Page 84 of Catcher

A little time passes in that quiet, and somewhere in it, between his steadying breaths and the slow glide of my fingers through his hair, something shifts.

I understand him now in a way I didn’t before. Not just the sharp edges but what forged them. The way he watches doors. The way he tries to control everything within arm’s reach. I thought he hurt me, I thought his fear cut me, even when his hands never did. Forgiveness is easy. Not because what happened didn’t matter, but because it does, and I don’t want to keep the past between us.

Catcher lifts his head slowly. When his eyes meet mine, he looks at me in a way he never has. He’s an open book now, as if a weight has finally slid off his shoulders and hit the floor. He brings both hands up and cups my face between his palms, thumbs brushing away the last of my tears. Then he kisses me.

It isn’t a question. It isn’t rushed. It’s warm and careful, like he’s trying to memorize the fact that I’m alive, I’m here, and there’s still something good left in the world. I melt into it, my hands sliding to his shoulders, feeling the tense muscle there finally give a fraction.

A sharp knock cuts through the moment.

Catcher and I break apart, breathless, and I barely have time to register the moment we just shared before the door opens. A woman in a white coat steps inside the room with a warm smile. “Sorry to interrupt,” she says, professional but not unkind. “I’m Doctor Buckley. I’m with OB, and I’m here to check on the baby.”

Before another word is spoken, Catcher moves and stands with me still in his arms as if I weigh nothing, turns, and gently lowers me onto the bed.

Dr. Buckley walks over to the counter, retrieves some hand sanitizer, and rubs her hands together before she reaches into her coat pocket. She pulls out a small device I recognize—a fetal doppler. “What do you say we take a listen in and make sure everything sounds good?”

She lifts my gown just enough to place the cold gel and the sensor low on my belly. My muscles tense on instinct, but Catcher’s hand finds mine, fingers threading together, a steady pressure that tells me everything is okay. At first, there’s only static, and then there it is—a fast, steady thump-thump-thump. My face lights up before I can stop it. I catch a glimpse of Catcher, and I can see relief written on his face.

Dr. Buckley nods as she listens for a few more seconds. “That’s a strong heartbeat,” she says. “Exactly what we want to hear.” She wipes away the gel. “Given everything you’ve been through, I want you to follow up with your OB within a day or two after you’re released from the hospital, just to make sure you’re healing okay and the baby stays on track.”

I nod because it’s all I can manage around the lump in my throat. My fingers tighten around Catcher’s, and he squeezes back, solid and sure.

After Dr. Buckley leaves, I settle back into bed, feeling exhausted. “When can I go home?” I ask Catcher. “I’m ready to get out of here.”

Catcher’s thumb strokes over my knuckles once, slow. “They didn’t mention when you would be discharged,” he says. “But I’ll go find out.” He leans down, braces one hand on the edge of the bed, and presses another kiss to my mouth, then turns and slips out the door.

The moment he’s gone, my hand drifts to my belly, to that strong, stubborn heartbeat I just heard, and I let myself breathe. A few seconds later, the door opens.

I expect Catcher’s frame to fill the doorway, but instead, it’s Robby. He freezes just inside the room, his eyes sweep over me, the IV, the bruises. He looks scared and shocked, and I watch his throat bob.

Something ugly and hot rises in me so fast it burns. “Get out,” I snap.

Robby’s mouth opens about to argue, but no sound comes out. He takes one step closer, then stops when I flinch. “Ruby⁠—”

“Don’t,” I cut in, my voice shaking with rage. “Don’t Ruby me. You’re the reason I’m in this bed. You’re the reason my head feels like it got split open. You’re the reason…” My hand clamps over my stomach. “Just… get out.”

His face crumples, and for a second, I see the brother I grew up with instead of the mess he’s turned into. “It’s my fault,” he says, and his voice is rough, scraped raw. “I know it is. I swear to God, Ruby, I didn’t… I didn’t think they would come after you. I didn’t think they’d…” He breaks off, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry,” I repeat. “That’s what you came in here to say? You almost got me killed, Robby.”

Robby’s eyes flash, defensive instinct flaring even through the guilt. “I didn’t almost get you killed.”

“You did,” I fire back. “You and whatever you’ve gotten yourself into. You dragged it right to my doorstep.” My hands tremble, and I hate that he can see it. I hate that my voice cracks. “You don’t get to show up now and pretend as if you care.”

Robby opens his mouth to defend himself when the door opens. Catcher steps in, and the energy in the room shifts. His eyes flick from Robby to me. He takes in my shaking hands, the strain in my posture, the way I’m trying to sit tall.

Understanding hits him.

Catcher’s face goes hard, then everything happens at once. In a split second, he’s across the room, grabbing Robby by the front of his shirt and slamming him back against the wall beside the door. Catcher’s forearm pins across Robby’s throat.

Robby’s eyes go wide, hands coming up instinctively to Catcher’s arm. The sound that leaves him is strangled.

“Catcher,” I rasp, my voice shaky.

21

CATCHER

My hand is wrapped so tightly around Robby’s throat that I can feel his pulse hammering against my palm. His fingers claw at my wrist, nails biting into my skin, but he isn’t strong enough to move me, isn’t even close.