Page 80 of Shark’s Rise

I pulled in a long, labored breath. Surged to my feet. Sat again. Stood once more.

And battled like fuck not to drop to my ass once more.

“A new plan,” I finally mumbled. “A new plan. A new plan.”

And just like the mantra into which I’d made them, the words brought yet another epiphany.

A new plan meant I needed a new me.

But maybe…that was what I already had. What the woman in that bed across the hall had already given me.

A new version of Sebastian Shark. A guy I kind of…

Liked.

Maybe…I just had to believe it now too.

When I went back into Abbigail’s room, she was sleeping soundly. I pulled a chair up to the side of her bed and lay my head on the mattress at her hip. I closed my eyes too. I had told Grant and Elijah to go on home. We had to stay at least twenty-four hours, and as long as everything went well, we’d be able to go home after that. They had drawn some blood earlier, and the preliminary lab work looked good so far. The hormone levels in Abbi’s blood didn’t show signs of labor, so Dr. Julie was confident the cramping wasn’t actual preterm labor. My Little Red was just exhausted and dehydrated.

Nevertheless, this had been a real shot across the bow. A wakeup call for Abbigail and me. A call to action—and to connection. Not just about the little stuff.

We had some big things to talk about now.

Just as I was drifting off, I felt her fingers sifting through my hair. I enjoyed the attention for a few minutes, being still and silent with her in that moment…knowing now that we had to make these kinds of times important. More importantly, I wasn’t sure how to address the mess I’d made. Not just this immediate one. So many of them…even after I’d promised the woman I’d change. I had done no such thing. I’d just found a way to be sneakier about my control.

Unacceptable.

I had to work on this. Had to figure it all out, even if it meant going to some uncomfortable emotional places. Yeah, even worse than the ones I’d already been.

Maybe I could talk to Mr. Gibson, the patriarch of the Gibson clan. The figurehead and emotional leader of the family could lead me through the tough times and help guide me into the next phase of my life’s journey with his daughter. Okay, yeah. Now that was a keeper of an idea. It all made perfect sense, and I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t considered the option before.

I turned my face on the mattress but still left my head lying on the thin, plastic-coated pad beside Abbigail. I pressed my lips into her palm and held her hand to my cheek afterward. She returned my stare with openly adoring eyes.

“Will you forgive me?” I whispered. “Jesus, Abbi. Will the two of you ever forgive me?”

Her brows knitted. “Oh my God, Sebastian. For what?”

“He’s not even here, and I’m already fucking him up.” Still a whisper. I didn’t trust my voice to come out steadily. “World’s worst father, and the infant hasn’t even been born. Is that a thing?” Lifting my head, the water that had collected in my eyes ran down each cheek, and I quickly dashed it away with frustrated fists.

“Sebastian,” she pleaded in a matching rasp. “Sebastian. Shark. Stop. Right now.”

I complied, of course—but instead of saying anything else, I stood up. I began busying myself with her blankets. “How do you feel, my love? Can I get you anything? How about something to drink? They brought in some”—I looked in the cup and then took a quick sniff—“apple juice. Do you even like apple juice?” I grimaced. “Fuck! I don’t even know if you like apple juice!” I threw my hands up and then raked them back through my hair.

“No, I don’t like apple juice.” She giggled but reached for me at the same time, an open gesture of reassurance. “I don’t usually drink juice at all. Of any kind.” Her features sobered. “But I’d love it if you would lie with me. Please?”

I tilted my head, letting her sleepy little smile wrap tighter around my heart. Still, I replied, “Will we both fit? That bed is pretty small.”

“Can we try?” Out came her sweet little pout. Christ… Even on a mild sedative, she knew how to work me. If we were in any other circumstances than this, I’d be seriously turned on—and willing to cling to enough of my asshole side to do something about it. “Baby?” Abbigail persisted. “Please? I’d love to be in your arms right now…that is, if you aren’t still angry with me…”

So screw the damn juice. I slammed the cup down to the bedside stand on my way to sweeping my whole upper body down and then cupping her face to kiss her fiercely. “Baby,” I husked when we drew away by just inches, our breaths still mingling and our stares still locked. “I’m not angry with you.” I pressed my forehead to hers, praying my thoughts would seep into her brain by osmosis. “I was never, ever angry with you.”

“You’re so full of shit.” She giggled again but without so much conviction. “Oh, Bas. Come on. You were furious when you first got here.”

“Abbi, I was scared,” I confessed. “Scratch that.” This was the new me. I could do this emotional exposure thing, even if it felt like having my heart carved out of my chest, valve by fucking valve. “I was terrified. And confused. And out of my mind with worry.” I tucked in and took her lips with lingering adoration. “I had no idea if you were even dead or alive. They wouldn’t even tell me that much.”

Her lips shifted against mine, lifting into a gorgeous little grin. “Well, here I am. Very much alive. But you can do a quality assurance check if you’d like…”

Though she tilted higher, eyes glazed with longing and lips opening in invitation, I let her have just a brief taste before whispering, “Woman…I was damn near out of my mind.”