From there life becomes blurred.

They remove her from my arms and carry her away.

“I’m her husband,” I tell them when they try to prevent me from entering the ambulance with her. Those are the magic words for the next several hours. Whenever they throw up a roadblock, I say “I’m her husband,” and it gets me past the waiting room after she’s been treated. It gets me a one-on-one update on her bullet wound—which is bloody and grazed her femur, requiring surgery and stiches—but more importantly, it gets me answers about the pregnancy.

The test is positive, but the ultrasound conducted on her sedated body says something different.

I don’t know how I will tell her. I have no idea how I’ll tell her.

There will be no baby.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“HOW are you doing today, Grace?” the doctor asks me as she walks into my room, closes the door, and takes a seat. This is the third time today she’s been in here. Vaughn said they need me to say something before they let me leave, but I’m not a prisoner. I’m wheeling myself out of this place in twenty minutes no matter what. “Do you want to talk about it yet?”

I ignore her. No one—and I do mean no one—is getting into my head. Not this shrink. Not Bebe. Not Kristi. Not Vaughn. All of whom have come to see me since I was transferred to Denver for surgery on my leg. In fact, I think Vaughn is living here in the waiting room. I can’t see him right now. I can’t. I’m just too upset. He told me that the pregnancy test came back positive but the ultrasound showed an empty sac.

I wasn’t pregnant. Or maybe I was, but it never developed. Either way, I’m not pregnant now.

And that just… I don’t know. Makes me so fucking sad.

They keep asking me about Derek, that’s what this lady wants me to talk about, but who gives a shit about that guy? He had me less than a day. I got myself out. I killed him. It’s over. End of story.

I just want to go home.

“Grace?” Vaughn asks, peeking from the doorway. “Just say no if you don’t want to talk about it.”

But no feels like a trick. If I say no, the next question will be, why?

“Just say fuck off, Asher. I’m sure every nurse in this place wants to say that to me right now. Did you know,” he says, coming fully into the room now, “that I personally talked to the guy they call a chef down in the cafeteria and had him make you those special chicken nuggets last night?”

I lower my head so I can make a face about the gross nuggets and not be seen. Fucking Asher. That was not some special request.

“And I had them put special sheets on your bed. Nothing but eight hundred percale for my wife.”

Oh, God. My hand involuntarily reaches down to scratch my leg. The sheets are threadbare, which makes you think they’d be soft, but they’re not. They have all those little pebbles on them. They’re terrible.

“And I even requested the Mercedes of wheelchairs. I stood in line all night in the supply room to get this baby.”

I have to turn to see what he’s talking about. There’s a nondescript folded-up wheelchair in his hands. He flops it open and waves his hand over it.

“Your chariot is here.” And then he winks at me. “OK, fuck them, huh? You don’t need to say shit, right?” He wheels it over to me and parks it parallel to my bed so I can ease into it. “But sweets…” He leans down to whisper in my ear and I get that familiar tingle, a chill of excitement that races down my spine from the tickle of his breath. “You’d make me so happy if you’d say something.” His fingertips reach under my chin and gently lift my head. “Anything.”

I look him in the eyes for the first time since I woke up from surgery. He looks tired. And sad. He’s smiling. Every time he comes in here, he’s smiling. He’s putting on a front though, I can tell. I feel like I know him better than anyone in my whole life. Even though we’ve only known each other a few weeks, I feel… connected to him. And I realize that I don’t want to push him away. I don’t want to be alone and silent. I can’t go through that again. I can’t

So I speak.

“OK,” I croak out. My voice cracks a little and Vaughn rushes to offer me a cup of water off the bedside table. I take a sip and try again. “OK.” It’s just two letters. Hardly my best work—not even one hashtag—but definitely my most pithy when it comes to getting Vaughn Asher’s attention.

His face lights up immediately and that makes my stomach flutter. He’s in like with me. And I’m in like with him. We’re married. He is, in fact, my husband.

“What kind of fairytale is this?” I say it out loud, but I really didn’t mean to.

“It’s real, sweets,” he says back, as he plants a kiss on my cheek. “It’s real. Now tell me how to make you happy right now.”

I drop my head and cry. I hate to cry. Crying is the weakest thing in the world because it does nothing except make you feel worse.

Vaughn sits down on the bed next to me and I hear the click, click, click of the doctor’s shoes as she exits the room.

“Grace,” he says as he pulls me into an embrace. “You can tell me anything. I’m your own personal secret-keeper. Nothing you tell me can hurt you.”

“I’m sad,” I whisper, trying to pull myself together.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry he took you and my security wasn’t good enough—”