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Victor’s sharp gaze holds mine. My hard-edged expression gives him a window into my thoughts. “He’s not worth it, Mick.”
I ignore his warning. “So, he’s alive?”
“Last I heard it looked bad. Two shots to the chest. He’s at St. Joseph’s in police custody. If he makes it, he’s going away for a long time. His life is over.”
And what about Dee’s life? I need to see her. Touch her.
I pace away from the simmering worry in Victor’s eyes. His presence is the only thing that keeps me from punching a hole in the waiting room wall.
“You need some rest,” he says. “Mama and Isabelle are on their way. Lean on us so you have the capacity to be strong for Dee when she comes around.”
That gives me a focal point. Being a rock for her.
“Have you called Lexie or Jordyn?” he asks.
“No.” I shake my head. “No one.”
“Let me do that so they don’t first hear about this in the press. Media is already at the scene.”
Absorbed in my own misery, I hadn’t thought of the people who loved Dee finding out that way.Father of Micah Peters attempted to shoot and kill his son and daughter-in-law.Jesus!
I turn my phone on and hand it to Victor, giving him the code. “Call Asher too. They’re all in my contacts.”
“Okay. Take a seat, get off your feet for a few minutes at least. I’ll go find you an energy drink or something to refuel.”
The thought of putting anything in my stomach is enough to make me hurl. But I recognize that taking care of me shifts his worry off Dee. “Thanks.”
He leaves the room with my phone under the auspice of locating a vending machine to avoid me hearing him relay the message about Dee and the shooting all over again.
I try to sit. Can’t. Go back to pacing. Check my watch. Eighty-nine minutes and still nothing. What was taking so long? At minuteninety-six, I look up and spot Dr. Granger coming toward me. His expression is unreadable. I charge forward and stop short of grabbing his arm.
“How is she? How is my wife?”
“She’s in recovery.”
“Dee’s awake?”
“In and out, but yes.”
“Thank God.”
“She’s woozy and disoriented. Tired. That’s normal,” he assures. “Your wife suffered a traumatic head injury where she lost consciousness. We stitched up the laceration. I’m sure the amount of blood gave you quite a scare, that happens with head wounds. Good news is there’s no sign of a concussion or any internal swelling. Vitals are strong. We’re giving her pain meds and letting her rest.”
“I want to see her.”
“Alright, just be aware, Mr. Peters, that memory loss surrounding the incident can happen. But she knew her name, the day, where she was. She asked for you. Those are all positive signs.”
“Take me to her,” I urge impatiently.
“I will. There’s just one other thing.”
“What?” My heart drops.
“You said your wife couldn’t get pregnant.”
“Yes, that’s what a doctor told her years ago.” I search his inscrutable face. “Why?”
“Test results show your wife is indeed pregnant.”
