Page 53 of His Sacrifice

I nodded, unable to find the words. Tatum sat on the other side of me and gripped my hand in hers.

All I could think about was Creed, lying on that operating table, fighting for his life.

Hours passed with excruciating slowness. Tatum never left my side, her face pale and eyes wide with worry. We all sat together, waiting for any news.

Finally, a doctor approached, looking tired but hopeful. “Creed is out of surgery,” he said. “He’s stable for now, but the next twenty-four hours are critical.”

I felt a surge of relief but also a new wave of fear. “Can I see him?” I asked, my voice trembling.

The doctor nodded. “Briefly. He’s in recovery.”

I followed the doctor to Creed’s room, my heart in my throat. When I saw him lying there, hooked up to machines, his face pale and drawn, I had to fight back tears. I took his hand, squeezing it gently. “I’m here,” I whispered. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I love you, Creed. I think it happened that first day,” I sniffled. “I fell in love with you before I even knew who you were,” I ended with a whisper.

Creed didn’t move. The steady beeping of the heart monitor filled the room, a constant reminder of his fragile state. The rhythmic hiss of the ventilator punctuated the silence, its mechanical breath sounding far too clinical and detached. The IV drip clicked softly with each measured drop, all these sounds blending into a symphony of artificial life-support that kept him tethered to this world.

The next twenty-four hours were going to be critical, and I wasn’t going to be able to breathe until I saw Creed’s eyes and knew he wasn’t going to leave me.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Creed

I could hear the faint sound of beeping, a steady rhythm that seemed to pull me from the depths of darkness. My hand felt warm, being gently squeezed. Slowly, I began to wake up, my eyes focusing on a dimmed light above me. I blinked, trying to figure out where I was, the surroundings still hazy and unfamiliar.

As my vision cleared, I looked down and saw Jada sitting beside the bed, her body draped over it as she slept, her hand holding mine. Her hair was tousled, and her face showed signs of exhaustion, but she was there, right by my side.

“Jada,” I croaked, my voice barely audible.

She didn’t stir. I squeezed her hand a little tighter. “Gorgeous,” I called louder, my voice raspy.

Her eyes flew open, and she jumped up, her expression shifting from sleepiness to pure relief. “Creed!” she cried. “You’re awake.” She leaned in gently and pressed a kiss to my lips, the warmth of her touch sending a wave of comfort through me.

“How long have I been out?” I asked, my voice still weak.

She kept my hand in hers, her grip firm and reassuring. “A couple of days,” she said, her eyes filled with worry and concern. “You were shot, Creed. You scared the hell out of me.”

I tried to process her words, the memories slowly coming back. The gunshots, the pain, collapsing on the ground. “I remember,” I said, nodding slightly. “I was coming back to the bookstore, and then... everything went dark.”

“You were in surgery for hours,” Jada continued, her voice trembling slightly. “The doctors said the twenty-four hours after would be critical. I’ve been here with you, waiting for you to wake up.”

I squeezed her hand again, trying to convey my gratitude and love through that simple gesture. “Thank you for being here,” I whispered. “I can’t imagine how hard this has been for you.”

She smiled, though her eyes were still wet with unshed tears. “Of course I’m here, Creed. You’re my everything.”

I looked around the room, taking in the sterile environment of the hospital. The beeping of the heart monitor, the IV drip beside the bed, the dim light casting a soft glow over everything. “What’s the prognosis?” I asked, needing to know the full extent of the damage.

“The doctors say you were lucky,” Jada replied. “The bullet in your shoulder missed any major arteries, and the one in your chest was close to your lung but didn’t puncture it. You’re going to need time to heal, but they expect a full recovery.”

Relief washed over me, though it was tempered by the realization of how close I’d come to losing everything. “And the shooter?” I asked, my mind already turning to thoughts of retribution.

“Murphy is on it,” she said, her voice firm. “But right now, you need to focus on getting better. Let them handle it.”

I nodded, knowing she was right. As much as I wanted to act, my priority had to be recovery. “Okay.”

Jada sat back down in the chair beside the bed, still holding my hand. “I can’t believe you’re awake,” she said softly. “I was so scared I might lose you.”

“You won’t lose me,” I assured her. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.” I closed my eyes and laid my head back on the pillow. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she replied in an instant. “Just rest, handsome, okay? We can talk more later.”

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