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“It’ll be okay,” Dad says. “I have people all over the hospital. She’ll be safe here. Go with your brother.”
Nolan frowns at me, and I can tell he wants to argue, but I force a smile and that breaks the ice. He nods and heads out, leaving me alone with my father.
Dad paces back and forth. He runs a hand over his thinning hair and finally sinks into a chair two away from mine. He stretches his legs out and sighs, leaning his head back. I can only imagine what’s running through that dark mind.
“My own son, dead. My daughter, taken. Five more men, dead. Several who won’t make it. The last two days have been the most trying of my life, Daley.” He looks at me then, his eyes sad and heavy. “I’m happy you’re back.”
“I’m a widow now. Thanks to Rian.”
“You don’t have to worry about that sham marriage. The paperwork will never be filed, and the priest swore to burn any evidence that it ever happened. That was not real, not in the eyes of the Church, God, or the law.”
“He didn’t touch me,” I say, blurting it out. I need to tell someone so badly, and I can’t hold it in anymore. Dad’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “I know you’re thinking it, but he didn’t. He wanted to. He was going to. But then the shooting started and he tied me up instead.”
Dad nods slowly. “I’m happy to hear that.”
“Because I didn’t get raped or because your daughter is still pure?”
He grimaces. “Daley.”
I look away, shaking my head. What’s giving him hell going to do now? “How’s Rian?”
“I don’t know.”
“I want to see him.”
“Wait for the doctors.”
“Dad—”
“Listen to me.” He sits up straight. Some of the terrifying clan chief in him comes back then, a glimpse of the man he was barely a few weeks ago. “This war is far from over. Things will only get more difficult from here on out. I think Emin survived that fight, and he’s going to drag together all his strength when he can. I need you to understand that in the coming weeks, your safety will be a priority. I can’t have you fighting me on this.”
“I won’t.” I look down at my hands. “So long as Rian survives.”
His face hardens. He might not like it, but that’s the truth—if Rian dies, then what’s the point of going on? All of this would have been for nothing. All the blood and suffering, all the death, for nothing. I know what I’ll do, but I can’t keep going forward, not after everything.
Dad wants to say something, but the door opens again, and a doctor steps into the room. He’s a fit man in his late thirties with dark hair and dark skin. “Are you Rian’s family?” he asks, looking from me to Dad, frowning over a pair of glasses.
I jump to my feet. “Yes, I’m his wife.” The words spill out in a hurry. Dad looks surprised and the doctor just shrugs.
“Okay, Mrs. Kane. You can come with me. He’s awake.”
I don’t look at Dad as I follow the doctor into the hall. He leads me through a locked entrance, past more closed doors, and into a room with beeping monitors and a bed blocked off by a hanging sheet. Everything’s teal and gray and worn with use and so impersonal. I can’t imagine Rian, my Rian, so alive and intense and incredible, lying in a place like this.
Dying here, alone.
I push it aside to find Rian lying in bed, hooked up to monitors, to bags, to needles and plastic lines. He’s in a hospital gown and covered by a thin, scratchy sheet. He’s awake, though barely. He tilts his head and smiles.
“Just a few minutes, Mrs. Kane. Please, he needs rest,” the doctor says and disappears outside.
“I told him you’re my husband,” I say, smiling awkwardly, so happy to see him awake and looking at me as I step forward. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“I’m happy you did.” His voice is a rasp.
I sink into the chair next to him and take his hand. He smiles at me, looking so weak but still so large, like he could crush the bed he’s stuck in.
“How do you feel?”
“Like I got shot and stabbed.”
“But you’ll live?”
He nods slowly, grinning. “Yeah, I’ll live. That’s what they tell me anyway. All thanks to Nolan getting me here so damn fast.”
I start crying then. The relief is intense and sudden, like plunging into an ice bath, and I can’t help myself. It’s a visceral reaction, but they’re tears of joy. I sob and hold his hand against my face, and he whispers gentle things, softly stroking my hair with his fingers. He’s the one on the edge of death, but he’s still doing his best to comfort me. He’s struggling and in pain, and I have to get myself together before I make this worse.
