”
She looks like she’s fleeing. Not just the room, but her own skin.
“I’ll come with you,” I say, stepping closer.
She shakes her head, a jerky, frantic motion. “No, I just... I need a minute.”
She turns and walks toward the end of the corridor, heading for the privacy of the stairwell door. But she’s moving too fast, her gait unsteady.
“Wait,” I call out, lengthening my stride to catch up to her. “It’s not safe out there, Amber.”
She ignores me, pushing through the stairwell door. I’m right on her heels.
The stairwell is concrete and echoing, smelling faintly of cigarette smoke. She spins to face me, and the sight of her nearly brings me to my knees.
“Knox,” she breathes, and the sound of my name on her lips is ragged, wrecked. “I... I can’t breathe.”
