Page 216 of Mile High Ruin

For one brief, disorienting second, all I want to do is drop to my knees in front of her and apologize for every hour of fear I have put into her body, every locked door, every accusation, every moment she must have believed she was nothing more than another problem for me to control.

Then I remember Petrov.

I remember Mila.

I remember the footage, the reports, the lies that still don’t fit together no matter how many times I turn them over in my head.

I force myself to stay where I am.

Sloane stops a few feet away, and up close she looks worse than she did downstairs, the exhaustion beneath her eyes deeper now, her face pale from too little sleep and too much stress, one hand resting low against her stomach as though supporting the weight has become something she does without thinking.

“Ethan is safe,” I tell her.

She looks past me toward the suite. “I know.”

Her voice is weak. Not angry.

That concerns me more.

“You should rest.”

“I should be with my brother.”

“You have been with your brother.”

“I still should be.”

“You can barely stand.”

“I’m standing.”

“Badly.”

Her eyes lift to mine. There she is. Still enough fight left to hate being told what to do.

I turn toward the room across the corridor and open the door. “I had them prepare a separate suite for you.”

She stares at me. “Of course you did.”

“It’s next to Ethan’s.”

“I don’t need a suite.”

“You need a bed.”

“I need my brother.”

I don’t answer. Instead, I step closer and place both hands around the underside of her stomach.

Sloane inhales sharply. For half a second I think she will slap me again.

Then the weight shifts into my hands, and her entire body changes. Not dramatically, but enough. Her shoulders lower. Her eyes close. A tiny breath leaves her.

Relief.

The knowledge hits me somewhere I’m not prepared for.

I’m holding the weight of her child.