Page 20 of The Deadly Shallows

Blotny shook her head. “Stubborn as always.”

Noah opened his mouth to no doubt argue, but Blotny shushed him.

Brooke bit back a smile. She’d only seen two women effectively do that—Noah’s mom, affectionately known as Nana Jo, and Dr. Blotny.

“His femoral artery?” Brooke asked, wanting to confirm Noah was out of the woods.

“His angiogram showed no leak, but the bullet missed the artery by only a hair, and the artery wall is only seventy-five percent healed since his last injury.” She dipped her chin and arched her brows at him. “You should be grateful and not tempt the blessing you received. I do not want to see you back in here for another leg injury. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” A humble expression fixed on Noah’s face.

“Good. Now, I’ll leave you two alone.” Blotny turned for the door, then paused at the sight of the bag Brooke had set on the table when she entered. “For you?”

“Yes. Gabby thought I could use a change of clothes.”

“Great idea. Why don’t you use the nurses’ locker room. Take a nice hot shower. That is, if you’re staying.”

“I . . .” Brooke began.

“I already know the answer to that,” Blotny said. “The locker room is at the end of the unit on the far-right side.”

“Thanks.” Brooke nodded her head and turned her attention back to Noah.

He held out his hand. “Come sit by me a moment before you go shower.” He patted the mattress beside him as he scooched with a slight grimace of pain toward the left rail.

Taking a steadying breath, she sat beside him on the bed.

He gripped her hand firmly, caressing the back of her knuckles with the pad of his thumb. “When the shooting happened . . . knowing you were there . . .” His thumb stilled, his grip tightening. “Seeing your blouse covered with blood . . .” He cleared his throat, still holding her gaze. Love radiated there. “I thought I lost you.”

“Lost me?” she asked, her head dizzying from his intent, loving gaze.

“I thought you’d been shot. I thought . . . I feared I’d . . .”

“You’d . . . ?” she nudged.

“Hello?” Dr. Blotny said, knocking on the door.

Nooo. Brooke frowned. Not now! What had he been about to say?

As Blotny stepped through the doorway, the air left Brooke’s lungs. Blotny’s expression said it all. Molly was dead.

TWELVE

Brooke’s bottom lip quivered, and Noah grasped her hand tightly.

He pulled her toward him, letting her nestle against his weight.

“I’m so sorry, Brooke,” Blotny said. “Molly was quite the fighter.”

“Yes.” Brooke nodded, her words thick, as if trying to smother burgeoning sobs. “She was.” Her limbs trembled.

He rested his other hand over their joined ones.

“Would you mind giving us . . .” he began, but Blotny was already heading for the door.

He heard it click shut behind her and engulfed Brooke in his arms.

Within seconds, sobs wracked her body, and he cradled her against his chest, wishing he could will it all away—that he could carry the pain and sorrow for her.