Page 141 of The Wrong Groom

I sink back into the chair by her bedside. Her eyelids droop as she watches me.

“What are you doing?” she whispers.

“Not leaving,” I tell her. “Not ever again.”

Her lips part slightly, like she wants to say something, but she’s too tired to form the words. Her lashes flutter, and after a few moments, her breathing evens out as she drifts off.

I watch her, the rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers twitch slightly like she’s dreaming. Now that I know what I’m looking for, I can see the signs of stress on her face. Her cheeks are hollow, like she’s lost some weight. Her hair lacks its usual luster.

As she sleeps, I find a towel and carefully wipe the foundation off her cheeks and nose, clearing her skin. Her freckles reappear like stars in the darkening sky. With them, so does the ashen color of her face, the dark circles beneath her eyes.

I exhale, slowly lowering myself back into the chair. I was keeping tabs on Alexis, of course. I’d never leave her fully alone, not with Travis lurking around, a potential threat to her safety. I kept a private security detail on retainer, so that someone was watching over her while I couldn’t. It was how I knew she was going to Vérité’s offices this morning, and how I knew that Travis was there, waiting to ambush her with her parents.

During our separation, the knowledge that she wasn’t in imminent danger was the only thing that kept me from losing my mind.

But knowing she was physically safe wasn’t the same as actually being with her. Seeing her like this, exhausted and worn down, makes me realize just how much I missed.

How much I let myself miss.

I didn’t know that she wasn’t taking care of herself. That she wasn’t eating or drinking enough. That she was stressed, miserable. That she was pregnant.

I close my eyes, rubbing my hand over my jaw. I should’ve been there when she found out about the baby, to comfort her, to celebrate with her. Instead, I left her isolated, with no one to turn to. Her parents certainly weren’t going to be a supportive presence through this. In fact, I’m willing to bet that she didn’t tell them.

The evidence of the hurt I caused is written all over her face, and it guts me. Pain sits in my chest, sinks into my stomach.

There’s a knock at the door. I turn to see Reid, who leans into the room, a question in his eyes. I nod shortly, and he steps inside, one hand resting on Peyton’s shoulder. Dominic trails after them like a shadow.

Peyton’s eyes widen as she takes in the sight of Alexis, the IV snaking over her arm. She seems frightened, clinging to Reid’s leg. She has her favorite stuffed animal, a little gray cat, tucked under her arm.

I texted my brothers as Alexis was admitted into the emergency room to let them know what was happening. Mostly, I needed someone to pick Peyton up from school, but I’m also grateful to see Dominic and Reid here.

I reach out for Peyton, and she rushes into my arms. I pull her close. “Hey, Bug.”

“Daddy,” she says, her voice small. “Is Alexis okay?”

“She’s just fine,” I murmur. “The doctors checked her out, and they’re going to make sure she feels better.”

Peyton’s eyes are huge as she cranes her neck to stare at Alexis again. “Why is she asleep?” she lisps, her lip trembling.

“She’s tired, Bug. She had a really busy day.” I glance up at Reid, giving him a nod. “Thanks for coming by.”

“Of course,” Reid says. There’s a crease in the center of his forehead, just above his glasses. I recognize it well. He gets that look on his face whenever he thinks one of us has been stupid, but he’s too reserved to actually say it out loud. It’s an expression he usually reserves for Beckett or Dominic. I’m not used to being on the receiving end, and it stings a bit. “Beck’s just out in the hall, he’ll be in a second. Tristan couldn’t get away, but he said to let you know he’s thinking about both of you, and he’ll drop by when he can.”

“It’s okay.” I sigh, leaning back in the chair. “You can tell him not to worry about it. The doctor said she’s fine, just needs fluids and rest.”

Reid presses his lips into a thin line. “What happened?”

“Stress-induced syncope,” I say, repeating the doctor’s earlier comment. I’ve never heard it before, but Reid probably has. “She passed out after… well…” I hesitate, glancing down at Peyton.

Reid seems to catch my meaning and clears his throat. “Hey, kiddo, why don’t you go figure out what’s taking Uncle Beckett so long at the vending machine?”

Peyton turns to face him. She seems disoriented, frightened.

“Make sure he gets some Skittles, Bug,” I add, forcing a grin. “I think everyone here could use some Skittles.”

“Okay,” she says quietly. She slips out of my lap and wanders over to the door, casting a last look over her shoulder before disappearing into the hallway. I hear the low sound of Beckett’s voice as she joins him at the vending machine.

“What happened?” Dominic asks, crossing his arms over his chest.