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Shock blows me back a step. “Dee’s pregnant?”
“She is.”
This is unreal. And changes everything.
“Your wife should see her family doctor or gynecologist after she’s released.”
“I want a specialist. The best.”
“I can provide a couple of names. Congratulations, Mr. Peters.” He extends his hand. “Let’s go see your wife.”
Dee is lying in bedwith a clear plastic drip feeding the tube in her hand. She’s hooked up to a monitoring machine. A nurse helps her takesips of water from a straw. I stand in the doorway, staring at my wife. Awake. Unknowingly carrying our baby.
She looks up when I enter. Drowsy, her gaze stutters across the room. She blinks as if bringing me into focus. Then her eyes light up, golden-brown and all the more compelling for having missed them.
“Mick.” Her voice is faint, a little croaky, but just hearing it is like sweet music.
My throat closes. I want to rush over and hug her, but conscious of her injury, I hang back and will my own voice not to break.
“Hey, beauty.”
She tries to sit up and winces.
“Not too much yet,” Dr. Granger warns and takes a light to each of her eyes. He nods his satisfaction at whatever he sees there. “We’ll let you visit with your husband and I’ll check in on you again in a bit. It’s okay if she falls asleep,” he says to me.
“Thank you, Doctor.” I shake his hand again at the door. “Would you please have a nurse update Dee’s brother, Victor Torres? Not about the, you know,” I whisper. “Let me tell Dee first.”
When we’re alone, I go over to the bed, and anxiously scan her face. Some of her olive coloring has returned. Her amber eyes search mine beneath the fringe of her lashes. But the thick bandage around her head, protecting her wound, is jarring. I lean in and press a gentle kiss to her mouth. Breathing in her breath.
Dee’s hand reaches up to lovingly stroke my cheek. I can feel her soft body through the hospital gown pumping with energy. With life.
That’s what I needed at my very core. Her vitality. It settles and grounds me like nothing else. Easing back, I take her hand. “How are you feeling?”
“Hurts.”
“I can get the doctor back.”
“No.” Her grip is reassuringly strong. “Stay.”
“I’m not leaving.” I pull up a chair close to the bed and sit at the edge, leaning forward. My thumb smooths over the skin and veins on the back of her hand.
She blinks, her lashes fluttering as if keeping her eyes open is a chore.
“Sleep, beauty. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
“K.” She tries to smile. “La yuh.”
My heart clenches. “I love you too. Always.”
She lets her eyes close and is asleep almost immediately. Only then do I allow myself the tears I’d been holding.
Dee drifts in and outover the course of the day. The doctor explains that’s typical for the first twenty-four hours. Because she tires easily and he wants to keep the stimuli low, he only permits two visitors at a time.
Bright, cheerful flowers decorate her room. My family is a rock. Dee’s friends too. How could I have ever thought their emotions would be a burden? I’d been messed up and not thinking straight. Mama T sits with Dee and makes me eat something. Jordyn brings me a change of clothes and some of Dee’s personal belongings. I leave the room only long enough to pee and get on a pair of jeans.
Asher handles the media. For now, I have no comment. Victor tells me that Stiles was soldiering through his injury and should be released in a couple of days. I owe him a debt of gratitude that can never be repaid.
Malcolm is still in critical condition, apparently touch and go. The speculation on social media must be spreading like wildfire. But the only thing that matters is Dee and our baby.
