Page 46 of Toxic

They nod, and I follow the doctor, ready to give every drop of blood in my body if it means saving Devin.

The blood donation process seems to take an eternity, but finally, I’m back in the waiting room. Olivia and Max fill the silence with quiet conversation, but I can’t focus on their words. My entire being is centered on Devin, willing her to survive.

After what feels like days, the surgeon appears, looking tired but satisfied. “Mr. Rivers?”

I stand, my heart in my throat. “Yes? How is she?”

The surgeon smiles slightly. “Ms. West is out of surgery. We were able to remove the bullet and repair the damage. Thanks to your blood donation, we were able to stabilize her.”

Relief floods me, so intense it nearly brings me to my knees. “Thank God,” I breathe.

“There is one more thing,” the surgeon adds, his tone careful. “We were very fortunate that the bullet didn’t hit any vital organs... or cause a miscarriage.”

For a moment, I’m sure I’ve misheard. “Miscarriage?” I repeat, my voice low. My heartbeat slows to a crawl.

The surgeon nods. “Ms. West is approximately eight weeks pregnant. The fetus appears unharmed, but we’ll be monitoring closely.”

The world seems to tilt on its axis. Pregnant. Devin is pregnant. With my child. After all these years of separation, of waiting, we’re going to have a family.

“Can I see her?” I ask, my voice rough with emotion.

The surgeon nods. “She’s in recovery now. I’ll have a nurse take you to her.”

As I follow the nurse down the sterile hallway, my mind races. A baby. Our baby. Life finally feels right.

TWENTY-FOUR

Warm lips trail along my neck, pulling me from the depths of sleep. I groan, burying my face deeper into the pillow. “Hawk, let me sleep,” I mumble, my voice thick with exhaustion.

His chuckle reverberates against my skin, dark and possessive. “Time to wake up, love. You need to eat to feed our baby.”

I crack one eye open, meeting his intense gaze. “You’re a dictator, you know that?” I grumble, but there’s no real heat in my words.

His smile is predatory, yet tinged with genuine affection. “Perhaps. But I’myourdictator.” His hand slides possessively over my still-flat stomach. “And our child’s.”

I can’t help but lean into his touch, even as I roll my eyes. “Fine, fine. What’s for breakfast, then?”

Instead of answering, Hawk scoops me up in his arms, cradling me against his chest. I yelp in surprise, my arms automatically winding around his neck.

“Hawk! I can walk, you know. I’ve been home from the hospital for over a week now. I feel fine.”

He tightens his grip, his eyes darkening dangerously. “I’m not taking any chances. You need to rest.”

I want to argue, but the memory of the terror in his eyes when I was shot silences me. This is the man who waited six years for me, who gave his blood to save my life. If carrying me to breakfast makes him feel in control, I can indulge him. For now.

He sets me in a chair at the dining table, his hands lingering possessively on my shoulders. The spread before us is impressive – all my favorites, I notice. Hawk has clearly gone out of his way to ensure I have everything I might want or need.

I finally ask what I’ve been wanting to for a while. “Why did you get the same tattoo I have?”

He cups my cheek and grins. “Because we’re the same. Two halves of a whole.”

That we are.

As we eat, Hawk fills me in on the latest family news. “My father’s finally agreed to get help,” he says, a hint of vulnerability breaking through his usual mask of control. “Real help this time, not just a quick rehab stint.”

I reach out, squeezing his hand. “That’s wonderful, Hawk. I hope it sticks this time.”

He nods, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. “Me too. It’s been... a long road.” The pain in his voice is palpable, and I’m struck by how much he’s allowing me to see.

---