I already know what it means.
Chapter 30
Brooke
Seth’s voice cuts through everything, low with barely restrained fury.
“Beau. Call the doctor. Now!”
Beau doesn't argue. He is already pulling out his phone.
Seth’s eyes move fast, cataloging every inch of damage. His hands check my arms, my ribs, then hover near my side again like he is forcing himself not to grab too hard.
“Anywhere else?” he asks. “Shot? Cut? Anything you didn’t tell me?”
I shake my head.
His jaw tightens. The muscles along it jump. His grip closes just enough for me to feel how hard he is holding himself in place.
“Look at me,” he says.
I do.
“You’re here,” he tells me. “I’ve got you. Stay with me.”
I try to speak and fail. My legs won't stop shaking. The dress is heavy and cold as it clings to me, soaked through with blood, dirt, and rain. Every drop tapping against the roof of the SUV sounds too loud.
Beau shouts from the front seat. “Doctor’s ready. We’re going now.”
Seth nods once, then wraps himself around me as we move, pulling me back against his chest. In the SUV, he holds me there, one arm locked over my middle, the other covering my bandaged wrist, his grip firm and grounding.
Even as I blink and breathe, everything still feels unreal. The headlights smear into pale streaks through the rain. Travis is saying something up front, but it barely registers. The only thing keeping me anchored is the violent, steady rhythm of Seth’s heart against my spine.
By the time we pull into the gated medical facility, the shock still has not worn off.
I feel wired and hollow at the same time. It is like adrenaline is still buzzing in my veins, but my brain has disconnected. I am watching myself from above, floating somewhere distant while my body sits limp in Seth’s arms.
The SUV stops.
Seth is already out, rain soaking his hair and shirt as he lifts me. He doesn't ask. He doesn't speak. He just carries me carefully, like letting me touch the ground again is not an option.
The door opens before he can knock.
A tall man in his late fifties stands there in a white coat over black scrubs, already moving aside.
“Bring her in,” he says.
Seth carries me down a quiet hallway and into a room that smells faintly of antiseptic and metal. Machines hum softly along one wall. The lights are low but bright enough to make my head ache.
“You can lay her there,” the doctor nods toward the bed.
Seth sets me down with careful hands, like he is afraid pressure alone might undo me. His fingers brush my hair back, then still when his eyes drop to the blood-darkened fabric at my waist.
“She’s hurt,” his voice stays controlled, but urgent. “She’s pregnant. I–I saw blood down there. You need to check that now.”
The doctor pauses for half a second, then nods.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “We’ll start there.”
